“She has no heirs,” he says. “And despairs of ever bearing one. I think she would not have liked to see the wasteful slaughter of an entire line. Moreover, I don’t think she would be impressed that Balekin killed them all and still left the dais without a crown.”

“Okay,” I say, sucking in a breath.

He grabs hold of my wrist. I am shocked by the sensation of his skin warm against mine. “Take care,” he says, and then smiles. “It would be very dull to have to sit here for an entire day just because you went and got yourself killed.”

“My last thoughts would be of your boredom,” I tell him, and head off toward Queen Annet’s Unseelie encampment.

No fires burn, and the tents are of a rough greenish fabric the color of swamp. The sentries out in front are a troll and a goblin. The troll is wearing armor painted over in some dark color that seems too close to dried blood for comfort.

“Um, hello,” I say, which I realize I need to work on. “I’m a messenger. I need to see the queen.”

The troll peers down at me, obviously surprised to find a human before him.

“And who dares send such a delicious messenger to our Court?” I think he might actually be flattering me, although it’s hard to tell.

“The High King Balekin,” I lie. I figure using his name is the fastest way to get in.

That makes him smile, although not in a friendly way. “What is a king without a crown? That’s a riddle, but one to which we all know the answer: no king at all.”

The other sentry laughs. “We will not let you pass, little morsel. Run back to your master and tell him that Queen Annet does not recognize him, though she appreciates his sense of spectacle. She will not dine with him no matter how many times he asks or what delectable bribes he sends along with his messages.”

“This isn’t what you think,” I say.

“Very well, tarry with us awhile. I bet your bones would crunch sweetly.” The troll is all sharp teeth and mild threat. I know he doesn’t mean it; if he meant it, he would have said something else entirely and just gobbled me up.

Still, I back off. There are guest obligations on everyone who came for the coronation, but guest obligations among the Folk are baroque enough that I am never sure if they protect me or not.

Prince Cardan is waiting for me in the clearing, lying on his back, as though he’s been counting stars.

He looks a question at me, and I shake my head before I slump down in the grass.

“I didn’t even get to talk to her,” I say.

He turns toward me, the moonlight highlighting the planes of his face, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the points of his ears. “Then you did something wrong.”

I want to snap at him, but he’s right. I messed up. I need to be more formal, more sure that it is my right to be allowed in front of a monarch, as though I am used to it. I practiced everything I would say to her but not how I would get to her. That part seemed easy. Now I can see that it won’t be.

I lie back beside him and look up at the stars. If I had time, I could make a chart and trace my luck in them. “Fine. If you were me, whom would you apply to?”

“Lord Roiben and the Alderking’s son, Severin.” His face is close to mine.

I frown at him. “But they’re not part of the High Court. They haven’t sworn to the crown.”

“Exactly,” Cardan says, reaching out a finger to trace the shape of my ear. The curve, I realize. I shudder, eyes closing against the hot spike of shame. He keeps talking, but he seems to realize what he’s been doing and snatches his hand away. Now we’re both ashamed. “They have less to lose and more to gain throwing in with a plan that some might call treason. Severin reportedly favors a mortal knight and has a mortal lover, so he’ll speak with you. And his father was in exile, so recognition of his Court itself would be something.

“As for Lord Roiben, the stories make him seem like some figure in a tragedy. A Seelie knight, tortured for decades as a servant in the Unseelie Court he came to rule. I don’t know what you offer someone like that, but he has a big enough Court that if you got him to back Oak, even Balekin would be nervous. Other than that, I know he has a consort he favors, though she is of low rank. Try not to annoy her.”

I remember Cardan drunkenly talking us past the guards on the way out of the coronation. He knows these people, knows their customs. No matter how high-handed he sounds giving advice or how much he bothers me, I would be a fool not to listen. I push myself to my feet, hoping there aren’t hectic spots of red coloring my cheeks. Cardan sits up, too, looking as though he’s about to speak.

“I know,” I say, starting toward the camp. “Don’t bore you by dying.”

I decide to try my luck with the Alderking’s son, Severin, first. His camp is small, as is his domain—a stretch of woods just outside Roiben’s Court of Termites and neither Seelie nor Unseelie in nature.

His tent is made of some heavy cloth, painted in silver and green. A few knights sit nearby around a cheerful fire. None of them are in armor—just heavy leather tunics and boots. One is fussing with a contraption to suspend a kettle over the fire and boil water. The human boy I saw with Severin at the coronation, the redhead who caught me staring, is talking with one of the knights in a low voice. A moment later, they both laugh. No one pays me any notice.

I march up to the fire. “Your pardon,” I say, wondering if even that is too polite for a royal messenger. Still, I have no choice but to barrel on. “I have a message for the Alderking’s son. The new High King wishes to come to an arrangement with him.”

“Oh, really?” The human surprises me by speaking first.

“Yes, mortal,” I say, like the hypocrite I am. But come on, that’s absolutely how one of Balekin’s servants would talk to him.

He rolls his eyes and says something to one of the other knights as he stands. It takes me a moment to realize I am looking at Lord Severin. Hair the color of autumn leaves and moss-green eyes and horns curving from behind his brow to just above his ears. I am surprised at the thought of his sitting with the rest of his retinue before a fire, but I recover quickly enough to remember to bow.

“I must speak with you alone,” I say.

“Oh?” he queries. I do not respond, and his brows rise. “Of course,” he says. “This way.”

“You should fix her,” the human boy calls after us. “Seriously, glamoured human servants are creepy.”

Severin doesn’t answer him.

I trail behind him into the tent. None of the others follow, although, when we get inside, there are some women in gowns sitting on cushions and a piper playing a little tune. A female knight sits beside them, her sword across her lap. The blade is beautiful enough to catch my eye.

Severin leads me to a low table surrounded by tufted stools and piled with refreshments—a silver carafe of water with a horn handle, a platter of grapes and apricots, and a dish of little honeyed pastries. He gestures for me to sit, and when I do, he settles himself on another stool.

“Eat whatever you wish,” he says, making it seem like an offer rather than a command.

“I want to ask you to witness a coronation ceremony,” I say, ignoring the food. “But Balekin’s not the one who’s going to be crowned.”