Page 36 of Heir to His Court

He gestured to a low table set with thick coffee, purple tea, various breads and sliced fruits. He wore informal morning robes in dark gray and white, his hair bound at his nape, a signal of intimacy. Unbound hair was both weapon and concealment. Beauty to mesmerize and distract the eye, its drape shield against an unguarded expression. A full blooded Fae restraining their hair was a subtle admission they had no need of such tactics with an intimate. I’d grow up with Fatma braiding my hair, so that particular Fae custom didn’t mean as much to me.

I bowed. “Prince.”

“Such ceremony. I confess to suspicion when you don your Court manners, my bonded.”

I rose. “Are you not entitled to the formalities?”

“Am I?”

I ignored the unsettling note in his tone. No, I had not technically sworn any oaths of fealty. Stupid to remind him. I sat, accepting a glass of fruit infused water, the remnants of a day long ago lingering in my mind.

“I remembered my thirteenth birthday,” I murmured, sipping the water. I set the glass down. I needed coffee, since I couldn’t have wine. “The year before you bound my memories. It wasn’t just protection, was it? You felt you couldn’t contain my anger over Maman.”

He regarded me. “It was not a matter of containment, Lady—we cannot be contained. You are Dark Fae. Your anger would have destroyed you. Perhaps destroyed the city. It was better to let you grow without its shadow.”

“I would have liked the opportunity to make that decision for myself.”

Renaud shrugged. “Children are not allowed to make decisions.”

“You didn’t look at me like I was a child.”

“Do not provoke me, Aerinne.”

“Fine. I didn't come here to argue with you in any case.”

He looked at me over his clear glass. Somehow, I didn't thinkhewas drinking water. “Whydidyou come this early? It's not as if you don't have other means by which to speak with me. Though you are always welcome.”

I rose, paced. “We're far too entwined. There is no demarcation between where my thoughts begin and yours end. It has been like that for as long as I’ve known you.” I faced him, studying his lack of expression. “How much of what I see, what I hear, what I feel, is an extension of you?”

“I cannot answer that for you. We are. . .bonding, Aerinne.”

“Hardly.” I continued a slow circle around the seating area, my robes an almost silent brush against the marble floor. Fatma had braided my hair a little too tight; my scalp was slightly sore, the weight of my braids heavy down my back. I should cut it.

“I would rather you did not,” Renaud said. “I have. . .future use for your long braids. Though I suppose your neck would do just as well.”

I cleared my throat, annoyed by the heat in my cheeks. “See? An idle, fleeting thought, and you catch it. Do I have no privacy?”

“If you want privacy, you will have to practice.” He paused. “Though you have managed admirably of late.”

I carefully did not think of. . .her.

“What are you keeping from me, my halfling?” His irises shaded between blue and gray. The Prince and the Old One, hovering in exquisite balance. I wasn’t quite certain which one would serve me better. “Why did you come?”

“I want Danon.”

The irises paled entirely to gray. “It is not in my nature to release so valuable a pawn. Not even to you, my halfling. What will you give me for him?”

“What have I not already given you?”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“You're impatient,” I said. “Shockingly so, for a Lord of your age.”

Renaud laughed. “Oh, child, youareyoung. You will amuse me for centuries yet.”

“And when I cease to amuse, Prince?”

“Then I will probably sleep again. Or you will, by that time.” He rose. “That is how my parents manage to keep from murdering each other, at least. Love is not static.”

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