No one appeared to suspect foul play.
Not a murmur about Adreona, the Vanir, or the Panateia.
The steady beat of a drum filtered through the crowd, turning the idle chatter into nothing but a hum as they all turned their attention to the funeral procession.
“Do I look weird with this hair?” Nico fussed with the strands of his dark hair. “Because I feel weird.”
“You look fine,” I hissed as I kept my gaze scanning the crowd.
“Are you sure? I feel like I look ridiculous with this hair color. It doesn’t suit me at all.”
“It suits you just fine.” For fucks sake, he was more concerned about his appearance than I was.
“Not better than my natural hair though, right?”
“No, you look better with your silver hair, but this hair doesn’t look bad, okay? Will you shut up and focus now?”
A sly smirk slid across his face. “You think I look better with my silver hair.”
“Nico, I swear, you need to let this go and shut up or I will feed you to a Dhampir.”
His smirk didn’t disappear, but he stopped talking. Thank the fucking Goddess. I didn’t want to discuss his looks any further. Because both Nico and I knew he looked better with his silver hair.
Silently, Nico and I slipped out the back doors of the temple. Blending into the crowd as the flags of the Blood Court came into view.
Two guards dressed in all black held the flags, the seal of the Blood Court etched into the black fabric in a bright red, sticking out amongst the gray sky.
Behind the guards came Lorenzo, or who I assumed was Lorenzo. I never had the displeasure of meeting Luka’s uncle, but he fit every description I had heard about him. Even if he did murder his own father, he played the part of a mourning son well. His head was downcast as he walked behind the guards, casting his pale face in shadow. His face was gaunt; his shoulders caved in. He too was dressed in all black, his dark hair secured with a leather strap at the nape of his neck.
On top of his head, he wore a shimmering silver crown.
A crown he had stolen by helping murder his own father.
“Who is that on Lorenzo’s arm?” I whispered, standing on my tiptoes and trying to see through the crowd.
“I can’t get a good look at her,” Nico hissed as he stood taller.
I pushed my way through the crowd, trying to get a better vantage point.
My breath stilled in my lungs. Nico shifted forward, and I grabbed his arm, holding him back. “It’s Adreona,” I hissed.
Nico stilled. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“It’s her, I’m sure of it.” I’d never forget her face. I gripped his forearm harder, my nails biting into his skin, this was much worse than we thought. She wasn’t just pulling the string from behind the scenes, she was pulling them from front and fucking center.
While Lorenzo played the part of a grieving son, Adreona did no such thing. She held her chin high, her black hair swishing against her chin as she walked with confidence.
Confidence of someone who helped orchestrate the murder of a king.
“Where’s the body?” I whispered to Nico.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Usually, the family follows the body in, but I didn’t see anything.”
“Wait!”
We whipped our heads toward the sound of a guard shouting. “Wait!” Lorenzo and Adreona paused at the entrance of the temple, turning their attention to the guard stopping them.
“What is it?” Lorenzo demanded, his grieving appearance quickly replaced by annoyance.
