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“There’s more screaming than I remember,” Oak murmured, standing behind me, half-obscured by shadow and the opulent All-Hallows decorations.
“Screams in Faerie are like birdsong. If you’re going to be king one day—” I began, and bit my tongue when I saw the disgruntled look on his face from the corner of my eye.
Oak had no desire to rule.
Living in the mortal world with Madoc and Oriana, away from all the court politics and bloodshed that stained his earliest memories, had disinclined him more to the role. At seventeen, on the cusp of ascending the throne, he desired little more than to chase girls and enjoy the delights of the mortal world as he prepared to graduate high school.
I hadn’t thought it possible for someone to be less inclined to responsibility than Cardan himself, and yet there was Oak.
That wasn’t exactly fair though, either. Cardan had grown into his role beyond any of my wildest expectations or hopes. And I had, too. Being Queen had never been my goal, but I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed the power I wielded. I had succeeded in my goal to prove to Elfhame that I was more than just a simple human girl, that I was worthy of being here.
I never thought of what would come after.
There were many who despised me, many who wished me dead, and attempts on my life — and Cardan’s — still happened more often than I liked, but life the last few years had been relatively peaceful.
“Why are they screaming?” Oak asked, frowning.
“Some for joy, some for terror, some for pleasure,” I said, eyes wandering the crowd for my husband.
“I’m missing a Halloween party for this,” Oak complained, face twisting into something sullen and childish, looking half his age and more like Cardan than I was used to seeing him.
“You don’t need to stay for the whole thing,” I reassured him, biting back my own complaints. Too often, lately, I had been overwhelmed by all the smells and sounds of the revels. Not that I had ever particularly enjoyed them. But they had been tolerable with a little wine, and Cardan’s hand in mine.
“Just stay long enough to greet the court and show your face, have a dance or two, and then I will take you back to the mortal world myself.”
“You don’t want to stay either, do you?” Oak asked, eyes narrowing in a keen kind of way that I was unaccustomed to seeing from him.
I considered lying to him, whether it would hinder my cause or help it, and opted for the rarity of being blunt. “I’m not feeling well, Oak, and I want to go to bed sooner rather than later. If I need to escort you home, I needn’t return to the party and can go straight to my bed instead.”
His frown deepened. “What’s wrong with you?”
I flinched a little when his voice climbed, despite the sincere concern I could hear. Oak still struggled to reconcile my and Taryn’s mortality, and even the hint of a sniffle set him on edge.
“Peace, Oak,” I hissed, afraid that any of the other partygoers might’ve heard. “Lower your voice. It’s only a trifling thing. Nothing for you to worry about. A good night’s sleep will fix me right up,” I lied. I wasn’t poisoned - of that I was sure — but whatever illness I had wasn’t getting better.
It was getting worse. Bouts of nausea, general exhaustion, and ravenous hunger followed me from hour to hour it seemed. I’d managed to keep it from Cardan, who excelled at worrying almost as much as he excelled at reveling, but I wouldn’t be able to keep doing it for long.
He looked at me doubtfully but kept quiet, the frown now seemingly affixed.
“Ready?”
I jumped, my hand flying to the dagger at my waist, ready to strike, until I recognized the voice.
Cardan looked at me with carefully guarded surprise, one arched brow threatening to disappear into his hairline. “Wife? I don’t doubt that I have done something worthy of your blade but won’t you honor me by telling me what it is first?”
“There’s something wrong with her,” Oak declared too loudly, and I saw the heads of several revelers turn in our direction.
I winced, shaking my head and hoping Cardan would understand.
“Nonsense, Oak,” Cardan said, chiding him, just a little. “Jude is undoubtedly just a little tired. She’s been rather occupied, as of late.”
That chiding was meant for me, I knew, and his displeasure of the long hours I’d been keeping in preparing for this revel. And hiding my illness.
Of course, if he had his way, I might never leave the bed at all.
