Page 25 of The Realm That Falls to Her

“Exactly. Lionsvale can help you navigate the rest, but you’re human, and that might mean they’ll see you as less of a threat and let their guard down around you.”

“But will they take me seriously?”

“Make them take you seriously.”

He stands, laying a hand on my arm in a gesture so familiar it almost feels like he’s himself again. I can’t help but lean into the touch, the bond quivering between us like a bowstring pulled taut, straining to be released.

“Listen, Eleanor. You are the naminai of a fae ruler and you have power some of these Unseelie could only dream of. Make sure they know that you deserve their respect.”

His support seeps into me, helping me stand straighter, filling me with a sense of strength. Then he drops his hand and I immediately miss the warmth of it. The tension of the bond slackens, but only a fraction.

“You need to help her,” Ruskin says to Destan “You’re Seelie, so they’ll probably be more hostile with you, but they have less prejudice towards humans in these parts. Remind them you and her are different where you can—that they have no reason to dislike her like they probably will you.”

The corners of Destan’s mouth twitch downwards. “Fine. I’ll go pick out an outfit for all the fun I definitely won’t be having.”

Chapter 8

“No, now I think about it, the lilac is better,” says Destan, walking around me with his brow furrowed, like he’s trying to solve a complex equation.

“I’m sure it really doesn’t matter to them what I wear, Des.” I sigh, rearranging the skirts of the tightly fitted dress Destan has managed to conjure up from nowhere. Apparently, he has developed a sudden and intense rapport with the servant who showed us to our rooms. Her polished skin positively glowed when I caught Destan muttering something in her ear. She’d giggled and whipped out of the room, then returned soon after with a pile of gowns in my size.

“Psssh,” Destan says dismissively. “The Unseelie might like to pretend they don’t care about aesthetics, but no one wears that much leather because it’s practical.”

“And you think this kind of thing will do the trick?” I ask doubtfully.

He considers this. “You’re right. The structure’s right, but the color…too soft. We need to go darker.”

He sifts through the dresses and wrenches free something with a stiff, corseted bodice in a deep plum. He tosses it at me.

“Try that.”

I sigh, thinking about how much I’d rather be with Ruskin and Maidar right now, digging through the tutor’s piles of scrolls and old books for research. Playing dress up would never be my activity of choice, but it’s even worse when I’m dressing up for the purpose of going to dine with the Unseelie Court, essentially to convince them to disagree with their king. Destan and I are both outsiders in this place, and my friend seems to think the right dress will do half the job for me.

I emerge from behind the screen and do a sarcastic twirl for Destan. He tilts his head to one side.

“On second thought?—”

“Destan,” I say sternly. “I’m not trying on any more. This is the dress I’m wearing.”

He must see I’m in no mood to argue because he pouts, but says nothing.

“All right, go get your shoes. Dreidana left them in your room.”

“Dreidana?” I say teasingly. “So you’re on first-name terms now?”

“Stop with your insinuations, if you please,” he says primly.

“So it’s all right when you stick your nose in my love life, but not the other way around?”

He throws me such a dirty look while tying his cravat that I start laughing.

I’m still chuckling to myself when I shuffle into my room, only to find Ruskin in there, bent over some papers scattered across the bed. He immediately looks up as I enter, and I feel the laughter fade from my face, to be replaced with…I don’t know what. I suppose I should feel awkward around him, but mostly when I look at Ruskin I can feel my longing pouring out of me, too forceful for me to mask.

His eyes rove over me in a manner that couldn’t be further from Destan’s technical eye. The heat of it is familiar to me even if the distance between us isn’t. I can feel his desire creeping along the bond, searing up everything in its path. I shouldn’t be afraid of that wildfire, because I’m already burning too, but I fear that if the flames meet, there’ll be an explosion neither of us can control.

“I thought you were working at Maidar’s,” I say.

“Not enough room,” he says, his voice rough. “He’s gone to get more scrolls.”

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