Crown of Shadows (Court of Midnight and Deception #1) - K. M. Shea Page 0,38
before.
“I’m not asking for your undying loyalty or faithfulness,” I continued. “I just want to be able to guarantee your continued service.”
Really, I wanted to buy their loyalty, but that sounded pretty slimy to say and would speak a little too loudly of how I felt about being queen. Plus, it might offend them.
Thankfully, they seemed more shocked by my conduct than put off.
“Do we have an agreement?”
“That if we are offered incentives or bribes, we’ll come to you and you will offer a better deal?” Skye slightly shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe her own paraphrase.
“Yes, exactly!” I beamed. “I think we’re going to get along great.”
Skye bowed. “I am honored to be your steward.”
Indigo pushed her glasses up her nose, then curtseyed. “And it’s my honor—and delight—to be your companion!”
Some of the tension I’d been holding in relaxed. I wasn’t alone anymore. I didn’t trust Skye or Indigo, but at least I could count them as allies. And I needed them, badly. I didn’t know the first thing about the Night Court, and that had to change.
This little plan of mine was going to cost me, but I’d ditch the Chicago condo and cut where I had to if it meant I knew the two people I worked most closely with wouldn’t betray me.
“Yep, I feel pretty confident no one is going to recognize this as a human clothing brand.” I inspected myself in the mirror, admiring the dress—which was a dark, blue-ish gray color with a navy blue lace overlay.
It was a lot fancier than anything I’d normally wear, but with all the socializing the fae did, I’d come to realize that a wardrobe change was needed after all. However, with the power of the internet, and by harnessing Indigo’s brilliant mind, we’d hatched a plan that saved me the cost of having an entire tailor-made wardrobe. I didn’t even want to think how much that would have cost.
Instead, I bought my clothes online with a lot of advice from Indigo—who had a better idea what kind of clothes I needed as well as an eye for fashion—from human retailers. We then cut off the tags, and paid the tailor to custom fit them to me.
Which, have you ever wondered why off the rack clothes seem to perfectly fit glamorous celebrities? Yeah, it’s because they pay a tailor to take them in.
So I had a wardrobe that wouldn’t disgrace me—particularly because my nobles would never recognize human brands even if I was waltzing around with a jacket covered in brand patches—and for a fraction of the price!
Indigo studied the dress and leaned closer to inspect the fabric. “It’s a suitable tea dress.”
I found the book on manners Skye had gotten for me to read up on—she obviously didn’t have very high hopes for me because it had a lot of illustrations and was written for kids. “Or maybe a coffee dress?” I suggested.
“A coffee dress? That doesn’t exist,” Indigo said.
“Don’t the nobles ever drink coffee together?” I asked hopefully.
In all my secret trips to the kitchens—I was still on my “don’t-eat-what-fae-have-made” diet and had to sneak my food—I’d never managed to find a coffee maker, to my disappointment.
“No.” Indigo wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Tea only. Fae grow specialty tea leaves you cannot find outside of the fae realm and have flavors beyond reckoning.”
I took my kids’ manners book and skulked over to a chair, readying myself to read about “Good Manners Mandy” and “Uncivil Sandy”. It was a fascinating read, I promise. “Only if you like tea,” I grumbled.
Indigo hung a pair of slacks the tailor had fit for me in my walk-in-closet—which was about as big as my bedroom back at my parents’ house. “What did you say?”
I was saved by a knock on the door.
Indigo scurried to open it, her russet hair—which was shoved up in a bun today—bouncing on the top of her head. She poked her head outside, then flung the door open. “It’s Skye.”
“Come on in, Skye,” I called to my steward.
Skye entered, her head slightly tilted down as she bowed. She looked like a high rolling CEO with her business suit—which had the familiar Night Court crescent moon embroidered over a pocket—and carried a smartphone and tablet, both of which chirped roughly every ten seconds.
“Queen Leila, I have an update for you.”
I set my book down. “Did someone finally offer to be my advisor?”