Chapter 11 begins with Rhys and Frost getting into bed with Merry so that Sage can drink their blood. Rhys is having fun with it and teasing, and Merry is getting worried about it, as Frost doesn’t respond well to teasing. Merry firmly tells Rhys that he can’t tease. He pouts, but agrees. Merry then frets over where to put the cup, as she doesn’t think it belongs in a drawer next to the bed, but she also doesn’t want it out in the open, watching them.
“You’re so touchy tonight,” Rhys said. “Not used to having hot lesbian sex, are you?”
I glared at him. “It was a privilege to bring Maeve to her first sidhe-on-sidhe orgasm in a century, but you know I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Looked pretty on purpose to me,” he said, still grinning.
Fine, he was going to be difficult. “You’re just jealous that I got to touch her and you didn’t.”
I glared at him. “It was a privilege to bring Maeve to her first sidhe-on-sidhe orgasm in a century, but you know I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Looked pretty on purpose to me,” he said, still grinning.
Fine, he was going to be difficult. “You’re just jealous that I got to touch her and you didn’t.”
I LOVE THIS. YOU’RE JUST JEALOUS. LKH used that same line on us fans who didn’t take too well to the forceful addition of weird, terrible sex into the Anita Blake novels. She’s super mature.
Merry then takes her robe off and stands naked in the room in front of him. She hears Sage and Frost arguing out in the hallway, so she takes this opportunity to ask Rhys not to tease Frost at all tonight. Rhys isn’t paying any attention, and instead is staring at Merry’s lusty bosom, so she has to do the *snap snap* up here to him. But I thought nudity didn’t automatically equal sex to you superior sidhe?
After teasing Merry some more, Rhys finally agrees that he won’t tease Frost.
“I like Frost, he’s a good man in a fight, but he’s been touchy as hell on a winter’s day since he joined the courts as a sidhe.”
I caught the odd phrasing, but I knew what Rhys meant. I’d seen Frost’s first form. That form hadn’t been sidhe. There’d been so much happening that I hadn’t had time to think about the meaning of any of it. Frost hadn’t always been sidhe, yet I’d been taught that you had to have sidhe blood in your veins to become sidhe. I remembered him, dancing across the snow, child-like, beautiful, the way a rush of snow is beautiful when the wind lifts it up and throws it to the sky in a dance of shimmering silver. What I’d seen hadn’t been sidhe. I wasn’t sure what it had been, but if not sidhe, then what? If never sidhe before, then how was he sidhe now?
I caught the odd phrasing, but I knew what Rhys meant. I’d seen Frost’s first form. That form hadn’t been sidhe. There’d been so much happening that I hadn’t had time to think about the meaning of any of it. Frost hadn’t always been sidhe, yet I’d been taught that you had to have sidhe blood in your veins to become sidhe. I remembered him, dancing across the snow, child-like, beautiful, the way a rush of snow is beautiful when the wind lifts it up and throws it to the sky in a dance of shimmering silver. What I’d seen hadn’t been sidhe. I wasn’t sure what it had been, but if not sidhe, then what? If never sidhe before, then how was he sidhe now?
Which would be a really cool idea to delve further into, but of course we never once go back to this. I would give all my money to read a super awesome book about how the old Irish myths somehow born forth faeries and such, and then you have, maybe, a historian or anthropologist who happens across them and gets to learn all about them. It would be SO MUCH MORE INTERESTING than the stupid Frost/Rhys/Sage/Merry scene we’re about to get.
Frost and Sage enter the room, and they’re arguing about using glamour while Sage drinks his blood. Frost doesn’t want to be bespelled, and Sage refuses to do the deed without glamour. Merry tries to diffuse the situation and beckons Frost to her. He refuses to join her on the bed while both Rhys and Sage are on it with her. Merry reminds him that he agreed to this, but he starts a fight with her about it. He agreed to give Sage blood only, not to do it while glamoured and in bed with another man. Rhys suggests that Sage merely lick Frost, to taste him and see if Frost tastes like a god or just a mere sidhe. Frost eventually agrees to this.
Sages flutters over to Frost to give him a lick, but Frost tenses up like he’s terrified. Merry then wonders if Frost was ever given to the demi-fey as torture, but nope, he hasn’t. He’s just a fucking homophobic baby. Merry gets sick of dealing with him, so she just outright orders Sage to lick him. Sage finds that Frost tastes no different than Rhys, so Rhys suggests that Sage just take his blood and let Frost go. This angers Sage, because he bargained for two sidhe warriors, not one. Sage then wonders who will take Frost’s place. After going through the entire list of dudes, they settle on Nicca. Poor, forgotten Nicca.
“You have not asked Nicca if he will allow the demi-fey to take his blood,” Frost said.
I looked at him, and he was still heart-stoppingly handsome. The question was, was beauty enough, and the answer, of course, was, no. “I don’t have to ask Nicca, Frost. If I send for him, he’ll come, and he’ll do what I tell him to do. Nicca won’t argue about it, he’ll just do what needs doing.”
“And I won’t,” Frost said, tilting his chin upward, looking like something carved of arrogance and defiance.
I sighed. “I love you, Frost.”
That softened his face, made the uncertainty rise to the surface for a moment.
“I love you in my bed, I love so much about you, but I will be queen. I will be absolute ruler of our court. You seem to keep forgetting what that means. No matter who is king, I will still rule. Do you understand that, Frost?”
“You would have a puppet as your king.”
“No, I would have a partner who knows that unpleasant things must be done, and doesn’t argue about things that cannot be changed.”
“I cannot be other than I am,” he said, and his voice didn’t match the steel calm of his face.
I looked at him, and he was still heart-stoppingly handsome. The question was, was beauty enough, and the answer, of course, was, no. “I don’t have to ask Nicca, Frost. If I send for him, he’ll come, and he’ll do what I tell him to do. Nicca won’t argue about it, he’ll just do what needs doing.”
“And I won’t,” Frost said, tilting his chin upward, looking like something carved of arrogance and defiance.
I sighed. “I love you, Frost.”
That softened his face, made the uncertainty rise to the surface for a moment.
“I love you in my bed, I love so much about you, but I will be queen. I will be absolute ruler of our court. You seem to keep forgetting what that means. No matter who is king, I will still rule. Do you understand that, Frost?”
“You would have a puppet as your king.”
“No, I would have a partner who knows that unpleasant things must be done, and doesn’t argue about things that cannot be changed.”
“I cannot be other than I am,” he said, and his voice didn’t match the steel calm of his face.
Such a healthy relationship!
So Frost leaves and sends Nicca in. Well, first, he has to pout all over the place and be moody about it. But he leaves, and they all start wondering what Frost’s fucking problem is. Rhys believes that Frost is afraid of something, but they have no idea what.
Nicca enters the bedroom, and the chapter ends as Merry is relieved to find that Nicca instantly agrees to share blood with Sage.
Trailer Park of Emotion 