I pulled my hand free of his, easily, because the magic had finished what the drinking had begun. He stayed on his knees in the fantastically striped mink coat because he couldn't have stood.
"Was the queen angry when he showed up drunk today?" Doyle asked.
"Yes," Barinthus said.
"He will be worse than useless in a fight."
"Yes," Barinthus said, again.
They stared down at the kneeling guard, and both their faces showed what they wanted to do with him. If the queen had not chosen him, he'd have been sent back to the court in disgrace, and never seen the press conference. But sadly, that wasn't an option.
Onilwyn stepped around the kneeling guard the way you'd step around garbage in the street. He held out his hand, wordlessly, and I didn't try to argue. The queen had sent him, and that was that. Besides, letting the ring touch him didn't put him in my bed. I was still hoping to talk the queen out of Abloec and Onilwyn. I'd have to keep at least one of the three of her choice, and strangely the best of the bunch was Amatheon. That he was the best of the three made me wonder what the queen was basing her decisions on. If I could think of a way to ask her that wouldn't be insulting, I'd ask.
I gave Onilwyn my hand, and the moment his fingers touched the ring, it flashed through me like a knife, a cut of pleasure so sharp, it hurt. Onilwyn actually jerked back from me and said, "That hurt. That actually hurt."
I rubbed a hand across my stomach, fighting an urge to touch lower, because it felt almost like a wound, and it wasn't my stomach that was hurt. "I've never had the ring hurt like that, not at first touch. Not ever."
Onilwyn's eyes were wide enough to flash the whites, like a frightened horse. "Why did it do that?"
"It seems to be acting differently with each man." Barinthus turned to Doyle. "Is that also something new?"
Doyle nodded.
Onilwyn backed away from me, cradling his hand. I wondered if it was only his hand that hurt, or if he, too, was fighting an urge to hold lower things.
"Carrow," Barinthus said, and motioned the other man forward.
Carrow didn't hesitate, coming to me with the same smile he'd been giving me since I could remember. He, like Galen, never had a hidden agenda, but unlike Galen, the only thing that showed on his face was a polite good humor. It was his version of Frost's arrogance, or Doyle's blankness.
"May I?" he asked.
"Yes." I held my hand out to him, and he took it.
His hand slid over the ring, and there was nothing. Nothing but the warm brush of his skin against mine. His hand was warm in mine, but that was all. The ring lay cold between us.
For just a second a disappointment showed through that smile, so bitter that it filled his eyes with a brown so dark it was as if night had fallen in his eyes. Then he recovered himself, closed long lashes over his eyes, and bowed, giving my hand a kiss. He made light of it all as he stepped back, but I had some idea what that casual act must have cost him.
All eyes turned to Amatheon, for he was the only one left. The look on his face was painful to see. The conflict inside him was painted across those handsome features. One thing was clear: He did not want to touch the ring. I don't think he wanted to know. He was male, and he had needs, and this was his only way out of the trap the queen had all of her guard mired in. But Onilwyn had said it best: For Amatheon to have his needs met with me, who represented almost everything he thought was wrong with the sidhe, was almost worse than forced abstinence.
"This is not the choice that either of us would make, Amatheon, but we must make the best of it." I walked toward him, and panic carved his face into harsh lines. He looked as if he wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere that the queen wouldn't find him. She was the Queen of Air and Darkness, and unless there was a land where night never fell, she would find him. Eventually, she found everyone.
I stopped out of arm's length, almost afraid to close the distance. The fear on his face, in the set of his shoulders, was horrible to see. It was as if even standing here was a sort of torture. "I would not force this on you, Amatheon, not if either of us had a choice."
His voice squeezed out from between clenched teeth. "But we have no choices."
I shook my head. "No, none."
It was as if he rebuilt himself before my eyes. He shoved the fear and conflicts down inside somewhere. He worked at it, until his face was smooth and arrogantly handsome once more. His hands clenched tight at his sides were the last thing he brought under control. He uncurled them one painful knuckle at a time, as if the effort were a mighty thing. And maybe it was. There are times when I think that it is harder to master yourself than any other thing on earth.
He let out a breath that shook only a little. "I am ready."
I held my hand out to him, as if I expected a kiss. He hesitated only a moment, then he took my hand in his, and the moment his finger brushed the metal, magic pushed across my skin like a warm wind.
Amatheon jerked back as if it had burned him. His eyes were wide and frightened, but it wasn't from pain. It had felt as good to him as it had to me. I'd have bet money on it.
"The ring has been satisfied," Barinthus said. "Let us have the woman back, and let her fuss with us. The queen wishes us to be perfect for the interviews."
"What of him?" Doyle asked, nodding at Abloec, who was still on his knees, smiling happily, if a little lopsided.
"We will put him to the far side away from the princess. Now, we have cloaks for those with wings." He watched both Sage and Nicca come forward and shrug out of their blankets as Usna brought the folded cloaks. "I look forward to hearing this explained in the queen's presence."