She halts mid-step, surprising the redcaps, who immediately stop and take up defensive positions around us. Her hands are cool as she holds my face, pulling me down a little to press a gentle kiss on my forehead, just like she has since I was a small child. “No. You’re capable and I know this. Finish your year.”
Gratitude will go a long way to smoothing this awkwardness. “Thank you.”
We continue, comfortable in each other’s presence once more. We pass different buildings, some quiet, others starting to bustle with students going to and from classes. Unseelie we pass bow, an instinctual response. The Seelie quickly look away. One group of flower faeries even halts when they notice us approaching, then shuffle to the opposite side of the street, hiding their faces with their hair and books to avoid any possible recognition from our entourage. The other students, a mixture of Pantheons, stare and whisper as they pass.
I can’t blame them. Public appearances like this are the rare times my mother favors showmanship over practicality. Today’s dress is understated in its elegance, its draped black fabrics accentuating her waist. She forwent all jewelry, so the only sparkle to draw the eye is her crown: delicate spears of ice woven into the dark mass of hair pulled up on her head. It’s a symbol of how comfortable she is in her power: almost an afterthought, and reliant on her constant use of glamour to maintain its form. Even if her guards weren’t milling about us, I doubt anyone would dare approach.
We skirt the commons to reach her car. It would be simple enough to walk through the crowd, to watch them part before us, but we leave such drama to our Summer cousins. The lot is quiet and fairly empty. I wave off a redcap and open the rear door, helping Mother inside.
The first moment possible, she pulls her hand free of mine. Too much affectionate contact, apparently. She makes up for it by asking, “Where would you like to eat?” before the door even closes fully behind me.
“I’m not too hungry—” I begin, only to trail off when a familiar form exits Crowley Hall.
He pauses for a moment on the steps of the building, chatting with a passing sprite. The sun falls on his lightly tanned skin, the bruise fading on one cheekbone, the flash of teeth when his head tilts back and he laughs.
Phineas Smith is beautiful and I want him so much it feels like an open wound.
Frost curls over the glass and puffs of steam cloud my vision for a moment when I deliberately turn my head away from him back toward my mother. Fury and sadness mingle on her porcelain features, though, and something strangely like shame or regret wells up in me at the nakedness of my need.
I drop my gaze from hers, but not before her admonishment comes.
“Next time, let him go.”
Her callousness is an iron spear to the chest. Let him go? Let him destroy himself when he channels raw energy to stand up to me and what he assumes is an abuse of power. Let the ley line burn through him and leave him nothing but ash. Let my spell end and erase all we could have been.
I clench my fists and the crackle of freezing glass echoes like a gunshot in the space between us. “Don’t ask that of me.”
Mother reaches for me, a dramatic and unexpected surrender. “Roark, I didn’t mean—”
I move my hand out of her reach. “It’s fine.”
A blatant lie. Her directive lies between us like a shroud.
“It’s fine,” I repeat at last. “Would you prefer to discuss the Knighthood or my brothers first?” I reach forward to tap the slowly thawing divider.
She sighs, but doesn’t engage. She simply looks out her window, leaving me to my thoughts. I should focus on Court matters, take advantage of the time I have with Mother. I should focus on my responsibilities. On my future, the real future I face, not the fantasy I indulge.
Instead, I steal one last view of Smith as we drive away.
* * *
At my request, Mother drops me by the university’s entrance rather than driving through campus. I want to walk, using the time alone to mull over our conversation without getting distracted by my roommates or Unseelie who are coming to me for help. Mostly, I want to process the shift in Mother’s attitude.
She didn’t lecture me over my foolish decision to protect Smith from himself the other day. She didn’t push for me to move off campus. She didn’t push for me to take on the Winter Knight’s position. She praised me and told me to handle issues on campus as I saw fit, unless I thought her council was directly needed. Instead of tightening my bonds, she loosed them. Not knowing the long game she’s playing sets my teeth on edge.
There must be a reason...
“Prince Lyne, may I join you?”
The soft, lilting voice drifting over the lawn gives me pause. Princess Aileen of the Seelie Court has risen from a shaded bench, although she’s made no move to close the distance between us.
I doubt she’s been waiting for me long. She has plenty of Seelie courtiers to keep her apprised of the movements of anyone on campus who holds her interest. Still, her deference is intriguing enough that I nod and wait for her to join me.
The second daughter of King Oberon and Queen Titania, Aileen had the same freedom I did to attend Mathers and shore up the Summer Court’s political alliances. She’s done a decent job at it, mostly focusing on improving ties with the Greek Pantheons, whose muses have rich connections to the human entertainment industry. The Summer Court’s need to be fawned over and recognized meshes well with humanity’s obscene obsession with beauty, youth, and celebrity.
Aileen is a perfect liaison. Her flawless skin is the color of newly opened dogwood blossoms, but manages to keep a warm, golden glow. She favors bohemian hairstyles that plait her white-blond hair away from her face, and like many of the Seelie at Mathers, she’s also adopted the modern fashions of humanity. If she wanted, she could stay outside the Seelie sídhe and win over the world as a model or actress, or find employment with another pantheon as a designer. In spite of all her potential, she is relegated to obscurity.
If I were capable of pity, I might feel it for her. Her eldest sister, the High Princess Aoife, is known throughout the Pantheons for her cruelty and narcissism. Aoife views Aileen’s success as a personal affront to her own legacy. It’s safer for Aileen to remain on the edge of the spotlight. Such sibling rivalry is something I’m only beginning to understand. My brothers and I were taught the importance of balance and holding firm to our own roles with the Court. I’ll always be grateful to Sláine for protecting me during my childhood. Not once in those early years did I question his love for me. Perhaps the sudden loss of that love and support is what made his defection to the Summer Court so bitterly painful.