The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,155

paused to note the room’s location. Helen had a fondness for vintage clothing, and her sewing machine saw more use than anything else she owned. She might appreciate a few bolts of fabric, call me her thoughtful boy and reward me with kisses that tasted like mint tea and sugar cookies. I might not be as good at identifying magic by scent as October, but I could recognize the taste of it on my tongue.

Helen’s kisses tasted like coming home.

That was a problem. I mean, it wasn’t like I was planning to propose or anything—we’d been dating for three years, and we’d only recently reached the stage where she let me touch her breasts sometimes, below the shirt but above the bra. They were very soft. I liked them. I didn’t want to give them up, or stop dreaming about the day when she agreed that maybe the bra could go.

And that was the shallowest, most hedonistic way of considering my relationship. I liked her. I liked that she had no respect for my position, not because she thought the Court of Cats didn’t count—she respected it as much as she respects any other form of nobility—but because she felt it was time for Faerie to set aside kings and queens and move into a more modern, more enlightened era. She would abolish all monarchies if she could, bringing about free elections across the Summerlands.

She was not going to like it when I told her we had to break up because I was going to be King. It wouldn’t matter that the rules were the same for Princesses as they were for Princes; she’d call it patriarchal bullshit, and probably several worse things, and then she’d cry, or throw things, or tell me never to speak to her again. That last was my deepest fear. She was my friend. I didn’t want her to stop being my friend just because we were never going to be lovers.

When I married, if I married, I’d have to marry another Cait Sidhe, to avoid the conflict of interest that was costing my uncle his throne. Kings of Cats rarely breed true; eventually, I’d have to do as my uncle once did, and spread the word that I was ready to adopt an heir. The cycles repeat. The cycles always, endlessly repeat.

The last hall ended in a chasm. I stepped lightly over the edge, landing in a pit filled with carpet remnants. Wading to the edge, I pulled myself free and bowed.

“Lady Ginevra.”

“Prince.” My uncle’s regent smiled at me, tolerant and amused. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

I straightened, looking down the length of my nose at her, and said nothing.

Ginevra’s father, Jolgeir, has been King of the Court of Whispering Cats in Silences for more than a hundred years. When he fell in love, it was with a human woman. Somehow, that wasn’t considered a conflict of interest, maybe because she didn’t come home covered in blood as often as October does. Together, they had three daughters. Three changeling daughters.

And then October came along and offered Jolgeir’s daughters a chance so many changelings never got. She could give them the Choice for real, not just as a formality. She could bring them fully into Faerie, if that was what they wanted, or turn them fully mortal. All three of them had chosen Faerie. The eldest and youngest are Cait Sidhe now, learning their new place in the structure of their father’s Court, elevated and empowered. The middle daughter . . .

Ginevra is a Princess of Cats, her father’s heir, and one day, she’ll be Queen.

Her hair was a delicate shade of cream-white, trending to a richer orange at the tips; her eyes were very blue. She was attractive enough, in an irritating sort of way that had enchanted half the occupants of the Court. I think they’re infatuated with novelty. Her powers were still new to her—I was teaching her as much as she was supervising me—and her grasp on her bipedal form was sometimes questionable. As now, when two fully-formed cat’s ears poked up through her hair.

None of our shared subjects were in attendance. I allowed myself a smirk.

“Far be it from me to question a lady’s choices, especially a lady as refined as your lovely self, but it’s the custom to keep our ears to more refined dimensions here in the Mists.” I tapped the point of my own ear in illustration. “Does my lady intend to set a