“Lord Cynwrig. Attend us.”
Alun didn’t loosen his grip on Gareth’s hand. “I’m busy, Majesty.”
“Our patience wears thin. Dafydd Evans can manage without you, as can our honored bard.”
Gareth squeezed Alun’s hand, then released it. “Go on. I’ll be fine now. Your lad knows what he’s about.”
Alun nodded curtly and followed the Queen to the far side of the glade. He frowned, scanning the warriors clustered under the trees.
“Where’s Mal?’
The Queen regarded him stonily. “Gone.”
“I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t have left without checking on Gareth.”
“He had no choice. Maldwyn Cynwrig violated the sanctity of the consort bond. For that, he is stripped of his rank and privileges, and outlawed from Faerie until he makes whole what he cost us this night.”
What in all the hells does that mean? Put Rodric’s hand back on his arm? Not likely. “Your Majesty, that hardly seems fair. He prevented a coup. I’d call that a mitigating circumstance.”
“Fairness is not the issue. We can allow no convenient bending of the covenants. How do you think our ranks have so diminished over the years? Faerie is built on principles, traditions, and pacts. When you violate any of those, you threaten the fabric of our world.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Rodric shattered most of those when he tried to depose you by destroying an entire race.”
She inclined her head. “True. And for that he has been banished and declared no longer our Consort.”
“In that case, Mal should be in the clear.”
“If he had struck now, that would be true. But his blow landed before our renunciation. His crime still stands.”
Anger boiled in Alun’s belly. “But—”
“You, Lord Cynwrig, have little room to talk, ready as you were to strike our Consort down. However, you acted in accord with all four of the basic tenets of the Seelie Court, willing as you were to defend your honor to the death. Seeking to protect your true love, who we grant is beautiful, as are you once again. And the balance you sought to restore this night, by discharging the debt to Owain Glenross and his clan, is righteous and proper.”
Alun bowed his head, pretending acceptance of the Queen’s guarded approval, even though he hadn’t given a troll’s hairy ass for any of that. He’d only thought of David. Of keeping him safe.
For that matter, he’d seen her outside the Stone Circle during the final confrontation. Why hadn’t she intervened? She could easily have renounced Rodric after he’d proclaimed his ambition to take her throne, yet she hadn’t.
The anger that had burned in his veins turned ice-cold. “You knew. You knew Rodric was a traitor all along.”
Her expression never changed, betraying no guilt, no remorse. “We had our suspicions.”
“So the whole charade—starting with that ludicrous oath ceremony—was nothing but a test. A bloody, thrice-blasted, Goddess-bedamned test. You put David in danger, allowed Mal’s life to be destroyed, just to find out if your Consort was the monster everyone else has always known him to be.”
She pressed her lips together, and her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. “The test was not only for our former Consort, but for you and your brothers. For Dafydd Evans as well. Any can be corrupted, Lord Cynwrig, with the right incentive—or even with the lack of sufficient reason to remain steadfast.”
“And have you remained steadfast yourself, Majesty? You would have let the last known achubydd die without lifting a finger. Considering what a gossip mill the Court is, every last one of your subjects will know that you’ve declared open season on David by morning.”
“You overstep. We have no intention of allowing Dafydd Evans to suffer. In our realm from this day forward, no achubydd may be touched with intent to harm.”
Alun remembered the first days of his own curse, when he’d been mad with grief, shamed by his appearance, and shunned by all who saw him. Rodric was no longer part of the realm, and he’d be desperate—desperate and psychotically vengeful. If he’d been determined to take David’s life before to further his political ambitions, how much more determined would he be now that he might see David as his only way back to physical wholeness, his only way back into Faerie?
“That’s not good enough.”
“We rule in Faerie, not the Outer World. This is what we can offer. We suggest you accept it with better grace.”
Alun gazed across the glade, where David was huddled next to Gareth, frowning in concentration. He won’t take steps to safeguard himself. If the Queen won’t take responsibility, it’s up to me. But how? If the Consort—
The consort laws. “Ye shall lose whate’r you seek to take.” If David were Alun’s consort, he’d be safe, just as Owain would have been had he accepted Alun’s suit that fateful night. This time, Alun wouldn’t take no for an answer, because this time he knew the true consequences of a refusal.
“I’ll take him for my consort. No one can touch him, then.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “He has agreed to your claim?”
“He must. He has no choice.”
“We wish you good fortune, then. However, because of your actions this night, we have no First Champion. You shall take your brother’s place at Court.”
“With all due respect, Majesty,” Alun drew himself up. “No.”
Her face grew as cold and distant as the winter moon. “After so recently regaining your right to enter Faerie, do you wish to become exiled again—and for the same reason?”
Somehow the threat didn’t seem as dire—not if Alun had David by his side. “Majesty, if I have learned anything from David, it is that if we expect to prosper in this changing world, we must learn to adapt. How can we do that if we cling too tightly to the old ways?”
“Faerie’s very existence is bound by those old ways.”
“I think there may be more latitude there than we’ve always believed. By the old laws, you should never have been able to unify the Celtic fae. And think of your Consort.”