I cleared my throat. “Well, now that that’s settled, maybe we can get on with this, hm?”
Already, I was too hot. All the body heat from the revelers and the many braziers throughout the room — which had been necessary, I was told, for ambience — was getting to me. My corset, which I had worn just last month, was ill-fitting and too tight and I needed it gone.
Both looked at me with mistrust, and I returned it with a glare until they looked away.
“As you wish, my queen,” Cardan said after a long moment, and I heard what he did not say aloud in the silence: We will discuss this later.
Taking my fingers in his hand, he led me up the dais to stand in front of our respective thrones, and Oak followed a half-step behind, having to duck his head low to avoid his horns getting caught in the tangling vines of golden ivy.
“The High King and High Queen of Elfhame,” a booming voice announces beside the throne.
Folk rush forward to greet us, to kiss our hands and slippered feet, held at bay by the Knights and royal guard standing before the platform. It was unusual, and even my human ears caught more than one disgruntled complaint from the crowd.
They were used to touching their royalty, especially at revels such as this.
But time had taught me caution, and tonight especially it was important that everyone be on their guard.
I tried to swallow the rising bile in my throat, feeling the nausea rise with incredible speed.
The decor was too hedonistic for my taste, though I could appreciate the splendor and artful craft our Master of Revels had put into it. Ripe fruits and decadent chocolates spilled from the tables, filling the air with a sweet aroma that threatened to curdle my stomach. I shuddered to think of the mess that it would make come the morning, and was glad it was not in my purview to clean it. The night was young yet, and before long the floor would be littered with clothes and masks alike, and the fruit and chocolate would like coat every surface but our thrones.
It was well that Oak wanted to leave.
While he was of age in Elfhame, he had shown a curious lack of interest in the more hedonistic pleasures of the High Court.
I wasn’t of a mind to complain.
He’d gotten the childhood I’d wished for him — and for myself.
Glancing behind, I could see that he had yet to step forward and beckoned him to my side. He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, but obeyed, even as his eyes scanned the crowds.
“Be welcome, Fair Folk of Elfhame, and indulge yourself in the grand delights of our halls and of my table. Be merry, be wicked, and dance until the dawn rises — but before then, your Queen and I have a formal announcement to make.”
Cardan caught my eye, and I nodded, ready and relieved to see the business done. It was time to declare our plan to crown Oak next year, after he had graduated high school in the mortal realm, and step away from the throne.
My stomach was roiling, and there was a strong probability that the little I had eaten beforehand was about to make an appearance.
“We would declare before you all, our heir—”
Bile rose in my throat, and I knew I could not subdue it this time. Quickly, I ushered to a decorative vase set to the side of my throne and emptied the contents of my stomach into it, feeling my stomach contract violently.
Cool hands gathered my hair and held it away from my face until the retching stopped. The rawness of my throat and the tightness of my corset prevented me from speaking immediately. I was aware of Cardan standing beside me, his hand on the small of my waist.
Screams in Faerie are like birdsong. Yet, in this moment, the hall was entirely silent.
I turned to face Cardan, feeling ashamed to have shown such weakness, such mortality, before the court on such an important night.
“Jude,” he whispered, a look of wonder and amazement on his face that I didn’t expect. I didn’t understand it.
“What?” I hissed, frowning. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Cardan’s eyes darted from my face to my corset, and laid a shaking on my belly.
“Congratulations, your majesties!” A cry rose from the crowd, screams of laughter and joy, and wickedness, too.
I felt the blood drain from my face as comprehension dawned.
It couldn’t be possible — well, it could, but—
But nothing. We hadn’t been careful. Hadn’t even tried.
Children among the Folk were rare, and though humans were more fertile, it wasn’t a guarantee. Cardan and I had been sharing a bed for nigh on a decade, and there’d been no sign, not even a hint.
This was a political nightmare.
“So,” Oak coughed. “Does this mean I’m off the hook?”