“It’s not only for that, Eilidh. You know that as well as I do. She wants more strong fae, and I’ve not shown any interest in breeding. She’s trying to bring me to heel.” He tried to pull her near him, catching her hand in his and tugging.
She didn’t resist. He spun her to face him, and slid his hand from her wrist to her elbow.
“I don’t intend to tell her anything about your actions,” he said, holding on to her with both hands now. “You can trust me to keep your secrets.”
“I won’t ask you to lie,” Eilidh countered. If it came to it, she’d live in the human world. She had connections there who could shelter her. It would be horrible to leave the fae, to not see them, to be surrounded by the toxic environment humanity had created. It would be worse to be imprisoned in the tower. “You’ll need to choose soon, I suspect.”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “Soon is relative when you live for centuries. Until she sets a deadline, I am ignoring it. If she sets one”—he shrugged one shoulder—“my father still has close ties to our king.”
“The king would have to owe your family quite a favor to stand up to Endellion.”
“True,” Torquil admitted, as much as saying aloud that the favor was, indeed, worthy of such actions.
She pulled out of his grasp finally and resumed walking. It was pitiful that her greatest joy was in being held prisoner by him for a few scant moments. Sometimes she was so hungry for the touch of another person that she considered starting a quarrel just for the hope to be touched. Being the broken heir was a lonely state. It was part of why she’d cherished the years she played with Lilywhite. They’d hugged and laughed, played tag and fallen into a jumble of limbs. None of those were experiences she’d known here in the Hidden Lands.
Torquil walked with Eilidh in silence the rest of the way through the tunnels and into the land where all the fae now lived. Usually she enjoyed seeing the beauty of their home, but not today. Today, she stared at the glass tower that she shared with no one. It rose up into the sky like a beacon, glistening like a jewel in even the dimmest light.
The tower had been built for another child, a baby who was lost to the sea, a daughter whose absence started a war. Neither the king nor queen lived in it. In all of Eilidh’s life, she didn’t recall her mother even visiting. Her father had periodically, but he could barely stand the sight of her. The Seelie Court was the court of beauty and light, and his daughter was not beautiful.
Waves surged against the tower, leaving behind dried salt that only added to the glitter of the tall building. Torquil walked her to the door, as he had so many times. Now, though, it felt like there were stares heavy on her skin. There was no doubt that word of his orders from the queen had begun to spread, and prospective brides were watching. More eyes on Eilidh would make her secret tasks even harder.
“Maybe you should pick a bride now,” she blurted. It wasn’t what she wanted, but a distraction would decrease his attention to her comings and goings. An announced bride would mean that the prospects wouldn’t be studying her, trying to decide if she was competition or a way to reach him.
Torquil opened the door to the winding stairwell that twisted halfway up the tower. This part of the tower was transparent, allowing any and all to see her approach so they could offer respect or flee her presence. The top, fortunately, was mostly opaque. The only other section of the tower that enabled watchers to see her was the uppermost floor. There, she moved like a wraith, not clearly visible, but a shape whose movement could be tracked through translucent glass.
On the outside of the tower was another staircase, this one minded by guards. The visitors’ staircase was to be used by everyone other than the royal parents, any siblings, and her betrothed when there was one. Those few fae could walk on the spiral staircase inside the glass tower.
“I’ll meet you at the—”
“No.” She turned away and began ascending the steps as she added, “You shouldn’t visit so much now that you’re seeking a bride. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Proper?” Torquil’s voice was as cold as she’d ever heard it. “You’re lecturing me on propriety?”
Eilidh’s temper flared, not as brightly as her mother’s did but enough that she was forcefully reminded of her parentage. She wasn’t surprised. He was fae, after all, but he’d been her only true friend in this world. That earned him a fair warning. Softly but steadily, she told him, “I’ve been the queen’s daughter, surrounded by machinations my whole life, while you were out being free. Don’t try to challenge me.”
“You sound very Unseelie right now, Patches,” he charged.
He stared at her as she stood halfway between one step and the next. In that moment, she thought that this was good-bye, that her dearest friend was about to be lost to her forever. That would’ve hurt, but not as much as what he next did: Torquil started up the spiral staircase.
“I’ve decided not to wait, after all,” he said. “I’ve made my choice.”
He strode up after her, and she wanted to run—or perhaps shove him backward.
Behind her, behind him, there were gasps. No one could have heard his words, but his actions spoke like a declaration. Only the royal parents, siblings, or her intended could walk up those stairs.
He was not her family.
“Back up,” Eilidh said desperately. She spun so she was facing him. “This isn’t funny. Go back! Go back now.”
“No.” He continued up the stairs, stalking after her. “The queen said I could chose anyone. Anyone.”
“She didn’t mean me! I’m not agreeing to this. Stop it this instant, Torquil.”
He laughed. “And when has a princess been allowed to select her own groom?” He was on the step next to hers. There, in front of her, he kneeled and stared up at her. “Shall I tell the queen or would you like the honor of letting her know that we are betrothed?”
Eilidh swallowed hard. Words wouldn’t come. She looked away from him, staring through the walls of her tower at the growing number of faeries clustering around the building. They stared at her, as they often did, but this time she saw surprise, envy, and anger in their expressions.
“What have you done to me? To us?” she whispered. “What have you done, Torquil?”
six
ZEPHYR
The semester was starting finally, and Zephyr’s team would all be back on campus. When Zephyr arrived at his suite, he found a not surprising note that both his suitemate and his best friend had already left for a bar, so he dropped his bags and headed into town.
Belfoure was an overcrowded maze of streets and shops. It was one of the strongest cities on the Eastern seaboard. Crime there was at a record low, and the pollution levels were among the lowest in the country. Generous donations from the families of St. Columba’s students no doubt kept it that way. The school was home to children from some of the wealthiest families in the world, those who graced the pages of magazines or screens because of their own talents . . . or, as in his case, because of a parent’s talents.