She brushed the wrinkles out of her tunic, and made sure that her iron collar was hidden under her scarf. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine.
Don’t let the bastards see you sweat.
The court fell silent as she swept into the room. Tamsin kept her head high, not looking to either the left or the right. The back of her neck prickled under the weight of all those gleaming, avid stares.
Maeve and Prince Morcant were at the high table. Tamsin was pettily pleased to see that Morcant had claimed Maeve’s silver throne, leaving the high sidhe lady to make do with a lesser seat. His owl-griffin hunched behind him, wings folded and golden eyes half-lidded.
Morcant lounged on Maeve’s throne, looking as bored as his steed. He no longer wore his armor, but his silver tunic was so thickly embroidered with gold thread and moonstone beads that it probably could have stopped a sword all on its own.
The prince sat up as she approached. Those cold eyes—one green, one blue—swept over her.
“Excellent. You are dressed for travel.” He clicked his fingers, and his griffin stretched and got up, making a low grumbling noise. “We will leave at once.”
“Not so fast, buster.” Tamsin folded her arms. “You haven’t won this duel yet. I still belong to Cuan.”
“And where is my beast?” Maeve sounded as languid as always, but her crimson eyes were narrowed. “It is not like him to be late.”
Tamsin jerked her chin up at the ceiling. An illusionary moon sailed through glamoured stars, echoing the real night sky above the hill.
“It’s only just turned midnight,” she said. “He’ll be here.”
“It is past the appointed minute. He has forfeited.” Morcant stood up. “You will come with me.”
Before Tamsin could even open her mouth, his cold fingers clamped around her wrist. Crap, he was fast.
“Let me go!” She twisted, but his grip was like steel. “Hey!”
She kicked him in the shins—or at least, she tried to kick him. Metal materialized around his leg an instant before she made contact. Her boot bounced off Morcant’s ether armor with a ringing clang.
Morcant looked down his nose at her, his shin-guard disappearing again in a puff of silver glitter. “I advise that you do not resist, human. It will go poorly for you if you do.”
“I’m not—” Tamsin kicked him again, once more hitting metal, “going,” clang, “anywhere,” clang, “with,” clang, “you!”
An expression of mild exasperation crossed the prince’s inhumanly handsome face. He held her away from him as though she was an angry kitten, waiting patiently as she swore and struggled.
“Are you quite finished?” he asked, when she’d finally run out of names to call him.
She panted, glaring at him. “Yes.”
He relaxed his grip.
Clang.
“Not high sidhe, asshole.” Tamsin bared her teeth at him in a crazed grin. “I’m perfectly capable of lying. And I can do this all night.”
“Do you require assistance, Prince Morcant?” Maeve asked from the high table. From the way her faemarks were gleaming, she was really enjoying the show.
“No,” Morcant shot back, cold and clipped.
His griffin cocked its head in a fluid, owlish motion, rotating so far its beak was practically horizontal. Its spotted tail flicked from side to side. Somehow, Tamsin had the impression that it too was rather entertained by its master’s struggle.
Morcant glared at his steed, as though it had made some comment. “That will not be necessary either. I think I can handle one human woman.”
“Think again,” Tamsin advised him.
Morcant returned his attention to her. She felt a sudden wave of cold.
“You will come with me.” Morcant’s voice dropped, into dark, rumbling tones. “You want to come with me.”