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“How did you get here?” she asked between gritted teeth.

The man shrugged. “We’re linked, you and I. I’ll always know where you are. You could also find me, if you so wished.”

“I’ll never wish to find you. You’re a psycho.”

He laughed. “Well, either way, we’re stuck together, cousin.”

Who was he, and why was he so familiar withhismate?

He closed the distance. “I missed something.” Rydekar looked between the two of them.

“This is Tharsen,” she practically spat. “He came to help because I freed him—if I die, he’s in danger.” To Tharsen, she said, “You’d better not have harmed Khal and Teoran. If you have…”

“Then what, cousin?” he laughed, turning on his heels. “You and I both know you don’t have it in you to kill me.”

Before Rissa could say a word, Tharsen vanished like he was nothing but an illusion.

The Dance

Two hundred and nine. That was the number of bodies they burned three days after the attack.

Two hundred and nine fae of the lands, killed by the sea. They’d pay for their effrontery. Rissa would make sure of it.

She presided over the pyre, wearing a black dress, as was the custom for seelie funerals. Rydekar stood next to her, dressed in white. Hand in hand, they sang for the souls of the fallen. They sang until her voice was hoarse and broken. They sang along with the folk of every kingdom.

Finally, it was time to return inside the keep.

“Your Highnesses!” A dainty winged fae rushed to catch up with them.

Recognizing Morgan, Rydekar’s master of spies, Rissa waited. “Well?”

She’d sent her on a critical mission. Ordering an unseelie fae had seemed strange, but Rydekar had told her his men were at her disposal. Her own high court wasn’t organized yet, and she barely knew any of the lords and ladies of her own realm, so she’d taken the offer.

Morgan beamed at them. “We spotted them. They’re halting at the Autumn Court, but they’re both safe.”

Rissa smiled back. Teoran and Khal’s fate was one of many reasons why she didn’t manage to sleep.

The other one was Rydekar.

The last three days had been an unending stream of politics from dusk to dawn. The lords and ladies of every court had come to bestow gifts and renew their vows of fealty to the high crown of their respective kingdoms. Rissa spent most of it with Rydekar, but they were never alone.

She hadn’t so much as discussed what she’d discovered during her trip.

“Good. You served me well, Morgan. I’ll see that Rye doesn’t neglect to reward you.” The woman must have flown for days nonstop to locate her friends for her.

“Actually, there’s one thing I wish to ask of you.” The spy hesitated.

“Well?” Rissa smiled reassuringly, though her answer was noncommittal.

“I’d like to be considered for your household, my lady.” Awkwardly, Morgan glanced at Rydekar. “I’m content as the spymaster of Tenebris, but my heart has long told me I may not quite belong to the unseelie world. I don’t enjoy…havoc.”

Rissa laughed, because she liked a bit of havoc herself. “Rydekar and I will discuss the matter and get back to you.”

Morgan bowed and retreated in the distance.

“How diplomatic,” Rye said, playful. “One might think you were born for politics, my queen.”

She stuck her tongue out. How he liked to remind her she’d been a stubborn idiot for no reason. She was suited to her role. Now she didn’t expect someone to scream at her to give the crown back, she found that she enjoyed it, too.