Page 14 of The Fae Queen's Captive
The queen’s eyes, although still cool as ever, are like the dark water under a new moon, promising eternity, promising endless, endless forever. And when they meet mine, I suddenly feel like that eternity already knows me, already sees me—sees too much of me.
I think it’s fear that doses my blood then, but there are so many things like fear that speed the heart, and I don’t want her to see that I’m breathing faster, shallower. Not if I’m supposed to take care, stay clever. To hide, I drop my gaze to her dramatic mouth and then to the rest of her. She’s wearing a different dress now, a long-sleeved gown made of a black silk the same endless color as her eyes, its bodice dropping in a sharp V to just above her navel. I can see the contour of her clavicle, the inner curves of her breasts before they disappear behind the raw silk edge of the bodice. I can see the faint undulation of her breastbone, only visible as a suggestion in the fickle light of the chandeliers.
Aside from a gold signet ring on her smallest finger, she is otherwise free of jewels and gems, which seems strange for a queen, but I also can’t imagine a necklace more finely wrought than the delicate berm of her collarbone, a pendant more exquisitely shaped than the stretch of her exposed sternum.
“Janneth,” the queen says. “Sit next to me, please. Felipe, you may leave us.”
I look over at Felipe, who gives me a look that suddenly reminds me very much of how Dr. Siska looks at students who plan on closing down a pub for a night. Like he’s trying to beam the wordsplease be carefulright into my mind.
I can’t imagine he ended up trapped here at the Stag Court for four hundred years because he was careful.
Still, I’m a little—okay, a lot—unnerved when he bows and takes his leave and I’m up on the dais alone with the queen. She indicates the undecorated chair next to her, which is made of the same wood as hers but carved only with the antler motifs, not in the likeness of the stags themselves. I sit, my heart pounding, trying to remember everything Felipe told me.
Fairies can’t lie. Mortals need to eat salt. Bargain for my safety for the duration of my stay…I suppose with the queen, but as I steal a glance over at her, I have no idea what I could possibly offer her that she doesn’t already have. She’s a queen of a magic and seemingly immortal realm, with an entire court of orgy enthusiasts. Unless she needs a horny archaeologist at her disposal, I’m useless.
“So, Janneth Carter,” the queen says in English, not looking at me. Her gaze is on the court, and from this angle, I can see the minute flicker of her stare. Far from being uninterested, she’s absorbing everything, marking every laugh and moan. “I see you have met Felipe. I presume you no longer believe this to be a dream?”
“It seems safer to act as if everything is real and that everything matters. But I still find it all hard to believe,” I answer honestly.
The queen keeps her eyes on the courtiers in front of us, but I see the small lift of her eyebrow. “You, who sift through mud and rocks hoping to find treasure, find this hard to believe? I should think you would be constructed entirely of belief, given your vocation.”
I used to be, and I almost tell her that. I almost tell her that there used to be a Janneth who believed in everything. But I can’t find the words.
It’s bad enough to be insatiable, but to have been naive too? Gullible? I wouldn’t want to admit that eagerness to anyone, much less a person as coldly regal as the queen.
“What do you want with me?” I ask instead. It might not be polite to do so, and it’s certainly not strategic, but if I’m going to make it back home after my kidnapping sentence is over, I should probably get a sense of why I was taken in the first place.
My abruptness doesn’t seem to bother the queen. Her tone of voice is the same as it was before when she says, “What do you think we want with you?”
“Morven said—” Even though I’m looking at countless people fucking in front of me right now, the words are still strange to say. “I’m to be a toy. That mortal toys are more fun.”
The strange feeling is shame, I realize, but not humiliation at the prospect of being a toy. No, it’s shame at how much the idea quickens heat inside me. Even the wordtoyhas my thighs pressing together under the star-stitched skirt of my gown.
“Morven said that, did he?” the queen says, not seeming to expect an answer. “Interesting.”
“It isn’t true, then?” I ask. I can’t tell if I sound hopeful or disappointed.
“Nothing is true until it is,” the queen responds. The fairies really don’t like giving straight answers. “But there is a tradition in Faerie, of mortals being taken at times when the veil is thin. Many are taken to be consorts to a lord or lady of Faerie. For a time.”
“Is that why I was taken?”
The queen turns to look at me, her long, thick hair sliding over her shoulder as she does. She doesn’t speak, but her eyes burn their way up my body, seeking out the corset-plumped curves of my breasts and the exposed flesh of my throat.
They stay the longest on my lips, and the longer she stares at my mouth, the hotter and hotter I feel, like a fever is burning inside me.
“Your Majesty,” someone says from the floor below the dais, tearing us away from the moment. The queen and I both turn to look, and even though I shouldn’t be surprised by anything anymore, I am shocked at the sight of him. He is impossibly slender, with pink-purple hair and green skin. He wears a collar of spiked leaves over a gold velvet jacket and hose.
When he sees he has our attention, he gives a bow.
“You flatter this servant to grace him with your attention. I come bearing a gift from the Queen of the Thistle Court, and I would have your permission to give it to you as a symbol of her friendship.”
“Is that so?” the queen asks. Her hair shimmers as she leans forward on the throne. “Let’s see it, then.”
With a smile sharper than the leaves of his collar, the man from the Thistle Court pulls a small, silk-covered bundle from his pocket. He unwraps the bundle to reveal a delicate bracelet made of silver-set gems. They wink pink and purple and green in the light of the hall.
“My lady gives this to you as a token of her feelings,” the servant says, stepping forward and giving another bow. He holds out both hands, the bracelet cradled in the silk it came in. “It is yours.”
“The Court of Stags and the Court of Thistles used to be united, did they not?” the queen says. She doesn’t move to take the bracelet, but she’s still leaning forward, as if very interested in the servant and his gift.
