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contentment with his lot. But his son was known to harbor a grudge against Jessica of Emrildale, who had spurned a marriage proposal. When the delegation from Emrildale arrived, Talia would have to watch them all.
    Then there was the pixie Febblekeck, recently-appointed ambassador from Fairytown. Febblekeck was a pretentious rag doll with wings who shed glittering orange dust everywhere he went. He sat cross-legged on the table, sipping a noxious drink of salted honey water from a thimble-sized cup as he leered up at Oren’s wife Yvette.
    Febblekeck was unlikely to be involved in any assassination attempt, at least directly. The treaty between Lorindar and Fairytown prevented Febblekeck from harming humans. But Talia had watched too many fairies snake their way around the stipulations of that treaty. Though Yvette appeared ready to stab him with her fork, which would take care of any fairy threat for the moment.
    “Humans have a peculiar attraction to all things fairy,” Febblekeck was saying. “To this day, there are those who smuggle pixie dust out of Fairytown, to be used as a drug. I’m told the effects on a human are quite . . . potent.”
    Yvette wrinkled her nose. “I can’t imagine inhaling that filthy stuff.”
    Febblekeck’s smile grew. “Inhaling. Yes, let’s say that’s what they do.”
    If Snow were here, she would be whispering crude comments to Talia regarding the mechanics of pixie/human relations, trying to crack Talia’s composure and make her laugh. But Snow had been spending all her time cleaning the debris from her broken mirrors and repairing the damage to her library. Given Snow’s vanity, Talia suspected she would try to keep to herself until her wounds healed.
    Talia stared at one of the windows, trying to push the image of Snow’s bloody face from her mind. Had the glass cut any deeper, or if one of the shards had struck her throat.... Snow could have bled to death, and it would have been hours before anyone found her.
    “What did you say to my wife?” Lord Oren struck the table hard enough to rattle his plate, jolting Talia’s attention back to the conversation. The room fell silent.
    Febblekeck’s wings blurred, raising him to eye level with Oren and showering the table in glowing pixie dander. “I merely asked if she might join me for breakfast tomorrow. I’ve a bottle of syrup from Fairytown that’s far too much for one pixie.” Glittering eyebrows wagged. “Tapped from the maple of a dryad, with all of the associated . . . benefits that come from a nymph’s magic.”
    “You miserable little insect!” Oren kicked back his chair and stood. Talia was already circling the table.
    “Lord Oren, stop.” Danielle’s tone was the one she used when Jakob refused to listen, and it cut through Oren’s bellowing as easily as a sword. “Would you play into the pixie’s hands?”
    “If he’d keep those hands where they belong—”
    “He’s not touched your wife,” Danielle said. “He’s committed no crime.” She glanced at Febblekeck. “There’s no law against behaving like an ass. However, if you were to attack him—an ambassador from Fairytown—”
    “What kind of ambassador dishonors the very people he’s supposed to work with?” Oren demanded. By now, Talia was in position behind them both, ready to seize human or pixie should the need arise.
    Danielle gave Talia a slight nod of appreciation before turning her glare on Febblekeck. “The kind who’s more interested in leverage than peace. The kind who views politics as a game, seeking to score points for himself and his masters.”
    Febblekeck flashed a disarming smile. “I humbly beg your forgiveness, Princess. And yours, Lord Oren. I was overcome by your wife’s attractiveness, and forgot myself. It’s a flaw of the fairy race. We’re far too susceptible to beauty.”
    Prince Armand snorted. Without looking up from his meal, he said, “Pixies have an unfortunate sense of beauty.”
    Talia froze. Even