Chapter 26
He should have shifted.
If he’d seized that tiny window of opportunity—that narrow space of time between the ice-griffin settling its wings and its rider dismounting—they might have stood a chance. If he’d thrown Tamsin onto his back, exerted every muscle, run with all the speed of his phouka blood…perhaps they might have made it as far as the trees.
But he stood frozen in shock a heartbeat too long.
And then it was too late.
“Lady Maeve,” the prince said, cool and emotionless.
He was still a good fifteen feet away, but Cuan knew with a warrior’s well-honed intuition that the distance was no safety. Even standing still, the high sidhe prince screamed lethal speed. Cuan had no doubt that Morcant could put a sword through his chest in an eye-blink if he so much as twitched.
He could probably summon his blade directly into my throat, if he chose,Cuan thought bleakly. Shining Ones, that armor-!
Cuan had heard tales of Prince Morcant. He was the Winter King’s own champion. The Ice Prince, people called him, and Winter’s Shadow. The only fae ever to tame an ice-griffin. The knight whose will was as unbreakable as his ether armor, and whose blade was as cold as his heart.
It was said that whenever Morcant rode against the seelie, they scattered and fled rather than face him. The ballads claimed that he’d once driven a blizzard to the very heart of the seelie lands, and nearly claimed the empty Summer Throne for his own. Some even whispered that he was the bastard son of the Winter King himself, by some unknown mother, though that seemed even more unlikely than all the rest put together.
Cuan had always assumed that the tales had been nothing more than greatly exaggerated flattery. Now, it seemed that the bards had been struggling to capture the truth. No mere words could describe Morcant’s sheer, blood-freezing power.
“We are very greatly honored, Prince Morcant.” Maeve fluttered into a curtsey deeper than Cuan had ever seen her make. “My court is small and humble, yet I hope you will find some rustic amusement here.”
All around, the court echoed her gesture. Cuan found himself standing like the last blade of wheat in a newly harvested field. He quickly ducked into a bow, pulling Tamsin down with him…but he had a sickening certainty that the prince had not missed his hesitation.
Prince Morcant allowed Maeve to kiss his gauntlet. His expression of remote disinterest never flickered. She might have been a dry leaf brushing across the back of his hand.
“I have no interest in your revel,” he said, still in that passionless voice. “I am here for one reason only.”
“Of course, of course.” Maeve’s tone was just a little too obsequious, her words a little too quick. “Whatever you wish, my prince.”
Shining Ones. She’s nervous.
Cuan was suddenly certain that this visit was not, in fact, Maeve’s idea. She was making the best of it, putting on a show for her court, but it was clear she was not in control of the situation.
This was not at all reassuring.
“Human woman.” Maeve turned, snapping her fingers. “Come forward.”
Tamsin’s eyes cut toward him, just the briefest flicker. Whatever she read on his face drained the blood from her own. Yet she squared her shoulders, her jaw setting.
“Chin up,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “Don’t let the bastards see you sweat.”
He could only follow her example. He shadowed her like a bodyguard, doing his best to keep his expression from betraying the hammering of his heart.
A prince, a prince here. And not even one of the lesser princes, but Morcant. What ill fate is this?
Tamsin planted herself squarely in front of Morcant, feet hip-width apart, arms folded. Very slowly, she looked him up and down, with the air of someone considering whether to purchase a horse of somewhat dubious quality. Cuan half-expected her to demand to see the prince’s teeth.
Prince Morcant, for his part, seemed utterly unruffled by Tamsin’s failure to display proper deference. He gazed back at her, expression never changing. If he even noticed Cuan, standing at her side, he gave no sign of it.
This close, Cuan could see that the prince’s eyes were mismatched—one ice-blue, the other leaf-green. Even more unusually, his faemarks were bicolored too. The silver and gold lines twined over his temples and cheekbones in intricate fractal patterns, like frost on a windowpane. Even his hair was a mixture of shades, from icy platinum to sun-warmed bronze.
Cuan could sense Prince Morcant’s glamour stretching out, wrapping round Tamsin like a cold fog. Tamsin twitched, but held her ground. The prince’s mismatched eyes narrowed, just a fraction.
Shining Ones, please don’t let him realize that she’s wearing cold iron. If he spots the collar…
The prince reached out, and Cuan prepared to sell his life dearly—but Morcant just brushed Tamsin’s hair back, exposing the round, human curve of her ear. Tamsin didn’t flinch, though Cuan could see that she’d stopped breathing.