Carrick nods, his lips pressed flat. “Her power is immense. I imagine she could do so easily if she so chose.”
But clearly, the well-being of her subjects isn’t important to her. I’m thinking this ruler of Faere isn’t benevolent at all if she can’t even provide something as simple as electricity or running water to her people.
“I choose not to,” a regal but imperious female voice says from the direction of the door. I never heard it open, yet a fae woman I can only guess is Queen Nimeyah is walking through.
Words cannot describe her magnificence. I’ve hated everything I’ve seen about Faere because of its over-the-top artificial beauty, but there is nothing artificial about this queen. If anything, she seems to emanate real life in an authentic way.
She doesn’t look warm, by any means. It’s just that she looks like she means what she says and doesn’t care about putting on airs. She might want her land, her castle, and her clothing to look a certain way, but I can tell by her bearing and those first few words out of her mouth that she is not fake at all. I suppose, though, being the supreme power in the land with no one to rise against her, she can afford to be completely transparent with no fear of reprisal.
The queen is first and foremost breathtakingly beautiful. While I know her to be immortal, she looks to be no more than her mid-thirties. Her hair is blacker than the darkest night and when the sun glints off it from the windows, there’s a blue shimmer to the pitch color. Defined eyebrows of black that are arched in a way that lends her a continuous air of confidence and power. Her eyes are the palest blue, reminding me of the color of glaciers and seem just as cold. The queen’s face, like all the fae I’ve seen, is perfection, yet hers seems to put the other beautiful fae to shame. Have her strut around earth for any length of time and she’d be on the cover of every magazine as the most beautiful woman in the world.
Nimeyah is a statuesque woman but not rail thin. She’s absolutely filled out in all the right ways, as accentuated by her clothing. Despite her penchant for the color white and silver, she’s dressed mostly in black. It’s a full-length formal gown that fits tight through the bodice with heavy folds of black satin on the bottom, except the front panel of what would be the skirt portion is cut out. Had she not been wearing anything underneath, she’d be naked from the navel downward, but, as it stands, she has on a pair of tight black leather pants that are so painted on, not a crease or fold can be seen anywhere on her long legs.
The top portion of the dress has what looks like black metal feathers sewn on with the tips pointed upward in an alternating pattern so as to resemble wings on her chest. They rise past her shoulders where I assume they are perhaps soldered together so they flare out to either side of her head. The bodice is cut in an extremely low V-shape, and it’s fitted to plump up what are very ample breasts.
Her hair is pulled up into a mass on top of her head in big curls and loose locks, giving her a bit of a romantic edge, but the black leather and thigh-high boots with four-inch heels obliterate that into making her not only beautiful, but also incredibly badass.
For a moment, I want to curtsy as Carrick had teased was required, and I was actually a little fearful of looking her in the eye, knowing how much the fae hate humans, especially since her powers are basically limitless. She could probably kill me with a snap of her fingers, and Carrick couldn’t prevent it.
The queen walks straight to Carrick without glancing at me once. Her expression is stony, her eyes piercing. My heart is in my throat wondering if she’ll just strike him dead for talking about the way she rules behind her back.
Carrick is not cowed. In fact, he stands straight and unyielding with his hands clasped behind his back.
She comes toe to toe with him, and I hold my breath for the possibility of anything.
The queen’s mouth then breaks into a wide smile as she places her hands on Carrick’s shoulders, genuinely pleased to see him.
“Carrick,” she purrs, leaning in to kiss him on one cheek, then the other. “It’s been far too long since you graced us.”
She pulls back, staring at him expectantly.
“My apologies,” he replies with a tip of his head. “You know the gods keep me hopping.”
The queen waves a hand dismissively. “Those boors. You should come to work for me.”