By Laurell K. Hamilton
I'm Princess Meredith, inheritor to a throne of faerie. My day activity, as soon as upon a time, was once as a personal detective in la. regrettably, princess has now develop into a full-time occupation.
My aunt, Queen Andais, could have it no opposite direction. And so i'm almost a prisoner in faerie–trapped the following with a few of the realm’s most lovely males to function my bodyguards . . . and my enthusiasts. For i'm pressured to conceive a baby: an inheritor to be successful me at the throne. but after months of wonderful intercourse with my consorts, there's nonetheless no child. And no child potential no throne. the single walk in the park is loss of life by the hands of my cousin Cel, or his fans, if I fail to conceive.
Now Mistral, Queen Andais’s new captain of the protect, has come to my bed–defying her and risking her negative wrath in doing so. yet even she's going to hesitate to punish him in jealous rage, simply because our becoming a member of has reawakened outdated magic, mystical strength so old that not anyone stands opposed to it and survives. now not even my most powerful and so much preferred: my Darkness and my Killing Frost. no longer even Mistral himself, my typhoon Lord. yet simply because Mistral has helped to carry this magic forth, he could stay one other day.
If i will be able to reclaim keep an eye on of the fey energy that when used to be, there is desire for me and my reign in faerie. i would but quell the darkish schemes and subterfuges surrounding me. even though shadows of obsession and conspiracy assemble, i'll survive.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Additional info for Mistral's Kiss
Very well, finish it. ” She held out her hand to Mistral. ” Mistral did not question. He stood and took her pale hand. “We need him,” Rhys said. “No,” Andais said, “no, I have given Meredith my green men. ” Doyle asked. “No,” she said, and her voice was unfriendly again, as if she would like to be angry but couldn’t afford to be right now. Andais was a creature of her temper; she always indulged it. This much self-restraint from her was rare. “To make spring, you need many things, my queen,” said Doyle.
It was Barinthus, tallest of all the sidhe, who had moved to the door. He stood pressed to it, avoiding the spill of mead that seemed to creep like a thing alive across the floor. He held on to the door handle as if it would not open. As if we were trapped here until the magic had its way with us. A small sound drew me back to gaze at the bed, and Kitto still perched there, safe above the flowing mead. His eyes were wide, as if he was afraid, regardless. He was afraid of so much. Abeloec rubbed his cheek across my thigh.
The wonderful sweet scent of wild roses filled the air. The dead trees in the circle were dead no more, but began to bud and leaf as I watched. The thaw spread from the boar’s death and that spill of warm blood. The tiny piglet was heavier. I looked down and found that it had doubled in size. I put it onto the melting snow, and as the boar had gotten bigger, so now this piglet grew. Again, I could not see the change, but like a flower unfurling undetectably, it changed all the same. I began to walk over the snow, and the rapidly growing pig came at my side like an obedient dog.