AN: Once again, you are privaleged to be receiving this at this time. I have another chapter in progress, but it is unifinished as of yet.
So, here he was, rotting away in the excruciatingly dull Seelie Court, scanning for some sort of entertainment. Unfortunately, none seemed to fit his taste. He glanced at Silarial, wondering how that other knight could even stand to look at her, much less be in love with her. She was certainly lovely, but in such a way that made her most annoying to look upon. Weak too, without an ounce of her sister's sense to be cruel. Silarial lacked Nicnevin's sharp edge; she was all blunt and soft, and it sickened him. There was no attraction to be found in that, to be certain. At times he was tempted to hurt her, but that was all she tempted him to do.
And the way she regarded him--how amusing! The expression of disgust was so evident in her face; she made no effort to hide her distaste for him. To Nephamael, Nicnevin had seemed to be the only one gaining any benefit from the situation; both knights detested the Courts they had been sent to, and Silarial hated Nephamael, but Nicnevin was delighted with her Roiben.
Perhaps this was because Nephamael had been too clever to allow Nicnevin to trick his true name out of him, the way she had Roiben right off, therefore he lacked the dignity to refuse when she ordered him to get down on his hands and knees and be her table or some such ridiculous thing. She had tried that sort of thing on Nephamael, but had soon learned that one didn't screw with him, Queen or no. In fact, more often than not, he was screwing with her. That was the way it was done. Yes, it had been quite obvious that the poor naive fool hadn't a chance the moment he had set foot in the Unseelie Court.
Nevertheless, Nephamael loved the idea that he seemed to taint the Bright Court with his iron, spreading a sort of plague throughout the place, and that their Queen despised him. It seemed a fair price for his being forced to serve her, that he should make them as miserable as he was.
In fact, he was beginning to resent Nicnevin for sending him here. He wondered absently how he could get back at her for doing so. There was the Tithe coming up...To sabotage such a grand, chaotic revel would be sweetly disastrous...But how?
Nephamael examined his surroundings, searching for some small way to humiliate Nicnevin, to bring about disorder in the Night Court, make them blame her for it...All he saw were little children running around and being stroked and teased by the fey, most of them probably changeling...Changelings. That was exactly it. He would find a changeling and persuade Nicnevin to use it for the Tithe, perhaps tricking it into thinking it could fake its own death. Then he would rip off its glamour for all to see. Possibly someone would take the opportunity to kill Nicnevin, leaving him to... The thought of such power made him shiver.
Had there not been one from the Seelie Court in the past few years? He would have to get on Silarial's good side, of course; strike a bargain with her. It would be difficult, but not impossible; persuasion was his area of expertise, after all. He could charm anyone to his will, if he so wished.
"My Lady," he managed to choke out, disgusted with himself for being so servile to this soft, ineffective doll-queen. Was it really possible that she was of any relation to Nicnevin? Maybe he should be plotting her death, instead. But that would hardly be of any benefit to him.
She turned her gaze to him wordlessly, a single brow lifted questioningly.
"If I would make a proposition?"
"Why the sudden change? You usually do nothing but sulk about looking bored."
"I am bored. If you would remind me once more why I am here?"
"If you would like me to retract this treaty, go right ahead with your sulking."
"That was indeed my intention."
She leaned forward, appearing a bit more interested. "Speak, knight. I would hear of your intentions."