I looked at Griffin still glowing, still beautiful. Galen and Rhys had made him sit in a chair. Galen leaned on the small table by the chair. Rhys leaned against the wall. None of them were glowing, but I knew that Galen, at least, wasn't trying to pass for human.

Kitto climbed onto the bed curling beside me, one hand sliding across my waist, dangerously close to my lap. But he didn't try to take advantage. He curled his face against my hip and seemed content, as if he meant to sleep.

Frost sat down on the far side of the bed, legs still on the floor, but not leaving the bed to just the goblin. He crossed his hands over his chest just below the blood stains. He sat there tall and straight and heartstoppingly handsome, but he didn't glow the way Griffin glowed.

I had a sudden revelation. Griffin hadn't removed glamour. He'd added it. All those times that I thought he was throwing off all trickery, he was actually wrapping himself in the greatest trick of all. Most sidhe couldn't use glamour to make themselves look better to other sidhe. You could try it, but it was wasted effort. Even with me having come into my power he glowed, but now I could see it for what it truly was—a lie.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. "Drop the glamour, Griffin. Just sit there like a good little boy." My voice sounded tired even to me.

"He is very good at it," Doyle said. "Maybe the best I've ever seen."

I opened my eyes and looked at Doyle. "Glad to know the show wasn't just for my benefit. I was feeling pretty stupid."

Doyle glanced at the rest of the room. "Gentlemen?"

"He glows," Galen said.

"Like a lightning bug in June," Rhys said.

Frost nodded.

I touched Kitto's hair. "Do you see him?" I asked.

Kitto raised his head, eyes half-closed. "All the sidhe are beautiful to me." He snuggled his face back against me, and it was a little lower than my hip that he was cuddling against.

I looked at Griffin, still gleaming and so beautiful that I wanted to shield my eyes as if I were gazing at the sun. I wanted to scream at him, things about lies and trickery, but I didn't. Anger would have convinced him that I still felt something for him. I didn't—or, rather, not what he wanted me to feel. I felt tricked and stupid and angry. "Contact the queen, Doyle," I said.

The dresser sat in front of the bed with the large mirror facing me. Doyle stood in the center of the mirror. I could still see myself in the glass. I stared back at myself and wondered why I didn't look more different. Oh, my hair needed to be brushed, the makeup needed to be retouched, the lipstick was gone completely, but my face was still the same. My innocence had vanished years ago, and there was very little surprise left in me. All I truly felt was a great numbness.

Doyle pressed his hands just above the glass. I felt his magic crawl through the room like a prickle of ants marching along my skin. Kitto raised his head to watch, resting his cheek against my thigh.

The power built to a push of pressure, as if you could clear it by making your ears pop, equalizing the pressure, but the only thing that would make the pressure ease was use. Doyle caressed the mirror, and it wavered like water. His fingertips were like stones thrown into a pool where the ripples spread outward. He made a small gesture with his hands, a flexing at wrist and hand, and the mirror was no longer clear. The surface was milky, like a cup of fog.

The mist cleared, and the queen sat on the edge of her bed, looking at us through the full-length mirror in her private quarters. She'd removed her gloves, but the rest of the outfit was intact. She'd been waiting for the call. I'd have bet a body part on it. Eamon's naked shoulder showed to one side of her. He was turned on one side as if asleep. The blond boy was kneeling beside her, propped on his elbows. He was naked, too, but he wasn't under the covers. His body was strong, but thin, a boy's body without the musculature of a man. I wondered again if he was really eighteen.

Doyle had stepped aside so that I was the first one that the queen's eyes sought. "Greetings, Meredith." Her eyes took in the scene, the half-dressed goblin and Frost on the bed with me. She smiled and it was a pleased smile. I realized that the two scenes were similar. She had two men in her bed, and I had two men in mine. I hoped she was having a better time than I was. Or maybe I didn't.

"Greetings, Aunt Andais."

"I thought you'd be all tucked into bed with one or more of your boys. You disappoint me." She stroked her hand along the boy's bare back, sweeping at the end of the oval, fingertips across his buttocks. It was an idle gesture, like you'd pet a dog.

My voice came out very neutral, carefully empty. "Griffin was here when we arrived. He says you sent him."

"I did," she said. "You agreed to sleep with my spy."

"I didn't agree to sleep with Griffin. I thought after our little talk you understood how I felt about him."

"No," Andais said. "No, I didn't understand that at all. In fact, I wasn't sure you knew how you felt about him yourself."

