Serenhadbarelyadjustedto the finery of his quarters over the past month. Now his rooms are made strange again as Folly gawks around the parlor. Goldwood crown molding. Crystalline bear statues. The family portrait above the mantel. The squirrel hopping from planter to planter.
“And I thought the rest of the palace was nice,” Folly says, peeking through his fingers with his golden left eye. A silk-wrapped bundle rests under his other arm. “It’s blinding in here.”
“I’m still not used to it,” Seren confesses. “Though at least I can’t see the magic.”
“My old boss would piss himself over this room.” Folly lowers his hand, adjusting to the light. “Gods’gnawing teeth. I used to think Alard was fancy with real glass windows in his workshop.”
Seren laughs.
Talking to someone normal is an unexpected relief. Folly might have one magic eye and a dramatic starry robe, but the glitter on his cheeks is makeup, and his ears are round. He understands where Seren came from, and how strange all this fae stuff is.
Seren’s been getting too desperately comfortable, surrendering into Nevander’s arms every night.
“Have you seen the library?” Seren asks. “It’s amazing. One of the libraries, at least. There are several.”
Folly sets the bundle on a brocade armchair. “I’ve mostly just seen the courtyards and throne room. I’ve only been here to petition…”
He glances at the portrait, falling silent.
Seren is used to the mental tripwire. “You can say her name. Everyone else does.”
“Fitting with her talent for memories,” Folly says. “Stands to reason she’d leave a strong one.”
“I wish I’d met her,” Seren says, looking at the low fire. Not the portrait above.
Awkwardness falls. Seren shouldn’t be opening up like this. Growing up in the same village doesn’t make them friends. Before Seren knew how to shield, he would have flinched from this interaction.
“When I was young,” Seren says instead. “My parents told me to avoid you.”
Folly snorts. “Them and everyone else’s parents.”
“They said you were fae-touched.” Seren fingers his own pointed ear. “Funny, considering.”
“Did they know about you?” Folly asks, mirth fading.
Seren shrugs.
“I’m sorry.” Folly gestures. “This place suits you, at least.”
Seren hadn’t expected that. “Does it?”
Folly stares like Seren’s lost his mind. “You’re a fae prince,” he says bluntly. “You fucking sparkle. You’re wearing twenty expensive rings and you’re not fidgeting with any of them. Every time you move, those lilies turn towards you.”
“There’s only three rings,” Seren protests, because he can’t deny the rest. “This is my carryhold, and this amethyst calls for a tidingbird, and this…” Nevander slipped the topaz on his finger this morning, with a soft kiss to his knuckles, and a murmured,Happy threshold. “I’m sure it does something. Is it traditional to give gifts for thresholds?”
Folly continues staring. “It’s a time of transition. Fae mostly give threshold gifts if their relationship with someone has changed.”
Please, false gods, don’t let Seren blush. “Could you do me a favor?”
Folly’s head tilts craftily. “Are you asking as Prince of Summer?”
“As your former neighbor,” Seren says. “Can you talk to Tansy?”
“I’d rather not.” Folly wrinkles his nose in deliberate disapproval. “He keeps trying to seduce my lover.”
“He tries to seduce everyone’s lovers,” Seren says, which is a mistake, because Folly perks up like a gossip-seekinghound. Seren soldiers on. “Tansy refuses to go back to Wymond. I worry I won’t convince him before this realm-sickness takes hold.”
“He’s just a human.” Folly touches his own rounded ear. “A particularly silly human. You could clap him in irons and toss him through a portal. Well, not irons, I suppose. Some other kind of chain. Just rope would probably suffice. He doesn’t seem very strong…”