"Move!" I said.
"Do as the princess bids," Doyle said.
Only then did Rhys move, reluctantly, to one side. I stared past him at Doyle, who was just inside the door. "Either Rhys helps distract me while Kitto gets reassured, or he packs his bags and goes back to Illinois."
Doyle looked completely surprised. You didn't see that response too often in the Queen's Darkness. It made me just a little happy. "I thought you enjoyed Rhys's attentions."
"I love having Rhys in my bed, but that doesn't matter. If he can't control himself around Kitto, then eventually he's going to blow up and hurt him. You know Kurag didn't want to join a treaty with me, Doyle. He tried to weasel out of it from the beginning. I forced an alliance on him, but if Kitto is injured, or worse, killed, then Kurag could use it as an excuse to break the alliance." I stroked the side of Kitto's face, turning him from staring at Rhys. "And do you really think that if Kurag has to send us a second goblin, it will be anyone as pleasant as Kitto? It's my flesh and blood being offered up, not Rhys's, not yours."
"That is true enough, Princess," Doyle said. "But if you send Rhys home, our Queen will also send a new guard to replace him, and there are many less pleasant guards she could send than Rhys."
"It doesn't matter. Either Rhys does this, or he's out. I'm tired of the histrionics."
Doyle took a deep enough breath that I could see the rise and fall of his chest from across the room. "Then I will stay and guard everyone's safety."
Rhys turned toward him. "You don't mean that I have to do this."
"Princess Meredith NicEssus, wielder of the hand of flesh, has given you a direct order. If you do not obey it, then the princess has already told you the penalty."
Rhys walked toward Doyle, the anger fading. "You would cast me aside for this? I am one of your best guards."
"I would hate to lose you in this fight," Doyle said, "but I cannot go against the princess's wishes."
"That's not what you said last night," Rhys said.
"She is right, Rhys, you have endangered our alliance with the goblins. If you cannot control your rage at Kitto, then you are a hazard to us all. She is right to make you face this fear."
"I am not afraid of him," Rhys said, pointing again.
Kitto cowered back against me at Rhys's anger.
"All mindless hatred comes from a root of fear," Doyle said. "The goblins hurt you long ago, and you fear ending up in their hands again. You can hate them if you like, and you can fear them, if you must, but they are our allies, and you must treat them as such."
"I will not help that... thing sink its fangs into an Unseelie princess."
"If you had behaved yourself," I said, "I wouldn't be forced to do this again so soon. You're about to cause me pain, Rhys, and if I'm willing to endure it, then the least you can do is make it not completely unpleasant."
Rhys went to the window, gazing out. He spoke without turning around. "I don't know if I can do this."
"Just try," I said, "but really try. You can't just put a toe in, declare the water cold, and run home. You have to stay with it. If you truly can't bear it, we'll talk, but first you have to try."
He leaned his head against the window glass. He finally raised his head, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the room. "I'll do my best. Just make sure he doesn't touch me."
I looked down at the little goblin's pale face and frightened eyes. "Rhys, I hate to break it to you, but I don't think Kitto wants to touch you any more than you want to touch him."
Rhys gave a small nod. "All right then, let's do this. We've got clients waiting." He managed a faint smile. "Mysteries to solve, bad guys to catch."
I smiled at him. "That's the spirit."
Doyle closed the door behind him and leaned against it. "I will not interfere unless there is danger."
For the first time Doyle was protecting me not from any outside force, but from one of my own guards. I watched Rhys as he walked toward Kitto and me.
Rhys laid his silk trench coat across my desk and came to stand in front of us. Kitto curled into a tight ball in my lap, eyes staring up at Rhys the way small mammals watch cats. As though the cat won't see them, if they stay still enough.
The shoulder holster was stylishly white against Rhys's button-down shirt. The butt of the gun was like a black imperfection among all that cream and white. "Give your gun to Doyle, Rhys, please."
He glanced at Doyle, who had gone back to his chair against the windows. "I believe you are making the little one nervous, Rhys."