"I don't feel anything about him," I said. "I just want him out of my sight, and I am certainly not going to sleep with him." I realized as soon as I said the last part that she might insist on it out of sheer perversity. I added, quickly, "I want to know he's celibate again. He was freed of the geas ten years ago so he could sleep with me, but he used his freedom to fuck everyone that would have him. I want him to know that I'm sleeping with the other guards, that they're getting sex and he's not. That unless I consent to lie with him that he may never have sex again for the rest of his so unnatural life." I smiled as I spoke and realized it was the truth. Goddess bless me, it was vindictive, but it was true.

Andais laughed again. "Oh, Meredith, you may be more my bloodline than I ever dared hope. As you will. Send him back to his lonely bed."

"You heard her," I said. "Get out."

"If it's not me," Griffin said, "it will be someone else. Maybe you should ask her who she will send to replace me in your bed."

I looked at my aunt. "Who are you going to send to replace Griffin?"

She held out her hand, and a man stepped into view as if he'd been patiently waiting for his cue. His skin was the color of soft spring lilacs, his knee-length hair the color of pink Easter-egg grass. His eyes were like pools of liquid gold. It was Pasco, Rozenwyn's twin brother.

I stared at him, and he stared back. We had never been friends. In fact there was a time or two I'd thought we were enemies.

Griffin laughed. "You can't be serious, Merry. You'd let Pasco fuck you before me?"

I stared at Griffin. He'd stopped glowing and looked almost ordinary as he stood there. He was angry, so angry that there was a fine tremble in his hands as he pointed to the mirror.

"Griffin, honey," I said, "I'd let a hell of a lot of men in my bed before you."

The queen laughed, drawing Pasco down until he sat in her lap, like a child visiting Santa Claus in the mall. She stared out at me, running her hands through Pasco's cotton-candy hair. "You agree to Pasco as my spy?"

"I agree."

Pasco's eyes widened just a bit at that, as if he'd expected at least a little protest on my part. But I just wasn't up to it tonight.

Andais caressed a hand up Pasco's clothed back. "I think you have surprised him. He told me you'd never agree to sharing a bed with him."

I shrugged. "It's not a fate worse than death."

"Very true, niece of mine."

Our eyes met through the nothing of the mirror. She nodded and pushed the man to his feet. She slapped his butt as he walked out of frame. "He'll be right over."

"Great," I said. "Now get out, Griffin."

Griffin hesitated, then walked into view of the mirror. He glanced from one to the other of us. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. Probably the wisest thing he could have done.

He bowed, "My queen." He turned to me. "I will see you again, Merry."

I shook my head. "What for?"

"You did love me once," he said, and it was almost a question, almost a plea.

I could have lied—there was no spell on me—but I didn't. "Yes, Griffin, I loved you, once."

He looked at me, eyes roving over the bed and the smorgasbord of men. "I am sorry, Merry." He sounded sincere.

"Sorry you lost me, sorry you killed my love for you, or sorry that you can't fuck me anymore?"

"All of it," he said. "I'm sorry for all of it."

"Good boy. Now get out," I said.

Something passed across his face, something close to pain, and for the first time I thought that maybe, just maybe, he understood what he'd done was wrong. He unlocked the door, stepped outside, and when the door closed behind him, I knew he was gone, gone in a way beyond simply not being around. He was not my honey bun anymore, not my special person.

I sighed and leaned back against the wall. Kitto snuggled close, sliding one bare leg up and down against mine. I wondered if there was a chance in hell of me getting any alone time tonight.

I looked at the mirror again. "You knew I wouldn't accept Griffin as your spy, not if it meant having sex with him."

She nodded. "I needed to know how you truly felt about him, Meredith. I had to be sure that you weren't still in love with him."

"Why? "I asked.

"Because love can interfere with lust. Now I'm sure that you are rid of him in your heart. I am pleased."

"I'm just tickled pink that you're pleased," I said.

"Have a care, Meredith. I don't like sarcasm directed at me."

"And I don't like having my heart cut out for your pleasure." The moment I said it, I knew it was a mistake.

Her eyes narrowed. "When I cut your heart out, Meredith, you'll know it." The mirror spilled into fog, then was suddenly reflective again. I stared at myself in the mirror, my pulse thudding in my throat.

"Having your heart cut out," Galen said. "Poor, poor choice of words."

"I know," I said.

"In the future," Doyle said, "keep your temper. Andais doesn't need any help coming up with awful ideas."