To Bear an Iron Key by Jackie Morse Kessler

they both survived this encounter with the fey, perhaps she could convince him to pursue acting instead of thievery.
    “Well spoken, young master,” the Queen said with a full-lipped smile. “How could we do other than as you request? My lord husband and I graciously accept your thoughtful apology, for you and the witch girl both.”
    Bromwyn’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t care for how the Queen was smiling at Rusty. No, not at all.
    “You are most kind, lady Queen,” said Rusty. “May I present to you my proof of office?” He pulled out the Key from his pocket and displayed it on his palm as if it were the greatest of treasures.
    “It seems you are indeed the Key Bearer,” the King said flatly.
    “My lord Guardian,” said the Queen, her voice breathy, and she even curtsied before Rusty. “For a young man to carry such a burden, there must be far more to you than meets the eye.” She looked up from her curtsey and smiled once again, her lips shining wetly in the starlight of the World Door. “I look forward to discovering your hidden talents, my lord Guardian.”
    Bromwyn’s fists shook. The Queen was … flirting! With Rusty! Who was grinning like a fool! And blushing!
    If his wife’s mannerisms bothered him at all, the King did not show it. “The Key to the World Door is many things,” said the King, “and one of them is iron. And so we must ask, Key Bearer, that you replace the Key in your pocket and keep it there until the time should come for it to be used.”
    “Speaking of such a time,” said Bromwyn, glaring at Rusty, “we must state the rules of your visit this fine evening.”
    “ We must do no such thing, witchling,” the King said jovially. His eyes now sparkled as brightly as his lady wife’s; the anger that had danced there was gone. “Only the Key Bearer may act as the Guardian of your land. You are merely an amusement, nothing more.”
    The words slapped Bromwyn. Eyes stinging with unshed tears, she gritted her teeth and said nothing as she silently raged.
    “Thank you, my lord King, for reminding me of my responsibilities,” Rusty said smoothly. “Your lady Queen was so charming that I nearly forgot myself.”
    “My lord Guardian is quite the flatterer,” the Queen said, lips curled in a smile that hinted at many things.
    Bromwyn wanted to rip that smile off of the Queen’s face. Stop looking at him that way!
    The Queen’s lips pulled wider, almost as if she could hear Bromwyn’s furious thoughts.
    “Lady Witch,” Rusty said, “would you be so kind as to pour the wine?”
    Bromwyn tore her gaze away from the Queen and met Rusty’s intense stare. His eyes implored her to please, please, please keep her temper.
    “As the lord Guardian requests,” she said, her tone clipped.
    Rusty dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you.” He didn’t add “Winnie,” but Bromwyn could see the nickname on his lips.
    Somehow, just sensing the shape of his pet name for her made her less angry, and it was with a tight smile that she turned her back on the fey royalty to open the cask of wine.
    As she prepared the cups, Rusty made small talk with the Queen and King, and even with some of the watching fey folk. Bromwyn didn’t know how he could be so at ease. She’d nearly lost her temper more than once, and the fey had been there for not even five minutes. And yet, there was Rusty, holding his own, charming the Queen, even joking with the King. Thank Nature for small favors.
    She filled the four goblets with the apple wine. The Guardian had to toast the fey King and Queen, but before the first taste of wine was sipped, the rules of decorum had to be clearly stated as well as agreed to by the fey. Once the wine was sipped, those rules—and only those rules—would be enforced. If the Guardian didn’t impress the King and Queen during their visit, there was the very real threat of them challenging the Guardian’s authority.
    And that, as Rusty would have said, would be very