Madoc rises, leaning heavily on his black cane. “Well, I will leave you two to catching up.” His expression is mild, fond. He is not fleeing conflict. He loves conflict. But perhaps he doesn’t want to be in the position of openly telling Oriana that her priorities do not match his own.
“Mom,” Oak says.
She makes a face. She is dressed in a gown of white and rose, a frothy ruff at her throat and the ends of her sleeves. With her pink eyes and pale skin and petallike wings on her back, she sometimes looked like a flower to him—a snapdragon. “You sound like a mortal. Is it so hard to say in full?”
He sighs. “Mother.”
She presents her cheek to be kissed, then presses the backs of his hands to her lips. “My beauty. My precious child.”
He smiles automatically, but her words hurt. He never before doubted her love for him—she turned her life upside down, even marrying Madoc, for the sake of Oak’s protection. But if that love was something forced on her, some enchantment, then it wasn’t real and he would have to find a way to free her from the burden of it.
“You worried me when you left,” she says. “I know you adore your father, but he wouldn’t want you to risk your life for him.”
Oak bites his tongue to keep from answering that. Not only was Madoc willing to let Oak risk his life, but he was counting on it. Perhaps Oak should be grateful, though. At least he was certain Madoc’s feelings were real—he was far too manipulative to have been manipulated by magic. “Father looks well.”
“Better than he was. Not resting enough, of course.” She looks up at Oak, impatience in her face. Normally, she is rigid about etiquette, but he can tell she’s not interested in small talk now. He’s only surprised that she allowed Madoc and Jude to get at him first. Of course, by buttonholing him after they left, she had the advantage of being able to lecture him as long as she liked without the worry of being interrupted. “Questing I understand, even if I didn’t like the thought of you in danger, but not this. Not offering this girl marriage when she has none of the qualities anyone might look for in a bride.”
“So let me get this straight,” Oak says. “You understand the part where I might have had to kill a lot of people, but you think I chose the wrong girl to kiss?”
Oriana gives him a sharp look, then pours him some tea.
He drinks. The tea is dark and fragrant and almost washes the taste of bitterness from his mouth.
“You were in her prisons. I have spoken with Tiernan many times since he returned. I asked him dozens of questions. I know you sent him away with Madoc to save them both. So tell me, are you marrying her because you care for her or because you want to save the world from her?”
Oak grimaces. “You didn’t include saving her from the world as a possibility.”
“Is that your reason?” Oriana inquires.
“I care for her,” Oak says.
“As the Crown Prince, you have a responsibility to the throne. When you—”
“No.” A thin tendril of worry uncurls inside him at the thought she, like Madoc, might grow too ambitious on his behalf. “There’s no reason to believe I will outlive either Jude or Cardan. No reason for me ever to wear the crown.”
“I admit that once I dreaded the possibility,” Oriana says. “But you’re older now. And you have a kind heart. That would be a great boon to Elfhame.”
“Jude is doing just fine. And it’s not like she doesn’t have a kind heart.”
Oriana gives him an incredulous look.
“Besides, Wren is a queen in her own right. If you want me to wear a crown, there you go. If I marry her, I get one by default.” He takes one of the sandwiches and bites into it.
Oriana is not appeased. “This is nothing to take lightly. Your sister certainly doesn’t. She sent her people to bring you back the moment she found that you’d gone after your father. And though she failed to get hold of you, her people brought back one of your traveling companions—a kelpie.”
“Jack of the Lakes,” Oak says, delighted until the rest of what Oriana is saying catches up with him. “Where is he? What did she do to him?”
Oriana gives a minute shrug. “What is it you were saying about your sister having a kind heart?”
He sighs. “Your point is made.”
“Jack was hauled before us and made to tell us all he knew of your journey and its intention. He’s still in the palace—a guest of the Court, not exactly a prisoner—but he described Suren as more animal than girl, rolling in mud. And I remember how she was as a child.”