Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

Aileen has spent her entire life in Aoife’s shadow. Her every move has been carefully orchestrated to bring glory to her father’s Court, while not overshadowing Aoife’s talents. The new sanctions will reduce the Seelie Court’s appeal to other pantheons, undoing the only real work she’s been allowed to do. It makes sense that she would seek me out on campus in an effort to limit the damage. She’ll probably ask me to give her a warning of potential publicity disasters, or some other favor equally simple to deny.

My arrogance leaves me completely unprepared when she asks, “Would our Winter cousins be interested in a parley?”

“A parley,” I repeat, shocked at the implication of Aileen engaging in a serious political negotiation.

She gives me a sideways glance. “Yes, Prince Lyne. A simple conversation between royal spares to see if any common ground exists.”

We’ve both raised our glamour to shield our conversation, although no one is nearby, and I reach out to

press against her magick, checking for any hint of trickery or falsity. I find none.

“It would depend on the purpose.”

“One of my courtiers witnessed your devotion to justice the other day. I thought a man so concerned with protecting an innocent may desire to ensure the safety of other innocents.” Her tone is cordial, her expression charming and friendly, but there’s a steel core to her words. “For a small price, of course.”

“Of course.” The safety of my Unseelie subjects for an unspecified cost. She must have valuable information if she believes she can tempt me into this political game.

She draws to a halt and offers me a sweet smile. “Is that purpose enough, cousin?”

This isn’t a verbal contract. She hasn’t laid out terms or agreements yet. She’s simply arranging a time for us to meet to discuss the fine details. While we’re on the neutral ground of Mathers. Right after the Pantheons leveled heavy sanctions against the Seelie Court.

Even if my gut instinct is to tell her and her convenient offer to fuck off, I doubt Mother would walk away. She’d be curious what prompted Aileen to approach me in the first place. She’d want to know if the Summer Court was also feeling the strain of the recent months, if cracks were beginning to form in their leadership. Where there’s weakness, there’s opportunity.

So I swallow my misgivings, channel my mother’s most diplomatic smile, and say, “I believe so. And if a parley were to occur, I assume it would take place at...”

“Tomorrow night’s ball. If all the Pantheons are in attendance, it would be difficult for loyalists to claim treasonous behavior took place, don’t you think?”

“How interesting. Perhaps I’ll stop at the festivities tomorrow then.”

“Do.” She brushes her fingers lightly over my shoulder, but it’s a calculated touch for witnesses rather than one of deeper meaning. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”

She leaves without looking back and my mind instantly begins following all the potential paths this meeting could take. A trick, a setup for impossible requests, a genuine effort at diplomacy? And why Aileen? What’s so important that she’d risk Aoife’s wrath to seal a treaty with my Court?

I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow night.

Phineas

Sebastian winces when I lift the ice pack from his knuckles. I can’t blame him. They’re completely busted up, swollen, and split.

“Remind me again why you came here instead of getting Gumba to help?” I ask as I head to the bathroom for the first aid kit. Thanks to my constant run-ins with dangerous magickal creatures, we’re pretty well stocked.

“If I asked Gumba for help, he’d ask what happened. And if I told him what happened, he’d stomp off to crush those dickheads and then he’d be facing Prince Lyne’s punishment.”

I shiver. The memory of Roark holding an eyeball in his bloody hand still hasn’t left me. I snag the kit and a hand towel and rejoin Seb in the living room, settling across the coffee table from him and pulling out the hydrogen peroxide. “I’m pretty sure you getting into a fight with Seelie isn’t something Roark would stand for.”

Seb doesn’t look up at me. He stares down at his knuckles, flexing his fists cautiously and stopping whenever the skin starts to tear in new places. Eventually he gives me one hand and lets me start cleaning.

“It was less a fight and more a misunderstanding,” Seb tries to explain while I work. “They bumped into me. I swung first. Old habits, I guess. We’re both at fault.”

“Seb, they had to cross the common in order to bump into you. Not exactly an accident at that point.”

He sighs and lets me start on his other hand. “They’re just pissed about the sanctions.”

“Were they setting you up so you’d have to face punishment?” The thought of Roark doing something to one of my friends makes the ley line quaver within me.

Seb shifts uncomfortably. He’s always been more sensitive to my magick than my other friends. Something about straddling Court lines. Says it feels like being bitten by hundreds of fire ants. I try to calm down. After a moment, he relaxes again. “Nah. Plenty of witnesses to confirm I was just defending myself enough to get away.”

I finish the first cleaning and dig out the calendula salve and gauze. “Don’t know if that’ll matter to Roark,” I grumble.