"So, what," I said from the darkness, "it's for richer or poorer?"
"I don't know about that," Rhys said. "I don't think I'd like being poor."
"Good night, Rhys," I said.
He laughed.
From somewhere near the door Galen said, "In sickness and in health, till death do us part."
There was something both comforting and ominous about those words.
Onilwyn's voice came out of the dark, far enough away that I knew he hadn't managed to find a spot on the bed. "So just like that, you bind yourself to us, to our protection and our fates?"
"To your protection, yes, but not your fate, Onilwyn. Your fate, like everyone's fate, is your own, and no one can take it from you."
"The queen says that our fate is in her hands," he said, in that quiet voice everyone seems to use in the dark as people begin to drift off to sleep.
"No," I said, "I want no one's fate. It is too much responsibility."
"Isn't that what it means to be queen?" he asked.
"It means I have the fate of my people, yes, but individual choices, those are your own. You have free will, Onilwyn."
"Do you truly believe that?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, and put my face into the curve of Adair's neck. He smelled like fresh-cut wood. No one had made him move, and it made me wonder what Andais had done to him besides cutting off his hair.
"An absolute monarch who believes in free will, isn't that against the rules?" Onilwyn asked.
"No," I said, my face buried against Adair's skin, "it's not. Not against my rules." My voice was beginning to drag with that edge of sleep.
"I think I will like your rules," Onilwyn said, and his voice, too, was growing heavy.
"The rules, yes," Rhys said, "but the housework is a bitch."
"Housework!" Onilwyn said. "The sidhe don't do housework."
"My house, my rules," I said.
He and some of the others who were still awake began to protest. "Enough," Doyle said. "You will do what the princess says you will do."
"Or what?" a voice I didn't recognize asked.
"Or you will be sent back to the queen's tender care."
Silence to that, a thick and not very restful silence. "The sex had better be damn good if I'm expected to do windows." I think it was Usna.
"It is," Rhys said.
"Shut up, Rhys," Galen said.
"Well, it's true," he said.
"Enough," I said, "I'm tired, and if I'm going to be well enough to do anything with anyone tomorrow, I need sleep."
Silence then, and the small noises that bodies make as they move under sheets. Ivi's voice came soft and distant. "How good?"
Rhys answered from the door, "Very..."
"Good night, Rhys," I said, "and good night, Ivi. Go to sleep."
I was almost asleep, lost between the twin warmths of Doyle and Adair, when I heard whispering. I knew from the tone that one of them was Rhys, and thought the other was probably Ivi. I could have yelled at them, but I let sleep roll over me like a warm, thick blanket. If I insisted on all of them being quiet at the same time, we'd never get to sleep. If Rhys wanted to regale Ivi with tales of sex, then he was free to do it. So long as I didn't have to listen to the details.
The last sound I heard was a stifled and very masculine laugh. I would learn the next morning that Rhys had attracted quite a crowd for his erotic tales. He swore our most solemn oath that he hadn't lied or exaggerated. I had to believe him, but I vowed never again to let him stay up late telling tales to those who had not shared my bed. If I wasn't careful he'd give me a reputation that no one, not even a fertility goddess, could live up to. Rhys tells me I'm being modest. I tell him I'm only mortal, and how can one mortal woman satisfy the lusts of sixteen immortal sidhe?
He gave me a look and said, "Mortal is it? Are you sure of that?"
The answer, truthfully, is no, but how do you tell if you're immortal? I mean, I don't feel that different. Shouldn't immortality feel different? It seems like it should. Besides, how do you test the theory?