Page 31 of Heir to His Court

I catch my breath, because even at my age I can feel the subtle hum of power emanating from them. They're beautiful, old, and powerful.

“What are they?”

“The Cuffs of the Lady,” he says.

I jerk my gaze up. “The Lady of the Lake?”

Avallonne is an island principality, two hours from the mainland and with its own port. The palace rests at the highest point above sea level, but the town is built down the hill. There are forests, and deep in the center is a still, glassy lake that feeds into the ocean, surrounded by a cave system I've explored at will.

The Lake is blessed by the Ancient Psion, and only the Lady of the Lake can bestow the Trident, Psion’s weapon. A position held by a female of my mother’s bloodline, the Kuthlieles.

“Why are you giving me these?” I ask.

“They are yours,” he says, as if he has no reason other than that. Right. “My greatest treasure.”

His gaze is on the Cuffs. Which of us is his greatest treasure? Me, or power? I don't want to know. He’s an Old One. I’m not stupid. I listen to Maman.

“When I wake, I will come for you, and I will bring you here in truth, and I will put these Cuffs on your wrists.” He lifts his gaze to mine, a thread of swampy blue in his eyes. “You will go to the Lake, Aerinne, and draw forth the Trident. Our sons and daughters will inherit when we are dust.”

I hate, hate when he does this. Drops these huge nuggets in passing conversation like it’s nothing, like I’ll just skip merrily along the path he wants for me. I suppose he can't help himself.

“What about Everenne, Renaud?”

He gives a light shrug, sipping on his glass which probably isn't water like mine. “Embriel will hold this city in my absence.”

“What if he wants to come with you?”

Raniel snorts, staring into the glass. “My firstborn can barely stomach the politics of a city as simple as Everenne. He will not wish to return to Avallonne with me. If he does, there are others. Baroun.”

I make a gagging noise. “He's so full of himself. He probably watches himself in the mirror while pulling wings off butterflies.”

He slants me a glance half between reluctant amusement and censure. “I think, in time, my cousin will grow on you.”

“Rashes grow on you. So do warts.”

Raniel gives up, and laughs, lying back on his couch so his hair drapes to the floor. I glare at him, but he only turns his head to give me a slow, sweet smile.

We pass the evening in quiet conversation broken by long silences. He quizzes me on the current politics of the city and discusses my training, then tells me a few stories of Avallonne and even one of Ninephe. I glance at the Cuffs occasionally, and once reach out to touch them. Raniel says nothing, though I know I'm not allowed to actually don them. Though this is a dreamscape, these are objects of power, and there's no telling what influence they might have over me.

Eventually I begin to drift off, because my mind is tired, and my body wants me to shut down. I fight it, and Raniel sighs. A swish of cloth as he rises and sits next to me on the couch. Like I'm still ten or eleven, he lifts me into his lap and cradles me.

No, not quite like I'm ten or eleven. His touch is different now, and I understand the difference. I also understand that he won't do anything more than this. Just hold me.

“My little Darkling,” he murmurs, fingertips skimming my hair. “Everything I do now is for you. And you cannot fathom how cruel. . .”

I slide an arm around his neck. “I don't want to go.”

“It is only a few short years, bébé. A few short years, then the isle will be ours. I will be yours.”

I wake in the morning, and though I'm still grieved and angry at being parted from him, at being denied Avallonne, it's a gentler anger, and a sweeter sadness. Because, yes, I am Fae. I have an eternity.

A decade or two of waiting before he thinks I'm ready is nothing. It's a small price to pay to keep him forever.

ChapterTen

Iwoke, staring sightlessly at the ceiling as I processed dream that was memory.

“The air is strange in here, Rinne.”

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