Seven Black Diamonds (Seven Black Diamonds #1)(16)

Eilidh tugged his hand, trying to remind him to kneel. He ignored her and watched the queen. He was declaring himself family to her in this action as well. If most fae attempted such a thing, Endellion was likely to kill them.

Behind Endellion stood Rhys, the queen’s son, the fae who would’ve been heir to the Unseelie throne if the courts had remained divided. Eilidh met his gaze, but he barely acknowledged her as he stood waiting to act if their mother had need of his blade. He knew well that the queen was as capable of wielding every blade known to faeries, but his chosen duty in this life was to protect his mother and bloody his weapons at her word. The king’s sons were frivolous things, but Rhys was devoted to the queen, and by extension, to her husband if necessary.

“You directed that I could wed anyone my heart chose,” Torquil continued, as if he wasn’t aware of the danger he faced from the queen and her son both. “There were no other rules spoken, no exclusions. By your word, I could select even those already wed.”

“Do not think to outmaneuver me, son of Aden,” the Queen of Blood and Rage said quietly. “Undo this.”

“You know as well as I do, my queen, that if she was unwilling, I couldn’t ascend the stair.”

Eilidh’s gaze shot to her mother. “Is that true?”

No one answered her. The queen prompted, “Would you take Torquil, son of Aden, to be your betrothed, daughter of mine?”

The real question was in there, but it wasn’t as simple as what was spoken. Eilidh had been raised under the guidance of the queen. She was meant to rule both courts if no other heir was born. That meant knowing how to hear what was unspoken.

Eilidh met her mother’s gaze unwaveringly. “If it pleases my queen, I will do so when and only when she decrees it wise.”

The Queen of Blood and Rage smiled at her, pride in her eyes, before she turned her attention back to Torquil. When she spoke this time, she raised her voice and said, “Then I will allow you my daughter’s hand, and you will lay with no other.”

“Of course! There will be no other in my arms.” He bowed his head deeply and then said, “We will begin planning our ceremony today.”

“There is no rush, son of Aden and soon to be my own.” The queen waited until he looked up and met her gaze. “I am not ready for nuptials. It could be a great long time until I am. My daughter is young still.”

Torquil’s smile grew pinched, but he said nothing. Most fae were betrothed at birth; many others were already wed at Eilidh’s age. The whispers around them grew loud enough that Eilidh knew that the assembled fae were thinking exactly that.

“Of course, my queen,” was all he finally said.

The only rush would be in producing an heir, and that would require her to take him to her bed. Such things often happened when betrothed couples developed feelings, but Eilidh wasn’t so foolish as to think that his selection of her as his wife was anything personal. All he had done was take himself off the marriage block—and sentence himself to celibacy. After a time, he would accept that the queen would only allow Eilidh to be wed if there were no other choices left to secure an heir for the Hidden Throne. He would, in the end, set her aside and take a wife who could carry a child.

“Mother, would you rather we were not betrothed? If you will it, we can end . . .”

Endellion paused imperceptibly. Eilidh doubted that anyone other than her and Rhys even noticed. They had learned to notice. The queen had never raised a hand to her, never would. Whether they were Seelie or Unseelie, children weren’t struck in anger. That didn’t mean that Eilidh had avoided the chill in her mother’s voice or the refusal to give her the smiles she coveted like most fae coveted sweets.

“I offered Torquil his choice of partners. He chose you.” The queen almost smiled at her. “He will cherish you as he should, or he will learn from his foolishness.”

Eilidh curtsied before her mother and said, “I am yours to command.”

The queen smiled, a real smile this time. It was the closest to laughter she ever came. “Of course you are,” she said.

And, in that instant, Eilidh was certain then that her mother knew more than she’d admitted about her heir’s trips to the human world . . . or one of the myriad other secrets Eilidh kept.

“Speak to your soon-to-be-brother, Rhys,” Endellion added. “Be sure he is well aware of my expectations. I need to see the king.”

Then, with as little notice as when she had arrived, the Queen of Blood and Rage turned to leave. The assembled faeries scattered as she turned. They might love and respect their queen, but that affection was tempered by fear. She was their greatest strength, but she was also the nightmare that they spoke of in whispers. All from the eldest to the youngest fae were raised to know that their queen was wrought of darkness.

Rhys gestured toward the glass tower.

Silently, Torquil took Eilidh’s hand in his, and they led her half-brother into her home. Her unease increased further.

None of her siblings ever visited her. Her aesthetically inclined Seelie siblings were understandable. Nacton tolerated her, but averted his gaze when they spoke. Calder, however, despised her for more than her scarred appearance. Not even the king could order him to be polite to her. Her Unseelie brother was more complex. The Unseelie were not put off by scars, but they were perhaps even less at ease with emotions. Rhys had behaved as Unseelie did, typically seeming wholly indifferent, but he’d also comforted her more than once when she’d wept.