Sympathy for the Demons (Promised to the Demons #1) - Lidiya Foxglove Page 0,82
for La Serenissima on the morrow.”
‘On the morrow’. Lord.
“I don’t need to be taught how to be anyone’s bride!” I said.
Still ignoring me, “The faery queen wishes for you and the other girls to dine here at her winter palace tonight.”
I didn’t even know where I was in the faery realm, because I had just strolled in through a portal and ended up here. This was happening so quickly. So we were at the winter palace. Okay. That sounded pretty fancy.
Two can play this game, I thought. I already know how to behave myself, but I also know how to raise hell. If you’re going to fudge all the rules and then ignore me, I’m just not going to act like a good faery bride. I’m going to be a total diva until none of your faery ‘high lords’ can stand me.
“What about magic lessons?” I asked.
“Magic lessons,” he repeated.
“Yes. We’re witches. Magic is our thing, and we joined your realm to gain access to the magic of your realm, so we need to learn how you use it. We need instruction in magic and it behooves you to give it to us so we can fight other witches and warlocks effectively. It’s a waste of our talents to focus only on music and manners.”
He conferred briefly with the queen and she nodded.
“My witches need proper dinner attire,” I continued. “I don’t think you want us dining with the queen in our current state.”
He sniffed slightly. “You won’t be dining with the queen—“
The queen interrupted in her soft voice, speaking her own language. He flushed. “Yes, Your Majesty. She says you and the other humans can follow Lady Melis to the dressmakers.” He gestured to one of the attendants.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice sharp.
I couldn’t read the queen at all, because she never spoke English, even though she clearly understood it, and when she spoke it was always in the same soft, weak, measured tone. Clearly, she wore a veil by design and it drove me nuts. How was I supposed to judge her when I couldn’t read her expressions or even her voice?
Orson started walking out at my side. He gave me a little wink of a smile, like he thought this was funny, or maybe he was just wincing from pain.
“Lord Orson,” Lady Melis said. “You’re badly injured from your battle with the humans. Please, the queen would like to welcome you to the healing baths.”
“Yes, just give me a moment with my betrothed,” he said. He put a hand on my shoulder and urged me aside a few steps. “It isn’t like home, lass. You can’t be bossing around the faery queen or you’ll make an enemy of everyone in her court.”
“Actually, that’s just like home. I have a lot of enemies.” ‘Enemies’ was exaggerating, but it had a better ring than ‘people who don’t like me that much’.
“Well, maybe that tells you something.” He looked me over and then swayed a little on his feet. I immediately put my hands against his rock-solid chest; even in his weakened state he almost knocked me over, but he caught himself.
“Lord Orson!” Lady Melis said.
“I’m fine!” He motioned for her to stay back. “I assure you, I’m made of tougher stuff than that. Although, it is a good thing you rescued me when you did. So please—just try and behave yourself, eh?”
His injuries were the reason I was in this position. Our ‘romantic’ back story in a nutshell is that we met at the Haven, the place where deviant wizards were held so they didn’t corrupt magical society. It was basically a prison. I was trying to run away from home when they caught me, and I stumbled upon Orson being held captive in one of the upstairs rooms, with bands of iron around his limbs, slowly poisoning him.
He was in pain, he was sexy, and I knew the fae queen wanted an alliance with witches who were willing to marry faeries. I had the key to saving his life. So I made this bargain. Let it never be said that Daisy Pendleton let a sexy-ass man die on her watch.
“You do need to rest,” I murmured, seeing the burn marks on his wrists when his movements drew his sleeves up higher on his muscular arms. “These look bad…” Dots of blood spotted his shirt in places where the wounds had opened a little, despite our efforts to heal him.
“Bah,” he said. “I really do hate being tortured.”