Keiran closes the distance in a final desperate effort and stretches for the back of my collar. His fingertips graze my neck, but I dart out of his grasp and get around the curve in the passage first. A pair of redcap guards wait by the doors and seem surprised at my panting arrival.
“Prince Lugh,” one of them says to me, “you’ve returned?”
“So it seems.” I lean over and rest my hands on my knees, sucking in air while trying to seem vaguely royal. I mean, this isn’t the worst thing they’ve ever seen me doing while I’m at home. This time I’m not chasing a feral piglet at least. “Is Mother inside? I’ve got a rather urgent matter to speak to her about.”
Behind me, Keiran mutters about my damned informality. I don’t know why he gets so grumpy when I don’t refer to my mother by her formal title. It’s weird to think of calling her Your Royal Majesty or some other honorific. Mother’s not effusive with any of us, but she’s not carved from ice alone.
“I’ll announce your arrival, Your Highness,” the guard says. He glances at Keiran. When no opposition comes, he turns, opens the door, and slips inside.
Keiran steps up beside me, breathing heavily. I gather my pride and what little air I have left in my lungs so I can stand tall and grin up at him. “So glad you could make it, old man.”
His answering smile is more of a grimace, his teeth bared and eyes pinched with irritation. “Call me that again and I will break both your knees.”
“You’d threaten a prince?” I look over at the remaining guard, who’s pointedly ignoring us in favor of staring straight ahead at a blank wall. “Did you hear that?” I ask him with faked outrage. “I think he threatened me.”
Keiran steps closer. I freeze from the heat of his body at my back and the tickle of his breath against the hair at my nape.
“You think that was a threat?” he whispers. “You have no idea.”
“Why are you so worried about this?” I ask him. I keep my voice pitched low, so the guard can’t hear us, but don’t turn to face Keiran. I’m not sure I could look him in the eye without doing something stupid. Even after all these centuries, I can’t escape the lingering guilt of knowing I’ve pushed him and our friendship too far before. He stayed with me despite that, and I have no intention of crossing that line and leaving him no choice but to walk away for good this time.
“Despite your best efforts to convince others of your stupidity, I know you, Lugh,” Keiran says. “You’ve been scheming how to use this to your advantage. It won’t work. You can’t manipulate the queen,” he continues. His worry deepens his voice, leaves it grinding out of his throat, and when I don’t argue, he continues with feverish intensity. “If you try to, she’ll outmaneuver you.”
“I’m not trying to manipulate her,” I lie. “I’m trying to help my Court. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
“Lugh—”
“Your Highness.” The guard’s returned. He waits for me to take a half step forward before announcing, “The queen will see you both.”
Now I risk a look at Keiran. His expression is stormy and his jaw tight with apprehension.
“Hey,” I say softly, “stop worrying. We’ll be in and out, easy. Trust me.”
The doors before us open, and we step inside. The throne room is mostly empty except for a handful of hobs and redcaps, which I’m grateful for. The fewer witnesses there are, the less formal Mother will be. I’m not in the mood to put on a show.
Mother isn’t either, it seems. She sits comfortably on her throne, her elbow braced on the arm so she can rest her chin on her hand. She doesn’t tilt her head to look at us; only her eyes shift away from the redcap at her side to settle on Keiran and me in a brief acknowledgment. Then the moment’s over and she returns to her original focus.
“Continue, Nickgut,” she says.
Nickgut had stopped speaking when we entered, but he carries on gamely. I don’t catch much of what he says. There’s something about the smiths and something else about trainings, but by the time we’re within true hearing distance, Mother’s waving him off and promising to speak with him later.
I stop at the foot of the throne, Keiran at my back, and offer Mother a ridiculous bow. “Mother, your favorite youngest son has returned home.”
Her unchanged posture manages to make her look bored, albeit in a regal way. “You’re my only youngest son, darling.”
“And I’ll be your favorite after you hear what we’ve brought you.”
She sighs and waves the rest of the fae in the room away. “It’s not another animal, is it?”
“No,” I promise as the doors open and close in the distance. “It’s better.”
Normally I’m able to coax some kind of smile from her. Today, her expression shifts between blank neutrality and gentle frustration. The frown tugging down the corners of her mouth warns her temper could slip into genuine bad humor at any moment.
She finally shifts her position and flicks a finger at my shoulder. “I don’t have time for games. Keiran, be quick.”
I sense, more than see, his bowed head and his voice is pitched for polite recital when he says, “We discovered a banished Seelie on the edge of the Wylds and have brought him back to you.”
“A Seelie?” Mother asks dryly. “This far north?”