Araya opened it carefully—and caught her breath. Two delicate silver bracelets nestled inside, thin as ribbons, glinting in the gleam of the aetherlamps.
“Jaxon,” she breathed, startled. “They’re beautiful. You shouldn’t have?—”
“Of course I should have,” Jaxon said, already lifting the first one from the dark velvet. “Tonight’s important, Starling. It’s your first official Arcanum event as my bond. You should look like everything you are—irreplaceable.”
The second bracelet snapped shut with a soft click. His fingers lingered over the clasp, twisting her wrist slightly as he turned it in the light. The silver links gleamed against her skin—delicate and beautiful.
“And now everyone will know exactly who you belong to,” he said, stepping back to admire her with a slow, possessive grin. “Although I’m tempted to say to hell with it and stay here with you in that dress. We’d have a lot more fun than we would rubbing shoulders with all of Father’s sycophants?—”
“And disappoint your father on his birthday?” Araya shook her head with mock severity despite the blush heating her cheeks. “I don’t think so.”
Jaxon chuckled. “You’re far too good at making me do things I don’t want to,” he said. But instead of turning to leave, he took her hands in his and tugged her into a deep, slow kiss that left her skin hot and her breath short.
“You’re going to dazzle them, you know,” he said when he finally pulled back, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her toward the door. “And there won’t be any doubt as to who you belong to.”
“As if you’d ever let anyone forget,” Araya teased, leaning into his side.
Jaxon’s smugness only deepened as they descended the stairs and crossed the central hall, every head turning to follow them as her heeled slippers clicked softly against the marble floor.
One of the Shaws’ black carriages waited outside, pulled by a matching set of sleek, dark horses. The Arcanum’s golden eye was emblazoned on the door, watching them with silent authority. Evenafter months of wearing that same sigil around her throat and reaping the privileges it offered, it still stirred something primal in her—an instinct to melt into the shadows instead of stepping forward.
Jaxon helped her up, sliding in across from her as she sank into the plush leather bench. He watched in silence while she smoothed her palms over the gauzy folds of her skirt—once, twice, again.
“Nervous?”
“A bit,” Araya admitted, managing a faint smile. “Just thinking about how many people will be there.”
“Kai and Mira will be—with their parents.” Jaxon leaned back, stretching his arms across the bench as the carriage lurched forward. “So it’s not like you won’t know anyone. Kai will probably bring Caylin—but she won’t dare cause a scene in front of Father and the other magisters.”
Araya had her own thoughts about that, but she kept them to herself. Caylin hated her enough to cause a scene no matter who was watching.
When the carriage finally came to a halt, Jaxon stepped out first, extending a gloved hand to Araya to help her down as she faltered in the heeled slippers.
“Watch your step, Starling,” Jaxon said, tucking her hand back into the crook of his arm. “I still can’t believe you’ve never been here before.”
“Not many reasons for a halfblood fae to be at the High Magister’s house,” Araya murmured.
Jaxon cut her a sharp look as he led her through the open gate and up the wide, stone-paved path. “No more of that, Starling. You belong here just as much as I do now.”
Araya didn’t answer, focusing on keeping pace with him in her heeled shoes as they started up the stairs. The house didn’t tower over them like she’d expected. Instead, it stood just three stories high, its understated grandeur softened by the dusting of snow that covered the manicured evergreen hedges.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It’s home,” Jaxon said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Father’s made a lot of improvements over the years, but he kept much of the fae architecture intact—a nod to the past.”
He shrugged, breezing past the servant who scrambled forward to open the grand double doors, not sparing her so much as a glance. But Araya lingered, pausing to offer a smile to the fae female standing outside, shivering despite the dark cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said.
The female didn’t answer, her lips thinning as she fixed Araya with a cold stare—like Araya had tracked mud across the sparkling floors.
Araya faltered, her smile freezing on her lips as shame bloomed in her chest. She dropped her gaze, her cheeks hot as she hurried after Jaxon into the manor’s warmth. The door closed behind her, leaving her blinking in the warm glow of hundreds of aetherlamps in sparkling chandeliers. She craned her neck, taking in the jewel-toned tapestries that lined the walls, depicting human triumph in vivid detail.
“Understated, as always,” Jaxon quipped, taking her arm. He breezed by them, saying something about the architecture—but Araya barely heard him, her attention captivated by the soft music and low murmur of conversation drifting from the ballroom.
Clusters of humans moved through tables laden with silver trays of bite-sized delicacies, their laughter mingling with the chime of crystal glassware. The women glittered in rich winter shades, their gowns catching the light like frosted jewels, while the men stood sharp in dark tailored coats, boots gleaming, every detail carefully curated to impress.
It was stunning—glittering and grand in the kind of way human spaces were so often designed to keep people like her out. Araya tensed, her heart pounding as she hesitated on the threshold, every instinct screaming at her to turn and run.
