A Star Shall Fall

“I am,” he said, masking his dread with a smile. She’s right, and you know it. You must tell Lune. “To Miss Northwood, whom I have told you of. We’re to be married in the spring.”

Andrews shook his hand vigorously, pouring out good wishes for them both, which the fae echoed as if speaking phrases in a foreign language. Irrith watched all of this with good-natured malice. “I will return when I can,” Galen said, retrieving his hand from the doctor. “In the meantime, may all the powers of Heaven and Faerie both speed you in your work.”

* * *

Galen sank to his knee on the carpet before Lune and said, “Your Grace, I have come to inform you that I am betrothed.”

Silence answered him. She couldn’t have been taken entirely by surprise; she knew he was seeking a wife, and the formality of his posture made this more than an ordinary visit. But Lune said nothing.

At first. Just as Galen bit his lip, though, Lune spoke. “My congratulations, Lord Galen. Is your future bride the Miss Northwood I’ve been hearing of?”

“Yes, madam.” She’d probably sent her spies to examine the lady more directly; Lune liked to be well informed.

He hesitated, then lifted his head, away from contemplation of the carpet’s plush surface. Lune’s thoughts were impossible to read. “Madam,” he said, distress roughening it, “please, believe me when I say this will change nothing. The Onyx Court is and shall remain the priority of my life.” You will remain the priority of my life.

Every movement she made was flawlessly graceful. Lune extended one hand, drew him to his feet. Even through the layers of his coat and shirt, the touch made him shiver. Her shoes brought him to very near his height; Lune was a tall woman, and he was not a tall man. It seemed fitting. He would not have felt right, looking down upon her.

I love you.

Words he could never say.

Lune smiled, her hand rising to his shoulder. “You needn’t worry, Galen. No one doubts your dedication to this court, least of all myself. Nor should you doubt your contributions; you have brought us Dr. Andrews, who I’m very sure will be a great help to us in our struggle. I do not thank you often enough, except as rote courtesy, so let me say it now: you have my gratitude, for all you have done, and all you will do. And that will not change when you wed.”

Nobility came so easily to her. He fancied it a relic of the past, preserved in this world out of time; in this fallen age, when even the highest descended to the riots of the theatre and tavern, debauching themselves with drinking and smoking, whoring and fisticuffs, Lune seemed the living memory of true noble grace. Or perhaps only fae ever attained that ideal, and mortals merely aspired to it, falling short of the true glory.

“So thoughtful.” Lune put one finger under his chin and tilted it up. His breath stopped. “There is always so much behind your eyes, Galen. Most of it melancholy, I think. I’m sorry you came to this court in such a troubled time. I fear you’ve seen little of its gaiety, and much of its tragedy.”

He wanted so badly to catch her hand in his. “Your tragedy,” he managed to say, “is more precious to me than the best the mortal world has to offer.”

Lune stilled. More soberly, she said, “Be cautious of that feeling, Galen. You’ve drunk a cup of faerie wine; your body and soul will always crave more. But if you discard your world to live wholly in mine, it will break you. You’ll become a shadow of yourself, desperate and mad, destroyed by the very thing you desire, and what’s more—cruel as it is—you will no longer serve this court. I need you mortal, Galen. Even though I know the price it bears.”

Death. But how could he say to her that it wasn’t faerie wine he craved, it was her? They had kissed once, when she raised him to the rank of Prince, sealing the bond between them. He still dreamt of that kiss. And now she stood so close, mere inches away, so that all he would have to do was lean forward…

Galen stepped back. Unsteadily, he said, “I would die a hundred times for you. And for this court. I know you will live forever, and another man might envy it; but I will be what you need, do what you need, and count my life well spent when it ends.”

“I know,” Lune whispered, and sorrow filled her eyes. No doubt he wasn’t the first man to say that to her. The obelisk in the garden bore the names of those who had gone before. And she bore enough of a human touch to mourn them.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and made himself lighten his tone. “The wedding will be in the spring. By then, I’m sure, we’ll have disposed of this threat, and I can enjoy the gaiety you spoke of with a free heart.”

Lune accepted his diversion, crossing the carpet to study the small orrery the von das Tickens had put in this, her private closet. “I shall have to consider what gift to give you, and your bride. Not faerie gold, I promise you: something that will last.”