“Former Consort.”
Alun inclined his head. “As you say. Were his actions those we expect from true Seelie fae? Yet he could still pass the Faerie threshold at will.” She stilled, clearly struck by his words, and for a moment— Was that fear in her eyes? “Do we truly need another pointless tournament or a make-work hunt that accomplishes nothing but to exercise our horses? Shouldn’t we consider how fae can make a difference, at least to each other?”
The moonlight gleamed in her hair as she nodded. “Your point is well-taken. However, when we call, you shall answer.”
“When you ask, I shall consider.”
“So be it. But choose your battles wisely, Lord Cynwrig. One day, we shall tire of these negotiations.”
“If you will excuse me, Majesty, I have a consort to claim.”
Alun strode across the clearing to David, who was sitting on his haunches next to Gareth, a grin creasing his cheeks.
“Check it out, Alun. I didn’t screw up. Gareth’s all better. And before you go all mother-hen on me, I feel great.”
“I’m glad.”
Gareth stood, dusting off his pants. “I need to get back to the band. We’ve already missed one gig. If we miss another, the guys could get rabid.” He smiled. “And since they’re all shifters, I’m speaking literally.”
He reached for David, but couldn’t touch him. “I’d hug you but—”
“Leave that to me.” David wrapped his arms around Gareth’s waist and hugged him hard enough to force a grunt out of him. “Thank you for saving me from a . . . a fuck worse than death.”
“Thank you for making it possible for me to play again. Although,” Gareth scrunched up his face, “I won’t thank you for forcing me to watch the worst dancing I’ve seen in a hundred raves. I’m surprised I wasn’t struck blind.” He turned and held out his hand. “Alun. I—I can’t promise instant reconciliation, but I think we’ve made a start.”
“Bollocks to that.” Alun grabbed Gareth in a fierce hug. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re there, but if you need more time, you know where to find me.”
Gareth patted Alun awkwardly on the back and nodded. “Thank you.” He stepped back and picked up his guitar case. “I’ll send you tickets to the next concert. All right?”
David jumped, punching the air. “Yes!”
“Good. Now I’m getting out of this bloody place.” He lifted his hand and walked off through the trees.
David sighed. “Your brothers are awesome. You know, I wasn’t sure about Mal at first, but the way he—”
“Dafydd. We must talk.”
“Yeah, sure, but can we go now? I need to get home and see if my aunt is okay. The stupid Consort stopped me before I could be sure, but I think she was getting better.”
“She was already recovering when I saw her last.”
“Really? Then why are you using your therapist voice? And why do you look grimmer than the day I changed your light bulbs?”
“We must discuss something that I fear you won’t like.”
“Name something that’s happened tonight that I did like. My aunt close to death? Nope. Kidnapped by a power-mad fairy? Nope again. Dancing to ‘YMCA’ with a bunch of guys with really big swords and I don’t mean the euphemistic fun kind? Nope, nope, nope. I mean, what could be worse?”
“What about going through it all again?”
David blinked, his mouth dropping open. “What? I thought we were done.”
“For now. But Rodric could strike again, in the Outer World this time.”
“But—” He scanned the glade. “He’s not here, right? Isn’t he in Faerie jail or something?”
“There is no Faerie jail—there’s only death or exile. Rodric still lives, but is barred from the Seelie Court. And, at the moment, the Seelie Court is the only place you’re safe.”
“No offense, but tonight’s little extravaganza doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence about that. I was safer in my last medical placement, when I nearly got brained by a flying stapler.”
“It is my fault you were put in danger, so I have an obligation to make amends. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe; therefore, before we leave Faerie, you’ll become my consort.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?”
Alun grabbed David’s shoulders, gazing into his eyes. “It’s the only way to keep you safe. The consort law states that anyone who harms a consort can’t benefit from it, because whatever they take is likewise taken from them. As my consort, you’ll no longer be a target because nobody can drain you without draining themselves.”
David’s eyes turned storm-clouded. How could anyone ever have mistaken him for human? How had Alun? The druids’ powers were stronger than any fae imagined, which bore thinking about. But not now. “Is this a proposal, Dr. Kendrick?”
“I— Yes, if you like.”
“If I like? You say the reason you want to . . . to mate me or consort me or whatever is because of guilt?”
“It won’t be as bad now that my curse is lifted. You needn’t be shamed or disgusted by my appearance. Now that my connection to the One Tree has returned, I can perform the ritual myself. We don’t need anyone else. If we go back to the Stone Circle—”
“No.”
Of course. He has traumatic memories of that place. “Very well. It won’t be quite as easy elsewhere, but we could pick another spot. Here, for instance, in the center of the faerie circle, or—”
“I meant no, I refuse to be forced into—into consortdom because of obligation.”
Alun scowled. “You have no choice, Dafydd. You’ll be prey to anyone outside of Faerie if you do not.”
“Well you know what? Screw that. Screw that twice. Screw that from here to Orion’s Belt and back in a ’68 Volkswagen, because I will not be anybody’s ball and chain.”