And it looked like the vampire’s expression had been a snarl, after all, because he’d just turned it on Aeslinn. “Do you know who that is?” he demanded, gesturing at Pritkin, who was still in the same spot.

Everybody else had sped up, but he remained slumped between the two fey, as if they were the only reason that he was on his feet at all. The guards had twin expressions of disgust on their faces, possibly because he was leaking a widening puddle of bog juice that was threatening their footwear. Or possibly because the stench had suddenly ramped up to new levels.

The people inside had been odorous enough to make my eyes water, but for some reason Pritkin was giving off a reek that could almost count as a weapon. It actually caused me to take a step back, and the guards looked like they were right there with me. They had subtlety moved as far away as they could while still supporting their rancid captive.

The smell did not appear to bother Aeslinn, however, who was smiling.

“Yes, Nimue’s great-grandson.” There was satisfaction in the gaze that he sent over his prisoner. “I’ve been chasing him for some time—”

“And making a spectacle of yourself all over Ireland in the process,” the vamp snapped. “Do you know what they’re calling your people these days? The Wild Hunt!”

Aeslinn laughed. “Fair enough, in this case. You would not believe the trouble he gave me.”

“He’s going back.” It was implacable.

“I beg your pardon?” The king was faultlessly polite.

“You heard me. He’s half demon, son of that bastard Rosier—”

“I know that.” Aeslinn’s lip curled. “As if human blood wasn’t bad enough—”

“Hold your tongue, fey, or did you forget who you’re talking to?”

The tone was completely at odds with the jolly outfit, being vicious enough to make me flinch. But Aeslinn only smiled, although it was a bit more fixed this time. “Do you know, I think I did. That skin you wear is convincing—and appreciated. Do I want to know what you look like under there?”

“Insolent pup! I could crush you with a thought—”

“Yes, but then who would speak to father on your behalf?”

“He’s not your father—”

“He’s everyone’s father. And I’m more of a son to him than that traitorous dog he sired. Caedmon,” Aeslinn sneered. “‘Great King,’ when there’s nothing great about him—”

“Cease this ridiculous drivel!” the vamp snarled. “We have a problem!”

“No, you have a problem. Explain his disappearance any way you like, but I will have him.”