"Pretty words, Princess. It remains to be seen whether you have pretty actions to back up all those words." Her eyes flicked back to the men and settled on Doyle and Rhys. "Pleasant dreams, Princess."
"And to you, Queen Niceven."
Something harsh crossed her face, made it look even thinner and sharper, as if her face were a mask. If she reached up and ripped her face off, I was not going to be able to hold my business face in place. But she didn't. She merely spoke in a voice that was like the whisper of scales on stone. "My dreams are my own business, Princess, and I will keep them as I like them."
I gave her another half bow. "I meant no insult."
"None taken, Princess, merely envy rearing its ugly head." With those words, the mirror went blank and smooth.
I sat gazing into my own reflection. Movement caught my gaze, and I watched Rhys and Doyle still on their knees. Muscles worked in Rhys's arms as he brushed Doyle's hair. Frost didn't so much move as just look at me in the mirror so hard that it turned me to look at him.
Frost glared back. The other two seemed unaware of my attention. "Niceven is gone. You can stop pretending," I said.
"I haven't finished brushing out all of this hair," Rhys said. "This is why I stopped growing mine down to my ankles. It's almost impossible to take care of it by yourself." He separated out another section of hair, hefted it in one hand, and began to brush with the other.
Doyle was silent as Rhys worked on his hair with the serious-faced concentration of a child. There was absolutely nothing else childish about him as he knelt nude, surrounded by a sea of black hair and multicolored pillows. His body was, as always, tightly muscled, pale, gleaming. He was lovely to look at, but he wasn't excited. Nude didn't mean sex to the sidhe, not always.
Frost made a small movement that turned me to him. His eyes were the dark grey of the sky just before a storm. He was angry; it showed in every line of his face, the tension of his shoulders, the way he sat, so careful, immobile, and shimmering with energy at the same time.
"I'm sorry if it upset you, but I knew what I was doing with Niceven."
"You have made it abundantly clear that you rule here and I merely obey." His voice was harsh with anger.
I sighed. It was early, but it had been a long day. I was too tired for Frost's hurt feelings. Especially since he was in the wrong.
"Frost, I cannot afford to appear weak to anyone right now. Even Doyle holds his opinion in public, no matter how unfavorable it is in private."
"I have approved of everything you've done today," Doyle said.
"I am so happy to hear that," I said.
He gave me a very level gaze, ruined only a little by the tugging of his hair from the brush. It's hard to look menacing when you're being fussed with. He stared at me, until most people would have looked away or flinched. I met his gaze with my own empty one. I was tired of games. Just because I could play them, and play them fairly well, didn't mean I enjoyed them.
"I've had enough power plays for one day, Doyle. I don't need any more, especially not from my own guards."
He blinked those dark, dark eyes at me. "Hold off, Rhys. Meredith and I need to talk."
Rhys stopped obediently, sitting back among the pillows, the brush still in his hand.
"In private," Doyle said.
Frost jumped as if he'd been struck. It was his reaction more than Doyle's words that made me suspect we were talking about more than just a few secrets.
"It is my night with Meredith," Frost said. His anger seemed to have vanished on the wings of possibilities he hadn't foreseen.
"If it was Rhys, then he would have to wait his turn again, but I have not had a turn, so I am within my rights to ask for this evening."
Frost stood, almost stumbling in his haste and the lack of space at the foot of the bed. "First you hold me back from helping her today, now you take my night in her bed. I would accuse you of jealousy, if I did not know you better."
"You can accuse me of anything you wish, Frost, but you know I am not jealous."
"Perhaps, perhaps not, but you are something, and that something has to do with our Merry."
Doyle sighed, a deep, almost wounded sound. "Perhaps I thought that by making the princess wait for my attentions I would intrigue her. Today I saw that there is more than one way to lose a woman's favor."
"Speak plainly, Darkness."
Doyle stayed kneeling, half-naked, his hands limp and empty resting against his thighs, surrounded by a sea of his own hair. He should have looked helpless, or feminine, or something, but he didn't. He looked like something carved out of the elemental darkness, as if he'd risen as one of the first things to ever draw breath, before the light came. The silver ring in his nipple caught the light as he breathed. His hair had covered all the earrings, so that this one silver spark was the only color on him. It was hard to look away from that shining silver light.