It took her a moment to understand what I’d implied, and then she blushed, which was not something you saw much among the fey. It made me laugh, not at her, but just happy for her and for Uther. He was like the ugly stepsister who had won the beautiful prince, and it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

“We are not certain that anything protects from Aisling’s beauty, and he seems to have grown in power since he helped bring the dead gardens back to life,” Dogmaela said.

I remembered that night. Galen and several of the sidhe who had once been vegetative deities had been absorbed into the very trees, rocks, and earth. When they came back out, they’d gained in power, or regained old powers once lost. But Aisling’s sacrifice had been the most spectacular. A tree limb had pierced him through the chest, and he’d hung there. I’d thought he was dead, and then his body had exploded not into flesh, bone, and blood, but into a flock of songbirds that flew out into the garden to be lost in the dead trees. Their songs had been the first life heard in that lost place in centuries. Later Galen and all the rest appeared, melting out of the very walls and floor of the Hallway of Mortality, the queen’s personal torture chamber. The hallway’s cells had opened, and some had dissolved, and there were flowers and trees growing there now.

Aisling had survived all that and come back into more of his powers, or so some of the women believed. Since none of us could risk gazing on his face, I’m not sure any of us knew for certain whether Aisling had gained from his own sacrifice, or if everyone assumed it, because it was so true of the other men that had been taken by faerie and returned to us that night.

“I’ve seen Aisling with his shirt off before, and it hasn’t affected me.”

The two women glanced at each other, and then Dogmaela said, “I would not risk staring at any part of his body without a covering.”

“Hafwen told us what happened when he revealed his face to Melangell.”

I looked down at the dry grass. “I was there, I remember.”

“Melangell clawed her own eyes out, so she would no longer be able to see him,” Dogmaela said.

“I was there,” I snapped at her.

She dropped to one knee, head bowed. “My apologies, Princess Meredith, I did not mean to offend.”

“Get up, Dogmaela; I don’t want any of you to abase yourself like that.”

Saraid said, “Prince Cel expected that and more from us, so forgive us if we still fall back into decades of habit.”

“I forgive you, but Dogmaela, please stand up.”

“I angered you,” she said, head still bowed.

“I regret what happened to Melangell. I didn’t understand what I was asking when I told Aisling to use his magic on her, and a leader should know what a weapon does before using it.”

They both looked at me, Dogmaela still on the ground. They exchanged another glance. It was Saraid who said, “Melangell meant to kill Galen that night. You were within your rights to do what was needed to find out the plan to assassinate you and your consorts.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Dogmaela said. “I just don’t wish to suffer Melangell’s fate by accident.”

“I would not willingly use Aisling’s beauty against anyone ever again.”

“Why not?” Dogmaela asked.

“Because it wasn’t lust that he filled Melangell with, it was love, as if she were forced to be in true love with him all at once, even though they hated each other.” I hugged my arms tight trying to hold myself.

“You feel guilty,” Saraid said, voice full of a soft awe.

“It was a terrible thing to do; why shouldn’t I feel bad?”

They exchanged another look.

“Stop that,” I said.

“Stop what?” they both asked.

“That look, just talk to me. I am not my aunt, or my dead cousin, I am not even my narcissistic mother, or egomaniac great-uncle, or my grandfather, Uar the Cruel; just talk to me, please, and for the love of Goddess, Dogmaela, stand up.”

She got to her feet, started to glance at Saraid again, and then looked at me instead. “Regret is not an emotion we are accustomed to seeing in the royal family.”

“No, they usually enjoy their cruelty,” I said.

“We would never say that to you,” Saraid said.

“I’m saying it, about my own family, but I am not them. I know a few months here doesn’t erase decades of abuse, but I swear to you that I do not take pleasure from causing other people pain, or humiliating them.”

“We believe you mean what you say,” Saraid said.

I smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “You believe I mean it now, but you’re wondering when I’ll go crazy like my relatives and change my mind, is that it?”

“Time has taught us caution, Princess, that is all,” Saraid said.

Dogmaela put her hands on her hips and then said, “I fell back into old, unhealthy habits, and I’m sorry for that, Princess Meredith. You deserve better than that, because you have shown yourself to be fair and sane, and … I am sorry.”

I smiled at her. “It’s all right, we’re all learning as we go.”

“That is true,” she said.

“I still don’t want to see Aisling’s bare skin,” Saraid said.

“Nor I,” Dogmaela said.

“Then stand where you can’t see him, but I’m going to speak with Doyle and eventually with Aisling. If you don’t want to guard me while I do that, then you need to find guards to replace you.”

They exchanged another look, and then Dogmaela looked embarrassed and said, “I’m sorry, Princess, it is a very old habit. The other Cranes were the only beings we could look to for help once the queen gave us to her son.”

I thought the phrase was interesting: gave, like you’d give away a possession, or a puppy. You didn’t give people away. It just wasn’t supposed to work that way.

I had to go up on tiptoe to hug her. She stiffened, and didn’t hug me back at first, and then patted my back awkwardly. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry.”

She hugged me back then, and whispered, “Thank you for saving us.”

I drew back with tears threatening in my eyes again. I didn’t like this new emotional me, and really hoped that the hormones would even out and I’d regain more control, but the look on Dogmaela’s face was worth a happy tear or two.

Galen came up to us smiling. He was shirtless, showing his flat stomach and the compact muscle that was underneath every bit of him. He didn’t lift as seriously as Rhys did, and he didn’t do the more extreme nutrition, so his body looked less defined, but wearing only a loose pair of shorts there was no way for him to hide the muscles that were inside all that smooth, pale green skin. Maybe it was being surrounded by so much grass, trees, and plants, but his curls looked very green, that one tiny braid still the only memory of when his hair was almost to his knees.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, reaching his hand out toward me. It was as natural as breathing to take his hand and stand at his side.

“We’re fine,” I said, and leaned into him, going up on tiptoe to meet his kiss.

Dogmaela mumbled, “Fine,” and turned away to hide her own emotions, I think.