It wasn't a bad idea. "Frost, will you allow Sage to lick you, that and nothing more?"

Frost opened his mouth, I think to refuse, but I added. "Frost, please, it's not that much to ask."

He hesitated a moment, then nodded, once. "I will allow it."

"Sage," I said, "a small lick like you gave Rhys in the other room, nothing else."

Sage flew close enough to the bed for me to see a truly evil smile, but he nodded. I didn't trust it, but he nodded again and fluttered toward Frost.

Frost started to take a step back, then seemed to realize what he was doing and stood his ground. Most sidhe seemed to believe that no one short of another sidhe could use glamour on them successfully. It wasn't true, but a lot of them believed it was. The fact that Frost didn't believe it made me wonder whose magic he'd fallen afoul of. He reacted as if he had reason to fear the demi-fey.

"Wait," I said. "Has Frost ever been given to the demi-fey for torture like Galen was given to them?"

"No," Frost and Rhys said in unison.

Sage shook his head. "We've never had the pleasure of the Killing Frost staked out for us." He licked his tiny lips, making enough of a show of it that we'd all see. "Yum."

Frost looked at me. "Don't make me do this."

"Do what? Let him lick your skin, see what you taste like? It's not a hardship, Frost. Did you fall afoul of some lesser fey's glamour? Is that why you're worried?" The moment I said it, I knew I'd been too bold.

"I have fallen afoul of no fey." His face was at its most beautiful, cold and arrogant, with the bone structure to make a plastic surgeon weep with envy. The grey of the silk robe seemed almost to blend with the glittering silver of his hair. He was like some sculpture too beautiful to touch, too proud to stoop to touching anyone else.

I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but didn't dare in front of the other men. I looked into that face, trailed my gaze down his chest, his waist, thought about everything that lay under the robe, and knew that even if we'd been alone, he might not have admitted that anything was wrong.

"Taste him, Sage." My voice sounded as tired and discouraged as I felt.

Sage moved forward, his wings barely moving, as if he should have fallen rather than floated. He hovered just over Frost's face, then darted in and out, a blur of yellow and blue and red. He was near the ceiling and out of reach before Frost could swat at his face, almost as if Sage had known he'd do it.

Sage was hissing, and at first I thought it was because Frost had swatted at him; then I heard the anger in his voice. "He tastes no different from the white knight."

"Then take my blood and let Frost out of it," Rhys said.

Sage flew near the bed. He crossed tiny arms across his chest and stamped his foot in midair, as if he were on solid ground. "No. I bargained for two sidhe warriors, and it's two I want."

"I'll give blood," Frost said, "but no glamour. I agreed to blood, not magic."

Rhys started to say something, but I touched his arm. "You'll have what we bargained for, Sage, all of it, but let Frost go back to his bed. He's no use to us tonight."

Frost flinched at my last words, a mere tightening around his eyes, but I'd made a study of him and knew what it meant.

"Who would you have in his place?" Sage asked, flying lower so that he and I were face to face. "Galen, perhaps?" His smile managed to be both evil and happy.

"You know better than to ask, Sage," I said.

He pouted, but he didn't mean it. "I will not share you with the goblin again. I want no drink from Darkness." He seemed to think about it for a moment, then alit upon the pillow in my lap. The purple satin sagged under his weight. He was always heavier than he looked, or even than I remembered. "Nicca, then, for he is all that remains."

I nodded. "Agreed."

"You have not asked Nicca if he will allow the demi-fey to take his blood," Frost said.

I looked at him, and he was still heart-stoppingly handsome. The question was, was beauty enough, and the answer, of course, was, no. "I don't have to ask Nicca, Frost. If I send for him, he'll come, and he'll do what I tell him to do. Nicca won't argue about it, he'll just do what needs doing."

"And I won't," Frost said, tilting his chin upward, looking like something carved of arrogance and defiance.

I sighed. "I love you, Frost."

That softened his face, made the uncertainty rise to the surface for a moment.

"I love you in my bed, I love so much about you, but I will be queen. I will be absolute ruler of our court. You seem to keep forgetting what that means. No matter who is king, I will still rule. Do you understand that, Frost?"

"You would have a puppet as your king."

"No, I would have a partner who knows that unpleasant things must be done, and doesn't argue about things that cannot be changed."

"I cannot be other than I am," he said, and his voice didn't match the steel calm of his face.

"I know that." My voice was soft.

For a second he looked woebegone, then the icy arrogance slid back into place. The mask that he'd worn for centuries at the court. He stared down at me, and there was nothing in his face that I could reason with. He was Frost, the Killing Frost. You do not reason with the cold of winter. You either take shelter from it, or you die.

His voice was as cold as I'd ever heard it when he said, "I will send Nicca to you and I will tell him nothing but that you require him."

"Do that," I said, and couldn't keep my own voice from growing colder. I was angry with him, angry and frustrated, and I didn't know how to save the situation. I was a future queen, and I couldn't even handle my own personal life. That seemed a bad sign. I added, "Thank you, Frost."

"Don't thank me, Princess, I'm just doing my duty." He turned as if to go.

I called him back with my words. "Frost, don't do this."

He only half turned. "Do what?"

"Make this all about you and your hurt feelings. Some things aren't about you. Some things aren't personal at all, they are just necessary."

"May I go?"

I said a short silent prayer for patience with this impossible man, then said, "Yes, go, send Nicca to us."

He left without a backward glance, one hand rubbing the small of his back, which meant he'd had a weapon of some kind there. Frost seldom went completely unarmed. And when he felt insecure he touched his weapons, the way some women play with their jewelry.

"Well," Rhys said, "that went badly."

"Moody, even for the Killing Frost," Sage said, "and angrier."

"Fear," Rhys said, softly.

"What?" I asked.

"Fear," he repeated. "The haughtier Frost gets, the more nervous he is, and nerves is just another word for fear."

"What's he afraid of?" I asked.

"Me." Sage sprang into the air, twirling as if to show off his wings and his skill.

Rhys grinned. "You can be fearsome, but I don't think that's it."

"Then what?" I asked.

Rhys shrugged. "I don't know."

Nicca appeared in the doorway. His ankle-length hair was like a tousled cloak around his body, but he'd thrown on his robe of royal purple silk. The color suited him, bringing out the rich brown of his eyes, the reddish highlights in his nearly auburn hair. It made his skin seem darker, more chocolate. "Frost said you wanted me."

I explained what we needed, and he simply said yes. No fight, no pouting, no disagreement of any kind. It was more than refreshing. It was exactly what the night needed, something simple instead of difficult. Frost in my bed was a thing of great hunger, huge demands, and fierce pleasure. Tonight a little agreeable pleasure, some lesser demands, and a gentle hunger seemed just what the doctor ordered.