Keenan put an arm around Donia. “Then why are you here interrupting our first ever holiday?”
“Because there were witnesses to your . . . to . . . Human video exists of you looking very inhuman.” The way Cwenhild glared at him made Keenan want to either apologize or send her away. His having had Scrimshaw Sisters as nursemaids in his childhood had the unsettling effect of his now feeling guilt when any one of them scowled at him.
“You’ve certainly left me a mess to fix,” she said. “This business of your being human is not ideal for our queen. If you were fey, none of this—”
“Excuse me?” Keenan snarled at her. He was grateful then that his temper was easier to restrain than it had been when he was a faery regent, but even so, he had to remind himself that Scrimshaw Sisters rarely wasted time with politeness. He forced himself to say almost calmly, “I am human because our queen was—”
“Explain what happened,” Donia interrupted.
“There was a camera on the ski slope last night,” Cwenhild announced. “You, my Queen, were recorded creating a building in an instant after standing barefoot in a nightdress in a snowstorm a moment prior. The same video shows that building vanishing. It shows you with him”—Cwenhild nodded at Keenan—“embracing in the snow as an igloo forms around you.”
“Oh,” Donia murmured.
Cwenhild continued, “We had to hire mortals with technical skills. There is some sort of video page on the computer-net.”
“The internet,” Keenan corrected. “There are numerous video sites.”
Cwenhild waved her hand. “The technician said there were many ‘hits.’ This is troubling. I propose killing the video maker, but as it’s a human, I require your consent.”
“You can’t kill someone for sharing a video,” Donia said resolutely. Her cheeks were tinged pink. “I apologize for causing you trouble. It’s the first of Winter and—”
“My Queen!” Cwenhild interrupted. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m sure you had good reason to be visible.” She glanced at Keenan and, after a moment, sighed and said grudgingly, “And I suppose you aren’t truly at fault. You are human because you saved my queen’s life, and she loves you, and . . . I’ll find a solution to this exposure before any of the other courts learn of it.”
“Without killing any humans,” Donia reminded her guard.
“As you wish.” Cwenhild paused and shot a hopeful look at them. “I don’t suppose we could destroy this internet thing?”
The laugh that slipped from Keenan’s lips was quickly turned into a cough as Donia elbowed him sharply.
“No,” Donia said.
Cwenhild sighed. “You might want to return home. Many, many people are seeing this video.”
Behind Donia, a small group of humans were clustered. One of them pointed at Donia, and a boy who looked of an age with Keenan’s mortal appearance stepped away from the group and began to walk their way. Keenan started to move so that he was between Donia and the approaching boy, but Cwenhild snagged his arm. “No.”
“No?”
“You are finite, and you are valuable to my queen.” Cwenhild bodily moved him behind her, and Keenan cursed the scant human strength that made it so easy for her to do so.
She’d do so if I were fey too, he reminded himself. As an average faery, he’d be weaker than the Winter Court’s strongest fighters. He knew that, but logic did little to assuage his pride.
“Get in your car,” Cwenhild instructed. “Sasha!”
The wolf bounded toward her. He looked every bit the feral creature he could be, and Cwenhild—despite her human glamour—didn’t look much more civilized. She towered over the humans, a fierce young woman with corded muscles and an unwelcoming expression.
At the sight of her, the human boy faltered. He looked over his shoulder, and his friends came to join him.
Keenan opened Donia’s door as if there was no alarm, and in reality, there wasn’t true danger. Humans—like him—were no match for either of the faery women. The true danger was in gaining too much human attention. He’d lived among them for most of his life and had only the barest brushes of exposure. Now that he himself was human, he’d unwittingly contributed to the largest exposure he’d ever known of. Video of us. The wrongness of it all made him feel helpless.
Silently, he slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. Without any further attention to the words Cwenhild was exchanging with the group of humans, he eased the car around them and onto the road.
“Turn left.”
“Left?”
“Left,” Donia repeated. “I am not going home because of one stupid video.”
“Don—”