Never mind. It didn’t matter. Sleep. Lovely, blessed sleep. Just a few hours, and then a strong mug or three of hot tea, and—
“Lucinda! Get in here right this minute, you lazy girl! We forgot the peas!”
Lucy startled awake with a jerk and slammed her head so hard into the stone wall that she was sure to have a goose egg on her skull in a matter of hours. Not to mention the headache. She gritted her teeth, threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, swaying a little with dizziness from the pain in her head.
“I. Am. Coming. You. Horrible. Monster,” she gritted out under her breath.
Then, louder: “Coming, my lady.”
She didn’t bother to put a sprightly tone in her voice. Glory wouldn’t have believed it anyway. The last time Lucy had sounded sprightly was the day she’d left a very wet and slimy toad in Glory’s bed. She grinned at the memory but then sighed.
It was sad to live on the memory of a childish rebellion that had happened nearly eleven years ago.
Lucy stumbled into Glory’s room, taken aback as always at the virulent pinkness of it. Wall hangings, rugs, bed coverlets, and even Glory herself, were all a vision in nauseating pink. And rose. And red-tinged violet. It was like walking into the inside of a sow’s stomach.
She rubbed her eyes again, hoping it would go away. It didn’t. It never did.
“What are you talking about, Glory? What peas?”
“That’s ‘your Highness’,” Glory snapped. “Or ‘milady’. At least while our guests are here. I can’t have it thought that I allow the serving wenches to address me with such familiarity.”
“Serving wenches? Serving wenches? Whose shoulder have you cried on more times than either of us can count? Whose bed did you climb into for safety and comfort whenever there was a thunderstorm - and that up until you were fifteen years old?” Lucy asked with what she thought was admirable calm. “Mayhap you should rethink that term, or I’ll find out if Magda can come help you this week.”
Glory gasped at the idea of the pig keeper as her personal servant. “Magda? She hasn’t bathed in months. You must be joking. Don’t forget that you owe me—”
“I owe you nothing,” Lucy said flatly. “I’ve spent the past eleven years working far and above the value of my keep, in spite of the promise your mother made to mine. I turn twenty-one in three days and am only staying this week as a favour to the Glory I once loved as a sister.”
Glory had the grace to look abashed, but only for a span of seconds. “You know you cannot leave me, twenty-one or no. There is no place for you to go.”
“There is the world, Glory. There is the world. Or do you forget?” Lucy waved her arm and the scattered pillows, clothes and assorted frippery covering every inch of Glory’s floor flew gracefully to their assigned places in trunks and the wardrobe.
“Now. What peas?”
“Oh, sure. You had to ask. ‘What peas?’ Addle-pated twit,” Lucy muttered sourly as she slammed the final mattress down onto its gilded wooden frame with a thump. For the past hour and a half, she’d stomped up and down the corridor, crawling under mattresses in the guest chambers to deposit a single pea-sized iron pellet underneath each one. Finally she’d come to the royal chamber, kept free for visiting princes or Fae lords, and deposited the last pea. Now she was done.
Of course it had to be iron. Her magic didn’t work on iron or the chore would have been done in a matter of moments. That was why she was here in the first place, according to Glory. To hide the tiny bits of iron that would block the Fae from working magic in their rooms during the treaty negotiations.
Fae magic did not work well in the presence of iron either. Still, something about Glory’s reasoning seemed unsound to Lucy’s exhausted mind. After all, iron’s properties or no, Lucy knew there was no chance that she was even the slightest bit Fae. She repressed the desire to touch the very round, very non-pointed tip of her ear for reassurance. She claimed a bit of the old forest magic, mayhap, but never Fae.
She turned towards the door, longing for her bed more than ever, and attempted to brush some of the under-bed dust from her night shift. She needed to speak to the housekeeper about the lack of cleaning. No. It was no longer her concern.
“Like any of the elvish slugs are going to notice, anyway,” she said to the empty room. “This is the stupidest idea—”
“Elvish slugs, hmm? I was unaware my race boasted that particular member.” The voice was sensuality turned to music, teasing, hypnotic, and pitched exactly right to make Lucy feel warm in places a man’s voice had no business warming.
Fortunately, such tricks had no effect on her.
She gave a slight effort to wiping the scowl from her face before she looked up, but the sight of him brought her scowl back in full measure. The Fae lord was beautiful, of course. They all were. A few inches taller than most human men. Silvery hair shimmering in a fall of moon-kissed silk to his waist. Long, lean muscles. Eyes the blue of the sky reflected in ice.
Ice to Ian’s fire. Wait. What? Ian? She narrowed her eyes at the thought of the man who seemed to be popping into her mind with a growing frequency, and returned her attention to the man who was actually in the room with her.
Yep. He was an elf. She couldn’t bear the sight of them. Pompous Fae with their overblown sense of importance. This one would be worse than most, since he wore the green and gold of the High House of the Seelie Court.
“Rugs. I said, ‘Too bad we don’t have any elvish rugs,’ “ she said quickly, although she didn’t exactly add the “milord”. It would be bad form to start a fight with one of the visiting princes on the very first day of the treaty renewal meetings, but truly a girl could only put up with so much.
He leaned against the doorway, effectively blocking her escape, and folded his arms across his chest. “Yes,” he drawled, sweeping a leisurely glance from her head to her toes. “We of the Seelie Court are known for our . . . rugs.”
“Are you a gift to me? If so, I know not whether to be honoured by my host’s graciousness at giving me such a beauty or insulted that he would send such a filthy hoyden to my bed.”