The infirmary door was open today. No scary bouncer barred the way. Sebastian smiled and greeted everyone they passed, able to call them all by name. While he claimed to hate this place, it certainly didn’t hate him. Even the medics gushed over him.

Ronan was sitting up, covered up to his waist by a dark blue blanket. His left leg was slightly elevated. He wore not shirt and his long hair was bound at his nape and spilled over his shoulder. Despite him being barely clear of Death’s door, he looked wonderful. AT least to Beth. She’d never seen a more delightful sight than Ronan sitting up in bed, chatting to Sylvie, who had claimed a chair beside him. There wasn’t much color to his skin, but there never had been. Pale was just part of his appearance, and it suited him well.

Time slowed for Beth as she and Sebastian approached. There were other people in the ward, other ailing Fae, some moaning, some comatose. There were medics and visitors buzzing around, but Beth never saw any of them. All that mattered was Ronan. All that mattered was that he was safe.

Beth hadn’t quite believed it until just now. He turned his head and his dark eyes settled on her. She couldn’t help but wince. He had every reason to hate her. She’d gotten him nearly killed. But instead his lips tilted up in that tease of a smile and he said, “There you are,” like he’d been looking for her all day.

Beth’s heart did an uncomfortable jig in her chest and she reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry, Ronan.”

One of those perfect eyebrows rose questioningly. “For what?” He gave her hand a squeeze.

“For being a stupid, awful addict. For getting you almost killed.” Her throat felt tight and she bit her lip, afraid she’d start begging for forgiveness if she didn’t shut her mouth.

“Elizabeth. What happened was not your fault. I should have planned more thoroughly, been more careful.” His entire countenance was stern. He stared at her imploringly. “It’s my fault. I should never have brought you there. I knew the risks.”

Beth shook her head and closed her eyes, fighting for control over her expression. “All that matters is we didn’t lose anybody. Everything’s okay, right?”

“Right. Did you sleep alright?”

Beth opened her eyes and looked at him incredulously. “You’re worried about how I slept? You just nearly died!”

On the other side of his bed, Sylvie was avoiding looking at them. She sat back, her arms crossed over her chest, expression neutral. Beth suddenly realized that she’d interrupted whatever they’d been talking about. Guilt prodded at her.

“I’ve had iron poisoning before, Elizabeth. I’m fine.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You have? Seriously?!”

“I spent a lot of time in the Drochaid when I was younger.” His expression darkened slightly.

Of course, Sebastian had mentioned that. Beth wondered if he’d gotten poisoned when his parents had died. Then she wondered if it was iron poisoning that had taken them. If so, this experience was probably doubly as traumatizing for him.

She squeezed his hand tightly and frantically searched for something else to talk about.

“I like your room,” she ended up blurting out. Eloquent.

Ronan looked minutely surprised. “It let you in?”

She nodded. “I guess being your wife makes me a VIP. That’s a nifty little enchantment.”

“Ensures security. Not that I’m here enough to need it.”

Beth nodded again, watching him. He looked more relaxed than normal, but showed no other outward signs of being on the loopy-inducing painkillers that Beth had experienced.

“Something on my face?” he asked, after Beth had stared long enough to be creepy.

“No, just, how do you feel?” She was anxious, waiting for something to go horribly wrong. Nothing ever turned out okay, at least not in her experience. When bad things happened, they tended to change everything for the worse.

“Did you think I was lying when I said I was fine? I rarely lie, Elizabeth.”

Beth blushed and looked down at her lap. His tone hadn’t been scolding but she felt slightly ashamed nonetheless.

Sylvie cleared her throat and Ronan turned to her. Suddenly Beth became aware that Sebastian was sitting beside her, and probably had been since she’d settled down. She pulled her hand from Ronan’s and turned to him, still blushing. “How’s the house?”

“The house is fine, same as you left it yesterday. Benji’s still mopey. The twins are still weird. I’m thinking of getting a cat.”

“We could use a house cat. There are mice in the basement.” Beth’s corset was making her sit up straighter than she normally would. She twisted and smiled as her back popped.

“I did not say ‘house cat’, Beth. I said a cat for me. My cat. Not your cat.”

“Oh please, like a cat could turn down this face. I’ll come bearing tuna.”

“Like you would even know how to open a can of tuna without me giving you directions.”

Beth stuck her tongue out at him and laughed when he did it right back.

“Are you sure you two aren’t the married ones?” Sylvie asked, observing them.

“Jealous?” Sebastian asked, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

The selkie snorted.

Ronan’s eyes had closed, though he still remained upright in the bed.

“Should we go? You need to rest.” Beth hoped she didn’t sound too fussy.

“Mom wants to see us anyway,” Sylvie said, giving Beth an annoyed look. “I’m not sure what about, but it’s never good.”

“But I was expecting hugs and gummy bears,” Beth said, heart flipping in her chest when Ronan’s lips curved up into a smile.

