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TWO FOR ONE

Darina

I ’m surprised Ryther joins me on the dais after my proclamation, given that most of our strategy can be summed up as “he should stay away from me.”

I’m glad he’s here though, because ever since watching him murder Junis’s wife in front of a hundred witnesses, I’ve had a pressing question in mind. “So,” I whisper, “why is it that you can just kill the bitch without anyone blinking, and I’m risking an entire civil war by maybe having something to do with her husband’s death?”

I’m not sure whispering has much of an effect, given that the folk seem to have keen senses, but with the general noise—music, chatter, laughter—my voice ought to be drowned out.

Ryther says a word, and though I’ve always understood everything out of his mouth, I just can’t make sense of it. Something like pra-heiden-vers , a strange mixture that could be German or Latin; I can’t place it. It sounds ancient.

“A privacy spell,” he tells me. “No one within a few steps can hear us now.”

Oh. I need him to teach me that one.

“And the difference is motive,” Loch replies for him. “Yours would be seen as selfish: trying to get away from a perfectly law-abiding bargain. Ryther’s killing someone who quite clearly conspired against his mate.”

I hate how, at the heart of it, fae laws seem to make sense to me. They’re brutal and cruel, and there ought to be several revisions when it comes to the treatment of mortals as well as what constitutes a fair bargain, yes, but beyond that? It seems entirely logical that murder for the sake of personal gain should be prosecuted, while killing in defense seems…more allowable.

I am growing far too comfortable with death. A month ago, if someone had asked me how I felt about some guy killing someone because they tried to kill his girlfriend, I would have immediately replied he belongs behind bars. The people ought to be judged by a court, through the appropriate channels.

But my idea of right and wrong died at the bottom of my mother’s lake, or maybe when I was chased, shot at, or when I heard my parents’ screams. I take this world as it is.

“Speaking of,” Ryther says. “Fawn informed me that she was advised by a dozen folk, from almost every court. They wanted this coronation disputed, even delayed if possible.”

“Who?” Loch demands.

“I’m not sure who started the idea—or who poisoned her. But it took little effort to rally many voices to this conspiracy. They’ve bowed. She’s crowned. But she’s still far from safe.”

I watch the assembly, their eyes feeling like daggers aimed at my throat. They all want a bite.

Ryther puts his hand on my shoulder, a comforting gesture that immediately makes me breathe out, lower my shoulders. “The rites are over. The conclave is due to return home on the morrow. Maybe they’ll linger a day or two, now that there’s a new court. But once they’re gone, the danger will be more manageable,” he assures me.

I nod.

I can do this. I’ve already survived everything they’ve thrown at me. One day at a time, I’ll live through their plotting.

“The primary issue is you,” Loch says to me with a deep sigh. “Your bond. And Ryther, I understand why you demanded to keep your position; they needed to see her weigh the issues you brought before her. Take advice from others. But it didn’t help. Especially since she granted your request.”

“Should I have denied it?” I ask, frowning.

It seemed nothing less than reasonable to me. If Rena had asked for the same thing, I would have come to the same conclusion.

Would you? a little voice wonders.

Shit. I’m not sure I would have granted it if it’d come from her, which is exactly the problem.

“You need a seelie lover,” Loch says. “Now. While the lords can bear witness. You need to prove you’re not just his pretty little puppet.”

I grimace in distaste, immediately set against the idea. That’s preposterous. I don’t need to fuck some random person just to prove that I’m not under Ryther’s thumb.

And I wouldn’t want to. I open my mouth, about to say just that, when Ryther states, “He’s right.”

I look from my brother to my mate, stunned at both.

Loch thinks I can just whore myself out, and Ryther agrees? What the hell. So much for understanding the folk.

“I can’t just—” I make a face. “You mean, I need to pretend…”

“If we had months, years, you could,” Ryther says. “Flaunt some seelie before the courts, shower them with affection, and make them believe they have your favor. But the lords could be gone in the morrow—they’ll stay days at most. We made a definite statement with those marks of ours. You need to be just as clear in your seelie attachment.”

I decide I hate the fact that Ryther always sounds so damn rational. “And you’re okay with that?”

A beat passes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Oh. Well, that make sense. We barely know each other. He bound himself to me to save my life. That doesn’t mean he requires or wants undying devotion and fidelity from me—or that I should want it from him. Hell, I’ve never been much for monogamy. When in a relationship, I’ve often felt stifled by it, as soon as I met someone else and despised the fact that I couldn’t do as I pleased because societal norms dictated that I should only touch one person.

It’s to be expected that he’s okay with sharing me. I should find a way to be okay with sharing him, too.

I decide to be honest with myself for one second. I hate it. I loathe this idea, and want to tell him, tell them both, where to shove it.

There. That’s the moment of honesty, gone.

I also assure myself it doesn’t matter. I want to stay alive. I don’t want to be shot with iron, enslaved, poisoned. If fucking half the court is what it takes, then that should be what I do.

“All right,” I make myself agree. “I’ll take Valdred.”

