Page 85 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“There’s nothing up my ass.”
“I could fix that.” His groin bumps lightly against my rear. There’s a noticeable bulge—he’s at least half-hard, and he wants me to feel it.
I suppose this is as good a time as any to cement my hold over Caer.
My hand travels around behind me, and I cup him lightly between the legs. He hisses at the contact, and his furred tail slides over my thigh.
I remove my hand from his crotch and take my shot, the mallet hitting the ball with a satisfyingthwack. My ball rolls through a wicket, and I give a little wriggle of delight.
“Nice shot, Seelie.” Caer gives my ass a light squeeze, and it takes everything in me to avoid recoiling from him. My body, my skin, my soul—they all belong to a certain naughty Sugarplum Faerie.
After I take my second stroke, it’s the Cat’s turn. The Queen approaches me as I watch him line up the shot.
“What you said earlier, about the Heartless testing the worthy,” she says. “You understand why I’m doing this, how it works. Yousee me.”
Facing her with an open, guileless expression is the hardest thing I have ever done. I wish Opal was here to see how well I can lie.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I tell her. “I understand. And I see you.” I bow my head, sinking into a brief curtsy.
“You can see it.” Her voice is nearly a whisper. Her fingers toy with the red lace along her neckline, and one bone-white nail points straight at the scarlet tattoo over her cleavage.
“Yes, I see it.” I return her gaze, not bothering to hide my confusion.
“How can you see it? No one else can.”
“You mean—” Understanding dawns in my mind. Her tattoo. It’s supposed to be invisible. “It’s the eye of the artist, I suppose, Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps.” She strokes a nail over the spot, idly, again and again, until a deep red scratch begins to form. “Do you know what it is?”
I’m not sure if the character I’m playing should know or not, so I decide to opt for honesty. “Beyond a beautiful tattoo—no, my lady. I don’t know its significance.”
“Just as well, I suppose. Few would recognize it.” She shakes herself a little. “Ah, it’s my turn.”
We continue the game, taking turns until the Queen wins. She’s a skilled player, with perfect aim, and she uses the right amount of pressure for every stroke.
After the first game, servants lay out a spread of food and drink on tables draped in blood-red cloth. It’s strange to be eating in a carnivorous garden, under a gray sky, with a faerie moaning and dying horribly inside a pitcher plant nearby. The breeze carries a sweetish, sour odor from the direction of the plants, contrasting with the sensual, rich perfumes most of the players wear. I’ve never felt less like eating. But I should probably attempt it, as part of the role I’m playing.
I approach one of the refreshment tables cautiously, reluctant to eat or drink anything Fin hasn’t provided. I saw him standing here earlier, ripples of magic dancing over his fingers. How can I tell which items he conjured? None of them are labeled “Eat me” this time.
Suddenly the scent of freshly-fallen snow and rich chocolate wafts over me, and a tall figure looms at my side. A light male voice, sweetly familiar, croons, “Elowen, is it? Allow me to fill a plate for you.”
I’m about to agree when Caer shoulders in, separating me from Finias. “How gallant of you, Sugarplum. But you should let the little Seelie fend for herself.”
“He’s right. I don’t need strangers doing me favors,” I say acidly.
“Hear that, Sugarplum?” Caer grins. “She’s a big girl. There’s no rule that Seelie have to stick together.” He looks from me to Fin. “So the two of you arrived on the same night, but you don’t know each other?”
“Not at all.” I survey Fin from head to toe with my best look of disdain. “I came here to get away from other Seelie, and to practice my art with more freedom, by painting darker subjects.”
“Well, Sugarplum and I are distant acquaintances from a few years ago.” Caer walks a circle around Fin, flicking the black feathered cloak that covers Fin’s wings. “Had a bit of a scare back then, didn’t you, Finias? Ran home to the Seelie with your tail between your legs, so to speak. It’s your own fault for being so tasty. Look at you!” He pinches Fin’s cheek. “I could just—eat you up.”
Hatred boils in my chest. I wish I had claws or weapons so I could shred the Cat to ribbons.
But Fin only smirks. “You don’t have the stomach for that kind of play.”
“Who says I don’t?” Caer bristles.
“Everyone.” Fin shrugs. “You’re all talk, no bite. A fanged kitten with no real venom, they say. That’s why you’re never invited to any private parties. And that’s why you’ve never left the White Rabbit’s protection.”
