Rogue's Pawn by Jeffe Kennedy Page B

you’ve met, but to whom you have not yet been properly introduced.” Interesting that Rogue’s language seemed to have a more formal cadence.
    I took that as my cue to use her correct name.
    Damn—I should have gotten coaching on proper greetings. Though it would have been difficult to cover “formally greeting nasty noble folk who’ve dumped soup on your head.”
    I gave Nast…Lady Incandescence (say that without rolling your eyes) the inclined head nod I used at my mom’s charity balls—tilt head to the right slightly and dip chin once, agreeable, pleasant. An all-purpose greeting for non-handshake situations.
    Apparently not for this one, however, as she looked incandescently pissed. Or maybe that was just her usual face. I was just waiting for that moment when her dress would eventually lose its purchase.
    Nasty Tinker Bell cleared her face with her trademark reboot and, smiling sweetly at me, said, “I hope everyone votes to kill you in the most painful method possible.” She punctuated the sentence with her bell of a giggle.
    “Well, that’s honest, Lady Lightbulb,” I answered. Experiment underway—if I pictured the incandescent light bulb and used only part of the phrase, would it translate? The pucker on her charming forehead indicated that it came through slightly wrong, though not enough to argue with.
    Rogue made a choking noise. He could read me well. But he manfully cleared his throat and said, “Respectfully, Lady Incandescence, recall that Lady Gwynn does not speak our language, thus hears what you mean, rather than what you say.”
    She whitened a bit. Aha! She’d been indulging in courteous double-talk.
    “Rogue, introduce us to your…guest.”
    A group of three men ringed around behind Tinker Bell, who seized the opportunity to scuttle away, gold cloth still miraculously clinging to her nipples. Had to be magic—wasted too, as no one but me seemed interested in whether it would stick or not. Probably at some point in the evening, it would come “accidentally” unstuck from one or both, to her delighted chagrin. I’d worked with a gal like that, who managed to lose some or all of her clothing to some mishap or another, at every social event, including the office Christmas party.
    Not everything here was different.
    The men were dressed in Rogue’s style, in various colored velvets, all snug, all enticing. All were long-limbed, wore daggers and two of them had markings on their faces, though on the right sides. None were as large and complex as Rogue’s, and none shared his distinctive coloring. The one with no pattern was ebony dark, the black of his eyes blending into dark holes of pitiless empty space. I shivered, a strange terror crawling up my spine.
    Rogue took my left hand and held it forward slightly. “Lady Gwynn, may I present Lords Falcon, Puck and Scourge.”
    I tried a little curtsey this time, hoping my theater days would see me through, and they bowed solemnly. I tamped down any sarcastic thoughts about the names.
    The first who’d spoken stepped forward. Falcon, maybe. Bright yellow eyes stared at me with raptorish intensity above a hooked nose. “Lady Gwynn, do you have a proposal for us?”
    “You can’t expect her to make terms without hearing our bargaining points first,” Rogue said.
    Falcon shot him an irritated glance. “Don’t assist your pet, Rogue. It makes you look weak. Or is that weakness why you want her?”
    “Circumventing etiquette, even with a foreigner, is unworthy of you.”
    “No point in waiting to break bread if she’s going to refuse.” The second one, wearing a dizzying ensemble of motley colors, tossed back waves of strawberry hair and grinned at me. This had to be Puck. “What say you, Lady Gwynn? Will you hold out? Yes? No? All of the Above?”
    “Lady Gwynn looks forward to dining with us.” Rogue looked pointedly at me, replacing my hand on his forearm and covering it with his own.
    “Oh, yes.” Mindful of Tinker Bell’s