"A lord, nothing better—your mother's bloodline isn't good enough for a greater title."

"I am a lord," he said.

I nodded. "Yes, on your own power, your own merit. The queen could not let such a power walk away from our court without a title."

He smiled, but it was bitter, and that anger crept back into his eyes. "Are you saying it's better to rule in hell than serve in heaven?"

I shook my head. "Never, but I am saying that you have everything your mother's blood could have given you, and you are a king."

He stared down at me, his face that arrogant mask again. The one I saw so often at court. "My mother's blood could have given me you."

"I haven't turned you down," I said.

"I saw the look on your face, felt the reluctance in your body. You don't have to say it out loud for it to be true."

I started to pull his shirt out of his pants. He grabbed my hands. "Don't."

"If you walk away now then it's finished. Drop your illusions, Sholto, let me see."

"I did that." He jerked the shirt out of my hands so hard that he almost dragged me off the bed as he moved away.

"It'd be nice if I could have embraced you without flinching. I am sorry that I couldn't, but give a girl a chance. The first look is a little overwhelming."

He shook his head. "You're right, I am king of the sluagh. I will not be humiliated."

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. He looked perfect if a little sulky. But it wasn't real, and I'd spent the last few years hiding, pretending. Pretense, no matter how pretty, can grow very old. Though they rejected him, there was no one that epitomized the Unseelie Court better than Sholto did. A combination of unbelievable beauty and horror, not just side by side but entwined. One could not exist without the other. In his way Sholto was the perfect marriage of all the court stood for, and they rejected him because they feared that he was indeed the ultimate Unseelie sidhe. I doubted they thought of it that clearly, not in so many words, but that was what frightened them about Sholto—not that he was alien, but that he wasn't alien.

"I can't give my word that I won't turn away a second time, but I can give my word that I will try."

He looked at me, arrogance like a shield in his eyes. "That's not good enough."

"It's the best I have to offer. Is fear of rejection really worth losing your first touch of sidhe flesh so quickly?"

Doubt flickered in his eyes. "If you can't… stomach it," something about the phrase amused him, but not in a happy way, "then can I call glamour and…"

I finished when his voice trailed off. "Yes, we can."

He nodded. "That is the closest I have ever come to begging."

"I laughed. "Lucky you."

He looked puzzled then, and it was almost a relief to see the real Sholto peeking through that careful mask. "I don't understand."

"Your magic is powerful enough that you probably don't." It was my voice that held bitterness now. I shook it off, literally shaking my head, sending my hair sliding around my face. I held my hands out to him. "Come here."

Distrust showed on his face. I guess I couldn't blame him, but I was getting tired of holding his emotional hand. I didn't want to hurt him, but I wasn't sure I wanted to tie myself to him forever. It wasn't the tentacles it was the heavy emotions that seemed to swing back and forth so quickly. He was going to be a high-maintenance partner when it came to his feelings. Men like that are so damned exhausting that I usually avoid them, but Sholto could offer me things that the others couldn't. He could give me back my home—for that I could shovel emotional shit for a while. But truthfully, it was almost a bigger mark against him than his extras.

"Drop the shirt and come here, or don't. It's your choice."

"You sound impatient," he said.

I shrugged. "A little." I motioned him closer with my hands.

He slid the shirt off his shoulders to spill to the floor. A flurry of emotions crossed his face; he finally settled on defiance. Fine with me, because I knew that whatever was on his face wasn't how he really felt. He'd use a mask until he was sure of his welcome.

He dropped the glamour.