“So it is true,” Prince Morcant murmured. He dropped his hand. “She was tithed to the unseelie in accordance with our laws?”
Lady Maeve nodded eagerly. “All the proper rituals were fully observed, my prince. The bargain was properly made, and properly upheld. She is firmly bound to our realm.”
Prince Morcant dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “Then I will take her now.”
“No.”
He didn’t realize that the flat statement had come from his own lips until everyone stared at him. At his side, Tamsin drew in her breath at last—a quick, sharp sound, hastily stifled. Relief? Fear? He couldn’t tell. Possibly both.
The prince’s gaze fell on him like an avalanche. Ice closed around his heart. Cuan stood firm, refusing to drop his eyes. His love for Tamsin blazed in his soul, driving back the cold.
“No,” he said again, holding that two-colored stare. “This human is mine.”
“Stand down, beast, or I will cut out your tongue,” Lady Maeve hissed. “I have promised Prince Morcant the human woman as a gift.”
“She is not yours to give, my lady. I am the one who holds the tithe-contract.”
“Then you will give her to me.” Prince Morcant stated this as though there could be no doubt about the matter. “Now.”
“No,” Cuan said again. “With the greatest of respect, my prince, I will not.”
The faintest line appeared between Prince Morcant’s silver-gold eyebrows. Cuan had the impression that the prince was genuinely baffled by his refusal. He wondered when someone has last told the prince ‘no.’
Quite likely, never.
“I wish to add her to my collection.” Prince Morcant spoke slowly and clearly, as though Cuan was a very dim child. “Every other sidhean gladly offered up their human tithes to me.”
“Then you have no need of this woman,” Cuan said, thinking: His collection? “I am very sorry that you have come all this way for no reason, Prince Morcant. But I will not give her to you.”
The prince’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. Cuan had to brace himself against the psychic blast of cold that emanated from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the watching court flinch, cowering back from the prince’s silent displeasure.
Prince Morcant held out a hand. A sword appeared in it. It was the type called a bastard sword, broad and heavy, yet exquisitely well-balanced. The long hilt allowed the weapon to be wielded one-handed, for speed, or two-handed, for power. The blade itself was transparent as ice, nearly invisible.
Cold pierced Cuan’s chest. For a horrific instant, he was certain that the prince had simply run him through on the spot—but when he looked down, the wicked point of the blade was barely kissing his skin.
Morcant held the huge sword leveled at his heart, perfectly motionless, without any sign of effort. His face was expressionless once more. Cuan hadn’t even seen him move.
“Then I will take her from you,” Morcant said.