Page 97 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“Maybe.” She traces a long nail along my jugular. “Maybe I will find out.”
There’s a sudden tightening of the air, like the tense crackle of impending magic. I recognize that sensation, the flavor of that power. It’s Finias, ready to act if I’m in danger. If the Queen makes the wrong move, he will unleash everything upon this Court—and even though he has used much of his energy for entertainment tonight, he could decimate a fair number of Unseelie before they overcame him.
But he could not destroy the Eater of Hearts. She is immune to weapons and magic, even his. Eventually he would be defeated and chained, and I would have to watch her eat my beloved’s heart.
I stay motionless, trying to keep my expression blank and submissive while the Queen examines my face.
“I will not taste your heart’s-flesh tonight, Elowen.” She leans back on her throne. “You’ve done well. I would like to see what else you can create for me. But for now, go and taste the wonders of this Court. Drink, eat, and fuck. Show me you’re more than a pretty Seelie with a paintbrush. Is there anyone who has caught your eye?”
“There is someone,” I murmur shyly. “But I do not think I’m ready for coupling in the open court, not yet. He and I will seek a quiet place, if it pleases your Majesty.”
“Take him privately tonight,” she says. “But tomorrow, I would like to see you fucked on these steps, in my sight.” Her gaze lifts, fixing on someone above and behind me. “Doesn’t that sound delectable, Beastie? Perhaps you’ll fuck her for me.”
Still kneeling, I glance over my shoulder and encounter long legs encased in shiny white trousers. The pants are loose, silky, hanging low on a pair of male hips. The male’s brown skin gleams with oil, every ridged muscle highlighted to lickable perfection. He wears no shirt, only a pair of white lace gloves and a series of medallions nestled between his pectorals.
My eyes travel up his throat, over his hard jawline, to the brown mask of a rabbit which covers most of his face.
My pulse jumps.
The White Rabbit.
“I prefer fucking in private,” he says in a deep, smooth voice. “But your wishes are mine to cherish and obey, my Queen. I am your willing servant.”
I can’t tell if he’s staring at me. The eyeholes of his mask are too deep. Swallowing hard, I move toward the steps a little, waiting for the Queen to dismiss me.
“Go,” she says, flicking a finger at me. I bow again and scurry down the steps while she hands off the painting to a servant.
I’ve noticed Caer prowling nearby a few times tonight. He must have been waiting for me, because he appears at my elbow as soon as I reach the bottom step.
His tail is lashing back and forth, and his ears are tilted back. I’m no expert on the body language of Unseelie Fae, or cats for that matter, but I’d swear he’s agitated and unhappy.
“I thought she’d never let you go,” he mutters. “You don’t know how badly I need this.”
“What makes you so eager to fuck a Seelie?”
He looks at me then, and his gaze is tempestuous, sorrowful, and frustrated. There’s a pathetic longing in those eyes—an ache I recognize. A hollow, crying to be filled.
Fin spoke of him as lazy and needy. Teased him about his weakness. Maybe Caer wants to fuck a Seelie because he yearns for something he doesn’t get from the others in this vile Court—gentleness, or tenderness. He thinks I’ll be sweet to him. He wants to be loved.
I can’t give him love, but I can pretend.
He hasn’t answered my question, so I move into his space, touching his lips with my finger. “Never mind. Let’s dance a while.”
There’s a different set of musicians playing tonight, and they continue playing even when the Queen and the White Rabbit leave the dais together. He seems devoted to her. I wonder if he really cares for her, or if, as Ygraine suspects, he stays close to her for other reasons.
After a dance or two, Caer’s intentions are becoming more obvious. His hands grip my ass, grinding my hips against his. Time to make my move, before he decides he’d just as soon couple right here, in front of the Court.
“Let’s go somewhere quiet.” I give him a sultry smile. “Do you know a safe place, where no one will disturb us?”
“My home is attached to the palace. We can go there. It’s only a short walk.”
I twine my fingers with his, suffering a slight pang because I hold hands with Fin this way, and I don’t want my Sugarplum to see it and feel pain. But we’re so close to our goal now. So close to succeeding with this rescue. If we’re lucky enough to find the Rabbit’s portal device, we could be home in our beds in a matter of hours.
Caer leads me through the palace, down long corridors full of twisted statues, up staircases formed from the skeletons of ancient monsters, down crystalline steps that look as if they’re uplit with living fire from somewhere below. We pass through several doors, cross a narrow strip of garden, enter a tower, and halt before a great barred door covered with intertwining leaves and vines of silver.
“One moment.” The Cat slices his hand with his teeth and presses the bloody print to the door, muttering words under his breath. Then he pulls and twists some of the vines and leaves in sequence—so many I can’t remember which ones he touched or the way he turned them.
A series of clunks and chiming sounds emanate from the door, and with a grating rumble, it swings open.
