Color had always had meaning, especially among the fae. Blue and its dance of hues was for weddings. It wasn’t often seen in formal ceremonies. The fae didn’t habitually marry, because vows came with weighted strings. Green celebrated birth, no matter how or who. Even little calves and ducks would parade around with their modest, soft weed wreathes until they were finally broken up and eaten.
Purest white was for mourning.
Etienne watched the waning sunlight move across the wide stone windowsill, holding still for the royal dresser to wrap yet another layer of white, embroidered spider silk about his chest, feeling like an oversized doll and hating every moment. Sunset. The ceremony would be at sunset, its alien light gloaming spreading across Summer’s Splendor until true night fell. Afterward the entire court, from mighty sidhe lord to lowly mixed blood fae who lived only to serve, would all gather together in the Great Hall to celebrate the illustrious lives of King Anluan and Queen Niamh until the dawning sun blessed the realm of Summer’s Splendor again.
His parents would have hated every second of it. There was nothing they had loathed like darkness.
“My prince?”
Etienne realized the dresser was trying to get his attention so he could line up two feather-light layers of white-on-white silk. “Sorry.” Etienne didn’t sound sorry. He also didn’t care. He didn’t have much emotional energy for this and while he didn’t approve of being rude to servants, he also didn’t want to be here. At least the hairdresser had already come and gone… in a huff. Now his long, auburn hair was in an elaborate centered braid interwoven with white threads, and that was as fancy as he’d let it get.
A sharp, short knock came from the heavy door, and it swung open on silent hinges before anyone could respond. The woman the door revealed looked about with sharp eyes, gray and soft as slate, taking in the simplicity of the room, the deeply bowing dresser, and Etienne in his finery. He had to admit his own bow was a bit half-assed. “Nerys, my— queen.”
She paused and quirked a single brow at him. “Of anyone here at court, you will tell me the truth. Am I really? Am I your queen?”
The dresser made a hasty escape. There was no other word for it. The man ran. Chicken shit.
Not that Etienne could blame him. The conversation had escalated quickly, and Etienne wouldn’t have minded following. Etienne watched Nerys like he’d watch a kelpie, all beauty and enticement until it got close enough to drown and eat you. So, he told the truth because it was really all he had. “No. You are queen here, but not mine. Maybe someday, but not today. Not any day soon. My sword’s already been sold, and I don’t care to find another buyer.”
Her mouth twisted beneath her veil. “Then what am I?”
Etienne’s pause probably went on a bit too long, but he didn’t care. “You’re my mother. Blood to blood. Nothing can change that.”
“Niamh tried. She stole you from me still wet and wailing.”
Etienne could see the centuries of pain in her eyes, and he knew why she wouldn’t fight her addiction to Dreamscape. “But I’m here, now. That’s all we really get in this life.”
Nerys nodded. “I thought of you.”
Etienne didn’t know how to reply to that. How could he have thought of a woman he’d never known existed? “I’m sorry.” His eyes travelled the room, looking for anything to change the subject. “That veil. I’ve never seen it before.”
Her mouth twisted into a small smirk behind the clusters of watery clear diamond, gathered like lilies above her ears and gracing her cheeks and her loose, flowing, auburn hair. Long strings of diamonds caught the fading sunlight and gave the illusion of covering her face. “No, you wouldn’t. My mother hid it well, for me to wear when she and my father passed.” She stroked a finger over a string and Etienne could almost hear it sing. “This occasion will have to do.”
Etienne thought of his royal moth— of Niamh. He thought of her wearing this regalia and he knew she would have relished every stolen moment. Knew that everything Niamh claimed was stolen.
Even him.
Even so, part of him wanted her back.
Etienne felt his own, simpler, veil brush his cheek and stood still for a long moment. Holding for an instant to stolen memories. To a stolen life.
Then he extended his arm to Nerys, the Queen of Summer’s Splendor. His mother. Still so cool and careful. “Let’s go put the past to rest.”
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