Page 16 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

“Well, that’s because it is. It has to be. How else are you going to get what you need? Certainly not by asking nicely. And anyway, I gave you three weeks to come up with an alternative plan,” he reminded her.

He had, and she hadn’t. “I know.”

“It could be worse.” He shrugged, picking at a large purple plum he’d chosen from the table. “He could look like that.” Rodney nodded towards a group of squat, fanged faeries with skin the texture of stone and black tufts of hair down the ridges of their spines. “You’re not going to make a move until the party dies down, so relax. We just need to get him to notice you first.”

“How are we going to do that?” Amongst the crowd, her tiny form would hardly stand out.

He grinned, then beckoned over a satyr who had been leering at Aisling since the king finished his speech. “You’re going to dance.”

“No,” she pled, eyes wide, when the male took her hand and began to pull. “Rodney, no!” But her words were lost in the noise and the last thing she saw of Rodney was the flash of an encouraging smile before she was spun into the satyr’s broad, hairy chest.

He had to lean down to hold her around the waist and his other hand fully enveloped her own. He smelled of all the darkest parts of the forest: the rot, the decay, the mold. She grimaced as he crushed her body against his. But despite his size, he was an agile dancer. On cloven hooves he led Aisling through spin after dizzying spin. As she continued to dance, her nerves slowly gave way to exhilaration. The other dancers blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, and she lost herself in the frenzied pace.

Rodney stepped in before the satyr could drop his hand any lower down her back and shooed him off to find a new partner.

“Let me lead you, I’m going to take you closer to the throne,” he all but shouted into her ear. He maneuvered them through the crowd deliberately, pausing here and there for several beats to hide their movement in the intricate steps of the dance.

Then, they were front and center to the throne. Aisling kept her eyes on Rodney, on the whirling gowns and wings and braids that brushed against her as they turned, but never let them stray in the king’s direction. One song bled into the next and the rhythm rose and dipped like waves crashing on the shoreline. She was giddy and lightheaded and could hardly feel her feet or determine where she ended and the other Fae around her began.

Rodney spun her once more before pulling her firmly out of the throng, back to their quiet corner. She’d been reluctant to abandon the dance, but once she’d stopped, she realized that she could scarcely breathe. Her feet ached and her lungs burned. She would have stayed in there all night if he’d let her.

“Did you feel it?” Rodney asked of the magic that had washed over them with the notes of the music. Aisling nodded—she had. She’d felt so light, she was almost sure she’d been floating.

“I thought the tea was meant to protect me,” she said. He handed her a fresh goblet of honey wine and she drank it down thirstily.

“From enchantments. Music, dancing…that’s a different magic entirely. It works its way into you until you’d sooner die than stop.”

Aisling shivered slightly. Suddenly, she could hear strains of sinister notes underlying thelively tune.

Rodney maintained that they should wait, and so they did, biding their time while the celebration slowly waned. It could have been hours later, or mere minutes, but when the first revelers began to depart, the rest followed. The satyr passed by once in a bid to convince Aisling to leave with him, but the pair managed to avoid further interactions. She could tell that Rodney would have rather been in the center of it all, satiating his Fae proclivities for one night before returning to the human realm, but he refused to leave her side despite her urging.

Those that remained swayed slowly or sat propped against the pillars and walls, halfway to passing out. Certainly by now, no one left was sober enough to pay a pixie any mind.

Aisling grabbed an empty goblet and a bottle off of the banquet table as she passed, pausing briefly to take several long swallows to steady herself. The comfortable drunk she’d been nursing all night had begun to wear off, but the wine quickly brought back a warm buzz as she approached the dais. The role she was playing tonight demanded a level of confidence that she didn’t possess on the other side of the Veil. But here in the Wild, she wasn’t herself anymore—not really. This Aisling was cool and bold and sure. Ready to act, rather than plan. So she let that wine draw her further into character.

The Unseelie King sat reclined on his dark throne, sharp chin in one hand while his other played over the carved designs of an obsidian arm. He didn’t notice her stopping to stand in front of him until she spoke.

“Would Your Highness grant an audience to a humble pixie?” Aisling curtsied deep to the floor, glancing up coyly through herlong lashes. She had to concentrate to keep the tremor out of her voice and her limbs as she moved. He slid piercing silver eyes over her before nodding almost imperceptibly. She stepped up onto the platform.

“How can you seem so dissatisfied with such a glorious court?” Aisling turned to take in his view. It would have been enthralling earlier, at the height of the revelry. It was hardly the same now, but still no less impressive. Aisling watched a few waif-like females drifting around a group of very drunk hobs. The king didn’t so much as look at them but kept his eyes on Aisling warily.

“What is it that you want?” He rubbed a hand over his face. His diction was intriguing, with the barest hint of a strange accent that Aisling couldn’t quite place. Feeling emboldened by the fact that he hadn’t ordered her away yet, she sashayed around the back of his throne and leaned around its right side.

“To serve you a drink, My Lord. Honey wine?” She poured the amber liquid into the goblet she’d brought and circled back to the front of the throne to offer it to him. She took a sip from the bottle as she waited with it outstretched.

“You are not supposed to be up here.”

“No one has stopped me so far.” Aisling raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the cup in her hand until Kael sighed heavily and took it. She smiled, satisfied, and took another drink. When she was sure Kael was distracted, she looked for Rodney where he lurked in the shadow of a pillar. He gestured to her to hurry up.

When the king had finished his wine, Aisling shot a hand out and wrapped her long fingers around his wrist. He looked up ather, startled, but his pulse remained steady under his skin. She winked and refilled his goblet. She let go once the liquid reached the brim and sat on the ground beside his throne. After she’d finished the bottle, she tossed it off the dais. Kael watched it roll in a circle on the dusty floor.

“You look bored,” she observed.

“Do I?” he said absently into his cup before draining it.

Aisling’s heart was beginning to race with the knowledge of what would come next. “We’re out of alcohol.”

“I believe you’ve had enough.” Kael set his goblet at his feet and leaned back once again.

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