“Are you sure she wants to see both of us?” Beth asked Sylvie as they made their way toward the throne room, footsteps in time.

“Yes.” The selkie didn’t slow as they turned a corner. “She was explicit in her directions.”

“Did she send Fianna again?”

“Why do you refer to your mother by her name?”

“Because it’s better than being reminded that somehow I was made from her.” Beth knew she sounded bitter, but didn’t see a point in making the effort to mask it.

“Fair enough,” Sylvie said, dropping the subject. She seemed somewhat surly today. Beth surmised that it had to do with her along time with Ronan having been interrupted.

A shout from inside the throne room had the girls each halting their pace to listen. A man’s voice carried loudly, deep and authoritative.

Beth and Sylvie shared a surprised look. Who would dare shout at the Queen like that? Not even Ronan spoke to her with such disrespect. Surely someone was about to lose his head. Beth wondered if his execution would fall upon her shoulders in Ronan’s temporary absence.

“Hide,” Sylvie whispered, taking Beth’s arm and pulling her behind one of the large curtains adorning a window that lined the wall. They both fit easily behind it, each peeking out one side.

“Why are we hiding?” Beth asked quietly.

“Because I don’t hear whoever that is screaming in agony. Therefore, I’m curious to find out who can get away with talking to her like that.”

They didn’t have to wait long. The large doors opened and out strolled a man of medium build. He looked confident and it showed in his walk. Beth recognized him after a moment of scrutiny as the man who had tried to get her to dance at her wedding reception. Aengus Bierne. Strange, he did not have the authority to yell at Maeve thusly. In fact, at least to Beth’s knowledge, no one did.

Bierne strode close to them as he took his leave and Beth nearly cried out. He smelled of lightning and gunpowder, of Cthonic. Not a large amount, not enough for Beth to give away their position and pursue him, but he’d certainly touched it recently.

Beside her, Sylvie tensed as well. She wasn’t as sensitive to the soul-juice as Beth was, so she shouldn’t be able to smell it. Which meant that the selkie was on guard for a different reason. As soon as he was out of sight and the tap of his shoes on the cold marble had faded, Beth found out why.

“That’s him!” she cried. “That’s the dealer! The one who pays me to smuggle!”

Beth blinked at her. “Aengus Bierne?” She hoped she was remembering his name right.

“He never gave me a name. Said it wasn’t important. What the hell was he yelling at my mother about?”

“I don’t know.” Beth worried her lip, which had just begun to heal. “Let’s go in.”

Together they vacated their hiding spot and entered the throne room.

Maeve wore red today. She looked much more relaxed than she had last night, though she retained her usual strict demeanor. Her lips were pursed and her eyes were fixed on a point somewhere to her left. She seemed to be lost in thought.

Sylvie cleared her throat when they’d come to a stop before her. “Mom?”

Maeve’s eyes snapped to them. “I have a job for you, Elizabeth. Something I would have my sheriff do were he well.”

Elizabeth swallowed, not liking the sound of that at all.

Beside her, Sylvie stiffened. “Why do I need to be here for this?”

“Because you’re going to help her.” There was no room for argument in the Dark Lady’s tone, but that did not deter her daughter.

“Why? I’m not the sheriff!”

“Because I said so.”

“But --”

“Because you insisted upon helping my sheriff to near death in the Drochaid so you will help him now as well.”

That shut Sylvie up. Though Beth could still see the anger simminger within her dark eyes it was laced with something else, perhaps guilt.

“What’s the job?” the selkie ground out.

“The kitchen is infested with imps. I would like them dealt with by the end of the day.”

Both girls groaned in unison. Imps, while they sounded like silly, whimsical creatures, were no joke. In fact, having an infestation of imps was a serious situation. They were clever and resilient and masters at hiding. Their specialty was thievery, but only on a small scale. When imps were afoot little things would go missing, one by one. Sometimes they would be returned, but not consistently. It always took a while to detect their presence but a trained eye would recognize what the disappearing stuff could mean pretty quickly.

Beth and Benji had dealt with a bad case of them when they’d first moved into their beach house. It had taken them weeks to completely do away with them. Even now they weren’t completely sure that they were totally gone. The occasional hairbrush, egg timer or remote control still had the tendency to vanish for weeks at a time.

Dispatching with the imps had taken Beth and Sylvie all day and well into the evening. Beth was frustrated and worn out. However, her experience in the Drochaid had given her a new appreciation for tasks that didn’t have a high chance of ending in death. While the imps had been annoying they hadn’t been life threatening. She did, however, need a bath.

The grime of the kitchen and the imp spittle had all but covered her dress, which was just as well. She was ready to hunt down at least some leggings and a tunic. Her odds of finding jeans and a t-shirt were slim. Hers from the night before had more than likely been incinerated. She knew from experience that revenant blood did not come out of clothes.

Beth took a shortcut through the courtyard, hoping to reach her room just a little bit faster. The zing of metal slicing through cold air caught her attention and when she located its source she was even more annoyed.