At least I’ve already had his cock in one of my orifices, though I had little choice about it at the time. It wasn’t too horrible, despite the complete lack of volition. He has a good cock. Long, straight, large. And he wanted me before the whole crown and birthright and attempted murder madness, so there's that.

“He’s a good option,” Loch assures me. “A leader amongst the seelie. And you’re doing the right thing.”

Then why do I feel like throwing up?

Loch goes to fetch Valdred for me. Somehow it makes the whole thing even more ridiculous; my little brother, informing some guy that he should fuck me for the good of the realm. Or so I can keep breathing. Same difference.

“I don’t like it,” I admit out loud.

Ryther takes a minute to reply. “It’s efficient, squashing the main argument of those who insist you’re not fit to rule. But if you don’t want to do it, then we’ll find another way.”

I look up to him. He shrugs indifferently. “We could murder all the rulers, and replace them with more malleable heirs.”

I laugh. Then I realize there’s a chance he’s serious. “That was a joke, right?”

A small smile curls up his lip. “Doesn’t need to be.”

Somehow, he’s vanished most of my tension with his offer for a mass murder as an alternative.

“It’s just weird,” I say. “I’ve never had sex for any reason other than feeling like it. For it to be a strategy, it seems…wrong.”

“You’re queen. Where and when you take a piss ought to be a strategy.” Then he says, “If you don’t want Valdred, we can still play this out. Make a show here, take him to your rooms, and play cards for the rest of the night. But know that come morning, when the court asks about his exploits, he will not be able to lie. He’ll deflect, choose clever words, and they’ll know you’ve attempted to play them. It might appease a few of the less inflamed lords, but it’ll likely infuriate the others more.”

I bite down on my lower lip. “How do you feel about it?”

“You’re mine.” His tone changes at the last word, lower, dark, threatening. Something shifts in low in my belly.

His.

“A primal force, whether it be time, fate, necessity, justice or retribution, has looked into each of our souls and decided that they should be bound to one another. He doesn’t matter. No one else does. You could take a dozen cocks. It won’t change that your soul and mine belong to one another.”

I can’t think, or breathe, or make sense of the shivers running along my skin.

His words feel like a vow, a promise. He’s not professing love, or anything that mondane. Just…fate.

“But all that said, I’m not fond of the idea either.”

The admission surprises me somewhat.

“You’re not?”

He shrugs. “I don’t fancy Valdred. Too young, willful, and self-righteous. If I’m supposed to share you, I would have preferred someone more to my taste.”

“Share?” I blink. “You mean you’d…do that with me?”

“Oh, my little mate. Did you truly believe I’d let him in your bed without me?”

Somehow, my former distaste evaporates. He’s going to be there. With me, with us. And…that’s rather hot, when I think about it. Both of them, all at once. Valdred was quite forceful last week, and Ryther makes a point of being in control at all times.

I’m going to get ripped to pieces.

I can’t wait.

I’m practically salivating.

God, what’s wrong with me?

“Like that, do you?”

“I don’t think I would have enjoyed it…not without you,” I confess, feeling oddly vulnerable.

“But you would have done it either way.” That’s not a question, and I decide it doesn’t need an answer. “We’ll make a queen out of you yet. To tell you the truth, at the moment, Valdred’s involvement might be advisable. Given our subconscious disagreements.”

Fair point. I can still remember the horror, terror, and helplessness of waking up fighting for my life, trying to take his, all without understanding why or being able to stop myself. If it wasn’t for Loch, one of us might have successfully murdered the other by now.

In light of all this, having Valdred’s supervision isn’t the worst of ideas. And his involvement…might just be interesting.

Loch comes back from his mission successful, accompanied with the new court of bone’s lord and master. I offer him my hand, and he brings it to his mouth, lifting his eyes to mine. “I will admit, I didn’t think I’d get another opportunity to charm our queen.”

“No charming necessary,” Ryther retorts.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’d like to be charmed,” I tease. “It’s not like anyone else flirts with me.”

I wink, playing the part of a tease for the benefit of all the onlookers not so discreetly staring at us.

“That’s tragic. If you were mine, I would shower you with roses, kiss every inch of your skin, and sing your praises night and day, so you never forget that you’re cherished.”

Considering the events surrounding the last time he touched me, when I was forced by Junis’s words, it’s downright ridiculous, but this is a performance. I play my part. “I’ll have to see if I can swap mates.”

Ryther lets go of my arm, and I glance up at him. His expression is completely blank, empty, but for one moment, there’s something dark and dangerous flashing in his eyes.

I’m pushing the wrong buttons. And something inside me wants to keep pushing. That’s probably wrong. But what else is new? He called me a brat in his bath, days—what feels like at least two lifetimes—ago. He’s right. I am, with him. And a tease. I like the reactions it gets me.

To my surprise, Valdred doesn’t seem to want to play along on that score. He shoots Ryther an apologetic glance.

“That wasn’t…kind,” my brother tells me.

And if Loch thinks it necessary to call me out on it, I truly must have said something egregious. I play it off with a shrug. “A girl has to know her options.”

“Right. Well, on that note, I believe you three can make your excuses. Valdred, please brag about whatever you’re doing, loudly, often, in great detail, and nowhere near my hearing range, understood?”