Marshall takes a breath. “Let that be a lesson to you all. Foul language will not be tolerated. He is holy and you are His children. Let us be holy.” He growls as he looks to me, “Humans.”
“Partial humans,” I correct. “I guess I should be thankful I haven’t been blipped out of this infernal plane just yet.”
Chloe pops up beside me like an apparition. Her hair is jet-black, no chestnut highlights for her today, her makeup is flawless, lips blood red, and she’s sporting the perfect cat’s eyes with lashes long enough to touch her brows.
“Oh Skyla,” she gives a dark laugh. “You will be blipped out soon enough. The after party is strictly family.”
“If I’m not there, the boys won’t be either.” My heart aches at the thought of being cut out in every manner.
“They’re not wanted. Gage agreed that the ceremony would be enough. They’re so young. They’d rather be at your mother’s picking Beau Geste’s nose, or whatever they like to do for fun.” She cups her belly as if she’s afraid it might actually fall off, twisting her arms around it as she were sizing it.
“What are you doing? And why are you dressed in a canopy?”
She blows a quick breath, her cheeks flapping from the effort. “I needed a very special dress, something that would make me stand out and look very, very pregnant. It’s important that the gentry see I’m carrying his child. Not only am I his wife, his lover”—her lips curl at the sides as she takes a moment to gloat—“hisfavoritelover, but I’m about to bear a royal child.”
“Sorry, Chloe, I beat you to it. In fact, I’m three up on you.”
“Not true. One is dead, and the boys will not be heirs to the throne. This child is special. Not only is it Gage Oliver’s child, but he or she is being born into royalty.”
“Chloe, Gage is never going to die. I can wish all I want, but that won’t make it happen. That means your child will never take the throne. And to be clear, my children are royalty. They are Celestra, and that is royalty enough for me.”
Marshall takes a breath. “It’s quite true. Not to offend the other Factions, but Celestra has always been the crème de la crème. And Skyla is the purest of them all.” He nods before taking off into the crowd.
Logan rumbles with a laugh as he pulls me close to his side. “And that, Chloe, is why our child trumps your child as far as royal bloodlines go.”
“It’s true,” I add. “So, you see, Chloe, that circus tent you’ve donned was totally unnecessary. On the bright side, your side hobby of procreating with Fems is going strong—especially considering you can’t stand children.”
“I’ll give Gage twelve children if he wants them.” Her eyes widen as she looks to the empty throne. Chloe is hungry for Gage Oliver’s sperm.
“I have a brilliant idea. Why don’t you and Gage move to Eversor full-time, and Logan and I can pretend the two of you never existed?”
A dark laugh bumps through her. “And ruin all the fun we’re having? Please, Skyla. Being married to Gage is heaven, but knowing you’re forced to watch on the sidelines is the icing on this sinfully delicious cake. You’re welcome to hide out in my closet while the two of us are going at it. Trust me when I say, there is no better sight than to see Gage Oliver’s dimpled, devilish grin nestled between my thighs. And the rapture that ensues is to die for.”
I balk at the thought, “You?Die? The world should be so lucky.”
Logan walks us off without so much as a goodbye, and we find Marshall speaking with a luminescent being that bears my likeness, my mother, Candace Messenger. My blood is still boiling as visions of Gage Oliver’s dirty grin popping up from that witch's legs pollute my thoughts.
My mother winces and taps me on the forehead. Not only do her feel-good vibratronics pulsate through me at the speed of light, but a visual of a white sandy beach and ice blue water infiltrates my mind.
“What a rush.” I shudder as if I just had a hit off the best drug on the planet.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
I mock bow. “And I’m surprised you waited this long, but thank you. Logan and I are ecstatic.”
Logan takes a breath. “Beyond ecstatic. And we are anxiously awaiting the arrival of our daughter.”
My mother lifts a brow. “Good. As you should be. I’ve heard rumors of wedding dates.”
“Same one,” I assert. “December thirteenth. The baby will be there and I’m hoping you’ll be there, too.”
“It will be held at Whitehorse,” Logan adds. “If I can put in a request for good weather, I would be most grateful.”
“Oh, my dear Logan”—my mother reaches over and lovingly palms his cheek—“anything for you, my love. Anything in the world.”
Before I can prompt Logan to make an outrageous request, like blipping this version of Gage Oliver out of existence and bringing back the old one, my other mother, Lizbeth, pops over, and standing beside her is the very first love of my life, my father.
I don’t waste a second wrapping my body around his and convulsing with something in between laughter and tears.
