A Caress Of Twilight   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

I grabbed the front and back of his coat and used his own momentum to slide him off the desk and into the wall past Doyle's legs. The wall shuddered with the impact, and I had a second to wonder what would have happened if he'd hit the windows instead. I saw from the corner of my eye that Doyle's gun was out, but I was still moving, still carried along on my own momentum.

I drew the knife at my thigh, and "as Rhys came up on his hands and knees, shaking his head, I pressed the tip of the black against the side of his neck. It would have been better if I could have pinned him, or done anything to make sure he couldn't simply turn and take my legs out from under me, but it was the best I could do in the time I had. I knew how quickly the guards recovered, and I'd had only seconds to do anything.

Rhys froze, head down, breathing ragged. I could feel the line of his body tense against my legs. I was too close, so too close, but the blade was firm against the side of his neck. I could feel the skin give a little under the blade tip and knew I'd bloodied him. I hadn't meant to; I was just too rushed to be careful. But he didn't know it was an accident, and nothing convinces people you mean business like their own blood.

"I'd hoped you would grow more tolerant of Kitto as time ran on, but you seem to be getting worse." My voice was soft, almost a whisper, each word spoken very carefully, as though I didn't trust what I might do if I yelled. In truth I could barely speak past the pulse in my throat.

Rhys shifted his head, and I kept the point where it was, letting him put a little more flesh on the blade. If he thought I'd move back, he was wrong. He stopped moving. "Understand this, Rhys, Kitto is mine, as you are all mine. I won't let your prejudices endanger him."

His voice squeezed out, as if he was finally aware that I might use the blade as it was meant to be used. "You'd kill me over a goblin."

"I'd kill you for harming what is mine to protect. By attacking him like this, you've shown me no respect, none. Last night Doyle showed me no respect. If I've learned anything from my aunt and my father, it's that a leader who is not respected by her people is just a figurehead. I will not be something you fuck and cuddle. I will be queen or I will be nothing to you." My voice had dropped down even lower, so that the last words were said in a hoarse whisper. And I knew in that moment that I meant it, that if spilling Rhys's blood would gain me the power I needed, I'd kill him. I'd known Rhys my entire life. He was my lover, and on some level, my friend. Yet I could kill him. I'd miss him, and I'd regret the necessity of having to do it, but I knew now that I had to make the guards respect me. I lusted after the guards; I liked the ones I was sleeping with; I even half loved one or two, but there were precious few I'd want to see on the throne. Absolute power, true life and death — who would you trust with that kind of power? Which of the guards was incorruptible? Answer, none. Everyone has their blind spots, the place where they are so sure of themselves that they see only their own Tightness. I trusted myself, yet there were days when I doubted me. I was hoping that doubt would keep me honest. Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe no one can be given that kind of power and stay fair and just. Maybe that old saying is true; power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. I'd do my best, but I knew one thing for certain: if I didn't get a handle on the situation now, the guards would ride over me. I might gain the throne, but I'd lose everything else. I didn't even really want the throne; but I wanted to rule, to rule and try to make things better. And, of course, that very desire was probably my blind spot, and the beginnings of corruption. To think I knew what would be better for all the Unseelie. How terribly arrogant.

I started to laugh. I laughed so hard, I had to sit down on the floor. I held the bloody knife and watched the two guards gaze down at me, worried looks on their faces. Rhys wasn't glowing anymore. Kitto touched my arm, gently, as if afraid of what I'd do. I wrapped my arms around him, hugged him to me, and the tears streaming down my face stopped behind laughter, and I simply cried. I held Kitto and the bloody knife and cried.

I was no better than the others. Power corrupts — of course it does. That's what it's for. I huddled on the floor and let Kitto rock me, and I didn't fight when Doyle took the knife, very gently, from my hand.



Chapter 4

I ended up huddled in one of my own client chairs with a mug of hot mint tea and my boss, Jeremy Grey. I don't know what had alerted him to the trouble, but he'd come through the door like a small, neat storm. He'd ordered everyone out, and Doyle, of course, had argued that Jeremy couldn't guarantee my safety. Jeremy had countered with, "Neither can any of you." The silence in the room had been profound, and Doyle had gone without another word. Rhys had followed with a handkerchief pressed to his neck, trying to keep any more blood spots off his white coat.

Kitto had stayed because I was clinging to him, but I was calmer now. Kitto merely sat at my feet, one arm across my knees, the other running up and down the front of my leg. It was a sign of nervousness when a fey touched someone too intimately and too often, but I was stroking Kitto's hair in endless circles with my free hand, so it was all right. We were even.

Jeremy leaned against my desk watching me. He was dressed, as always, in a designer suit, perfectly tailored to his four-feet, eleven-inch frame. He was an inch shorter than me, strong and slender, with a masculine swell of shoulders. The suit was charcoal grey, about five shades darker than his own skin. His short, immaculate barbered hair was lighter grey than his skin, but not by much. Even his eyes were grey. His smile was a brilliant white, the best caps money could buy, and matched the white dress shirt he'd chosen for the day. The only thing that truly ruined his perfect modern profile was the nose. He'd spent loads on his teeth, but left the rather long and beaky nose alone. I'd never questioned it, but Teresa had. She was only human, after all, and didn't understand that among the fey a personal question is the worst insult. To imply in the same breath that something about their physique is not appealing. . well, it just wasn't done. Jeremy had explained that a large nose among the trow was like large feet among humans. Teresa had blushed and not asked any more questions. I'd gone over and rubbed his nose with my fingertips and said ooh. It had made him laugh.