Timothy:
Ben knew Queen Moragana best, I supposed. When Andrew and I had stayed at Court, we’d been very young and very stupid. All of remembered of the queen, to be honest, is that she chased me around, trying to get me into her bed.
The funny thing is that the other young nobles would have readily volunteered for that position and would have thoroughly enjoyed her attentions, but that kind of relationship was not for me. Once the queen had informed me that she and I were related, any bed play was an obvious no for me.
And then there were the things my dad had said about the oddities of Faeryland. I’d thought at the time that the stories he’d told us were pure fantasy, something he’d made up. Andrew and I used to laugh, in fact. But Faeryland was real, and so were the many regulations, the court jockeying for positions, the back stabbings, the trickery, and all the deceits. Court was not a place I’d ever wanted to return to, but it seemed inevitable now. With Penelope bound to the kingdom for a while, so was I.
At the moment, it was making me uneasy that Ben had cozied up to Penelope. I trusted her completely, and I think that Ben was a good sort, but he was Fae. I was reminded that he belonged firstly to the queen. That would make me weary of him from now on. Still, Ben did seem to have a calming influence, almost as much as Daniel always did. I supposed, in a way, that Penelope benefited from the whole crew of guards. Each one offered her something that I couldn’t.
As if my wife felt my thoughts at that moment, she reached out to me, taking my hand in hers. My fingers, used to holding swords in the olden days, lifting up bails of hay or boulders on the days of the Wild West, and even lately with my hefting paintings about, must feel rough against her delicate hands. Many men in my class would spend time getting manicures and smoothing out their hard-earned calluses, but I never found the time for such things, even if I’d believed it worthwhile. My wife never seemed to mind, however. Her fingers were massaging mine, calming me as I longed to provide her with an equal portion of soothing for having endured this whole kidnapping misadventure.
“Prince Cadarone, your wife is fine. She has completely recovered from her misfortune at Queen Beatrice’s abduction. Besides, one can only go forward, never back. What is done is done.”
One of the most irritating things of being near a Fae queen is that they sensed your thoughts and then often responded with trite sayings. But instead of addressing my feelings about that, I asked, “Is there a carriage to take us back to Court, Your Majesty?”
The queen laughed. “Why should Penelope need that when your young wife has her very own Pooka to ride.”