Лорел Гамильтон - A Lick Of Frost

Frost gave a small smile. "Sex is not all that a man craves, even after a thousand years of abstinence."

"I know that," I said, "but I only have so many hearts to give."

"And that," Doyle said, "is the problem. Frost told me how you behaved when I was injured. You cannot play favorites, Meredith, not yet." A look of pain crossed his faced, but I didn't think it had anything to do with his injuries. "You know I feel the same, but you must be with child, Meredith. You must, or there will be no throne, no queenship."

Abe spoke, his hand resting on my leg beside his head. "Hugh didn't say Merry had to breed to be queen of the Seelie. He just offered her the throne."

I tried to remember exactly what Sir Hugh had said. "Abe's right," I said.

"Perhaps magic is worth more to them than babies," Frost said.

"Perhaps," Doyle said, "or perhaps Hugh plays some other game."

The limo door opened, and we all jumped, even Doyle and Abe. Abe allowed himself a small pain sound. Doyle was silent, only his face showing the pain for a moment. By the time Usna and Aisling had climbed into the car, it was back to its usual stoic expression.

The two new men found seats. Usna sat beside Frost, Aisling beside Doyle. Doyle said, "Tell them to drive."

Frost hit the intercom button. "Take us home, Fred."

Fred had been driving for Maeve Reed for thirty years. He'd grown gray and older, while she remained beautiful and untouched by the years. He said, "Do you want the cars to stay together, or do you want me to try to outrun the press?"

Frost looked at Doyle. Doyle looked at me. I had had more experience than any of them in being pursued by the press. I hit the intercom button above me, though I had to stretch for it. "Fred, don't try to outrun them. Today they'll hound us. Just get us home in one piece."

"Will do, Princess."

"Thanks, Fred."

Fred had been dealing with the «royalty» of Hollywood for decades. He seemed unimpressed with real royalty. But I guess when you've been driving the Golden Goddess of Hollywood around, what's a princess to that?

USNA RELAXED HIS TALL, MUSCLED FRAME AGAINST THE SEAT, AS if we were on a pleasure drive. A sword hilt poked out of his long, loose hair, which fell around him in a riot of red, black, and white. The hair was patched, not striped like Abe's. Usna's eyes, though large and lustrous, were the plainest shade of gray that any of my guards could boast. But those shining gray eyes stared out through a veil of hair.

He'd had three reactions to his first time in the big city: one, he carried more weapons than he ever had in faerie; two, he seemed to hide behind his hair. He was always peering out of it, like a cat hiding in the grass until it springs on an unwary mouse. Three, he had joined Rhys in the weight room and added some bulk to that slender frame. The cat analogy came from the fact that he was spotted like a calico cat, and that his mother had been changed into the form of a cat when pregnant with Usna. She'd been pregnant by another Seelie sidhe's husband, and the scorned wife had decided that her outside should match her inside.

Usna had grown up, avenged his mother, and undone the spell, and his mother was living happily ever after in the Seelie Court. Usna had been exiled for some of the things he had done to avenge her. He'd thought it was a fair trade.

But it was Aisling, from his seat beside Doyle, who asked, "Not that I am complaining, Princess, but why are we in the main car? We all know that you have your favorites, and we are not among them." His comment about favorites echoed what Doyle and Frost had said earlier. But dammit, wasn't I entitled to have favorites?

I looked into Aisling's face, but could only truly see his eyes because he wore a veil wrapped around his head as some women did in Arabic countries. His eyes were spirals of colors that reached out from his pupil, not rings, but true spirals. The color of those spirals seemed to change, as if his eyes couldn't decide what color they wanted to be. He wore his long yellow hair in complicated braids at the back of his head so the veil could be securely tied.

Once, looking into Aisling's face had caused anyone, male or female, to fall instantly in lust with him. The legend said love, but Aisling had corrected me: It was lust unless he put effort into the magic; then it could be love. Once, even true love could have been broken by Aisling's touch. It had worked outside and inside faerie, once upon a time. We'd proven that he could still make someone who hated him fall madly in love, give up all her secrets, and betray every oath because of his kiss. It was why I had yet to bed Aisling — he and the other guards weren't sure if I was powerful enough to resist his spell.

His veil today was white, to match the old-fashioned clothes he wore. There hadn't been time to make new clothes for the newest guards, so they wore the tunics, pants, and boots that would have looked perfect in about fifteenth-century Europe, maybe a little later. Fashion moved slowly in faerie unless you were Queen Andais. She was fond of the latest and greatest designers, as long as they liked black.

Usna had borrowed jeans, T-shirt, and a suit jacket from someone. Only the soft boots that peeked from the leg of the jeans were his own. But then a cat is less formal than a god.

"Talk to them, Meredith," Doyle said, and there was the tiniest bit of strain in his voice. The limo was a smooth ride, but when you have second-degree burns that started the day as third-degree burns, well, I guess there's no such thing as a truly smooth ride.

His comment had sounded too much like an order, but the strain in his voice made me answer. The strain and the fact that I loved him. Love makes you do all sorts of foolish things.

"Do you know who attacked us?" I asked.

"I know Taranis's handiwork when I see it," Aisling said.

"The other guards said Taranis went mad and attacked you all," Usna said. He drew his knees up tight, arms laced around them, so that his eyes were framed with his jeans and his hair. It was a frightened child's pose, and I wanted to ask if being among all this man-made metal was hard on him. Some of the lesser fey would eventually die locked inside metal. It made prison a potential death sentence for faerie folk. Lucky that most of us didn't break human law.

"What prompted the attack?" Aisling asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. "He just went crazy. I actually don't know what happened in the room, because I was buried under a mound of bodyguards." I looked at Abe still lying in my lap, and glanced at Frost and Doyle. "What did happen?"

"The king attacked Doyle," Frost said.

"What neither will say," Abe said, "is that only Doyle throwing up his gun to deflect the spell saved him from being blinded. Taranis tried for his face, and he meant it to either kill or permanently maim. I haven't seen the old fart use his power that well in centuries."

"Aren't you older than he is?" I asked, peering down at him.

He smiled, "Older, yes, but in my heart I'm still a pup. Taranis let himself grow old inside. Most of us can't age the way a human can, but inside we can grow just as old. Just as unwilling to change with the times."

"The gun deflected Taranis's hand of power?" Usna asked.

"Yes," Doyle said, and he made a motion with his good hand. "Not all of it, obviously, but some."

"Guns are made out of all sorts of things that faerie magic doesn't like," I said.

"I'm not certain about the new polymer-frame guns," Doyle said. "The metal ones, yes, but since plastic doesn't seem to bother the lesser fey, I wouldn't swear that the new polymer guns would deflect anything."

"Why doesn't plastic bother the lesser fey?" Usna asked. "It's as man-made as metal, more so."