The rest of the men divided themselves into two groups. One stood around Doyle, who was still in his seat, though watching everything now. The other stood near the back of the plane.
"Open it," Rhys said, from near Doyle.
"She's scared," Galen said, and his voice held an edge of the nerves that were scrambling around my stomach.
"Scared of what?" Sage said. "Finding her perfect match? What a stupid thing to fear. Most would give their lives to have such a problem."
"Be quiet," Nicca said.
Sage opened his mouth to complain, then closed it, looking puzzled, as if he wasn't sure himself why he listened to Nicca.
I stared at the box in my hands, licked my lipsticked mouth that was suddenly dry, and couldn't for the life of me understand why I was so afraid. Why be afraid of finding out if my perfect match was here, among these men? No, that wasn't the fear, I realized. What if the ring didn't find my perfect match here and now? What if my perfect match wasn't any of them? What if that was why I hadn't become pregnant?
I looked up and scanned the faces around me. I realized that in a strange way, I loved them all. I certainly valued them all. I also wasn't sure how Frost or Galen would take it if the ring chose someone other than him. Both had shown a very un-fey-like tendency to be jealous. If Frost wasn't the chosen one, well, I doubt I'd seen pouting like that from him.
I looked up at Galen, and knew that he loved me, truly loved me, and had loved me when I had no chance of being queen. He was the only one, except Rhys, who had made it clear he wanted to be my lover when it would gain him nothing but my body, and maybe my love. Galen was such a romantic. I think he'd come to terms with not being my husband, not being king to my queen, if I got pregnant by someone else. But I think in his heart of hearts he believed that I was his soul mate. He could give me up, as long as he got to keep the ideal of what could have been.
I stared back down at the box. If the ring chose someone else, Galen would have to find a new dream, a new love, a new everything.
"Open it," Rhys said.
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened it.
Chapter 19
The ring was a heavy silver octagonal, not perfectly round, as if it molded to all the fingers it had encircled. It was actually a very plain, almost mannish-looking ring. Inside there were words carved, in an ancient form of Gaelic, too old for me to read, but I knew translated to read, "Insert."
There was nothing threatening about it. And yet... I touched its cool silver with a fingertip, and nothing happened. But then nothing ever did until it was on your finger. It was picky that way.
"You must put it on, Meredith," Doyle said. I'd almost broken them all of calling me anything but Merry. It was the beginning of the return to court formality. I hated it.
"I know, Doyle."
"Then hesitating is foolish. We must know what problem it represents before we land. There will be human police to hold back the press, but there will still be cameras and reporters to catch whatever befalls. Best that it befall us now, and here in private." He turned in his seat to face me more fully, forcing him to let go of one of the seat arms. I had some idea what that cost him. "Put it on, Meredith, Merry, please."
I nodded, and took it from its box. It was warm to the touch, but nothing more. I took a deep breath, and wasn't sure whether to pray before I slipped it on, or not. Prayers had taken on an entirely new meaning in the last twenty-four hours.
I slipped the ring on my finger. It was too big for me, but almost instantly I felt that first spark of magic. It would be exactly my size now. A small magic. I looked up at all of them. "I don't feel any difference in it."
"You stopped wearing it because it was giving us all shocks when we had sex," Rhys said. "It never did do much from a distance."
"Not on my finger," I said.
He grinned. "Can we try touching it to bare skin and see if that's changed?"
"I think that would be wise," Doyle said.
Rhys shrugged. "My idea. If no one objects I'll be the first guinea pig." He started forward, but Frost spoke.
"I object."
Rhys hesitated. He glanced at me, then at Doyle, and shrugged again. "Be my guest. We'll still have to try more than one of us with the ring, just to see."
"Agreed," Frost said, "but I want to be first."
No one argued with him, but Galen's face said plainly that he wanted to. It was a tribute to how much more grown up he was than Frost himself that he let it go.
Frost came to stand in front of me and gazed down at the ring on my hand. He held his own hand down toward me, and I raised my hand up to meet his. His hand closed over mine, his fingers brushing the ring.
It was as if some huge invisible hand caressed the front of my body, as if there were no clothes, nothing but my skin, for the magic to stroke. Frost collapsed to his knees, his eyes wide, lips half open in a movement caught between desire and surprise. His hand convulsed around mine, pressing his flesh harder into the ring. The magic responded in a second wave of desire more powerful than the first. It ended low in my body, throwing me back against the seat, bringing a cry from my lips. My body spasmed and my hands jerked against Frost's, breaking the ring's contact with him.
He half fell onto the floor, barely room for his broad shoulders between the seats. He was panting and weak, and I wasn't much better.
"I know Merry just had an orgasm," Rhys said, "a small one, but a real one. Did you, Frost?"
He shook his head, as if speech was too much. He finally managed a breathy, "Almost."
"The magic of the ring was distracting before," Doyle said, "but not this distracting."