“What are you doing up?” she huffed.

Ronan let the tip of the sword rest in the frozen ground as he regarded her with eyes made even more beautiful but the reflection of the moon off the snow. She was caught in them briefly before taking note of his attire.

“You’re going to freeze to death,” she said, gesturing to his lack of either a shirt or shoes.

“That is such a mortal saying.”

His surly tone made her smile. “Have the painkillers worn off, then?”

He grunted, bringing the sword up and swinging it through the air once more.

Beth decided that her bath could wait, and settled on a stone bench to watch him.

“I had an interesting day,” she announced. “I got to play sheriff.”

Ronan stopped, letting the metal rest once more and turned to her. HIs scowl was very pronounced. “What did she make you do?” His voice was tight, angry. This Ronan was a hard contrast to the doped up Fae he’d been this morning.

“Clear the kitchen of imps,” she said. “But I had helped, she forced Sylvie to assist.”

He blinked for a moment and amusement flashed in his eyes. “I would have liked to witness that. You two battling imps.”

Beth gestured to her ruined dress. “As you can see, it went well.” Her tone was dry.

He threw back his head and laughed. The sound sent a tingle down to her toes.

“There’s more. I found something out.”

Ronan shoved the blade deep enough into the ground that it stood on its own and moved to sit beside her on the bench. He was warm, despite his lack of accoutrement, and she fought the urge to lean into him.

“What is it?”

“Sylvie and I ran into her boss today.”

Interest lit his face. “The drug dealer? Here?”

“Remember that guy from our wedding reception who tried to get me to dance?”

His eyes widened minutely. “Really? Aengus Bierne?”

Beth nodded. “Not only that, but we heard him arguing with Mae- The Queen before we entered the throne room. We couldn’t tell what about though. Sylvie definitely confirmed it was him when he left the room.”

“Did he not see you?”

“We, uh, hid. Behind a curtain.” Beth couldn’t help but feel a little sheepish.

The corner of Ronan’s lips twitched up. “Did you get the impression that the drug dealer was selling to Maeve?”

“Maybe. She didn’t seem super high when we entered or anything, just a little spaced out. It didn’t last long though before she chewed into our asses for letting you get hurt.”

If he was affected by Maeve’s caring for him he didn’t show it, simply scowled a little harder. The trace of the smile from earlier was gone. “This … doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you know about Aengus? I thought he was a courtier.”

“He is. He emerged from the city about ten years ago and claimed to share ancestry with the late Mac Aodhas. He’s done nothing of importance since, at least not as far as this place is concerned. He is considered slightly, what’s the word … creepy, by the ladies around the court. But that’s not a characteristic uncommon among the Unseelie.”

Beth thought that over. “Huh. Well, it’s not like you can arrest him if he’s supplying her majesty, right?”

Ronan looked deep in thought for a moment. “Well, I could, but she would probably pardon him. I think our best course of action is to find out how he’s obtaining the Cthonic and prevent him from doing so anymore. But alas, that will probably have to wait until we do whatever task my liege married us to achieve.”

Beth nodded, a shiver shimmying down her spine at the thought of whatever the Queen had in store for them, for her. She realized suddenly that she’d been leaning into him, just as she’d tried to avoid doing. His body heat was so tempting and he smelled like himself again, like evergreen and lemongrass instead of iron and blood. She pulled away abruptly.

“It’s cold,” she said, “and you are not yet recovered fully. I’ll walk you back to bed.”

His lips quirked up again. “Concerned for me, wife?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Now go. I won’t be responsible for a relapse or something.”

“I heal fast,” he murmured, but stood nonetheless, offering her a hand.

They started back toward the infirmary, Ronan pulling his sword from the snow on the way. Compared to the frozen outside the Pale Palace was warm, an adjective Beth never imagined she would use to describe it. They entered the same room from the morning but it almost seemed a different place tonight. The lights were low, only a single candle lit each bedside. There was only one healer and he sat at a desk under a big window against the wall. He nodded to them, well, more to Ronan, and looked back down at whatever scroll he was pouring over.

Ronan found his bed and turned to her, giving her a tender look. “Goodnight, Elizabeth,” he all but whispered.

She smiled up at him, unable to help herself. She was so glad that he was okay, even if he’d been barefoot in the snow only moments before. “Goodnight, Ronan. Sleep well.”

He nodded and then looked hesitant for a moment before leaning in and pressing his lips to her forehead. In response, her body alighted in what felt like jolts of electricity. She managed to hold back any noises of excitement but the grin she wore could not be contained. She looked up and they locked eyes while she debated on giving him a kiss on the lips in response. In the end she decided against it. Getting herself worked up before bed was never good, especially when he was to sleep in the infirmary.

Instead, Beth turned on her heel and strode out, returning to his bedroom to take a hot bath and then bask in the lemongrass and evergreen scent of his sheets.