He’s so bitter,Aidon chuckles in my head.
I glance at the stranger, who bound me with a Fae bargain, and shake my head, knowing my family turns in their graves seeing this dishonour.
If they even have graves. I haven’t even bothered to check
Chapter 3
Santorili has never failed to steal my breath away. Rising from the desert, it is a green oasis sustained by magic, with gardens and fountains spilling life into sun-baked streets. Stalls crowd every corner, selling rare spices, enchanted trinkets, and forbidden goods. Temples to the gods soar above the city, their towers almost touching the sky, etched with glowing runes. Despite the desert beyond, the city pulses with energy, a haven for pleasure-seekers and the bold.
While Hanovel is all neat and proper, and Tricity hosts artists and scholars, Santorili is the headquarters of the largest black market in Rhodria. Neither Navatians nor Beriganders meddle in the market’s affairs, believing it’s better to have it here, under supervision, than let the black market completely out of control somewhere else.
The city caters not only to the traders and buyers. Navatians, the resident Fae elites, invest heavily in the sprawling network of brothels, turning sex work into a true art form.
Hence, it is called the City of Sex and Trade.
Cheesy, but accurate.
I am a fan of both: spending my gold on things I do not necessarily need and taking pleasure from strangers who take my coins but leave my heart intact.
To my utter dismay, Hermitage Warriors escort us through the main street, parting the crowd and making a spectacle out of me. As if that weren’t enough, Jestin laughed at the idea of glamouring us upon entering the city. Probably hot under the collar, he didn’t consider the consequence: I’m met with countless stares, ranging from respect to fear or disgust, each carrying a thin slice of judgment.
At least that’s how it feels to me.
First, I tried facing the problem head-on, making eye contact with passersby, offering awkward waves and forced smiles. When that grew tiresome and pointless, I faked being unfazed, lifting my chin in fake confidence. Now I’m just trying not to let the murmurs get to me.
And to think we could have arrived unnoticed through the secret tunnels, but Jestin didn’t trust the Simon with that knowledge, especially where the hidden paths lead within Santorili.
I also know what you two were doing in them.Aidon’s voice invades my head, making me turn in his direction. In sunlight, he’s even more striking. Black, tousled hair, high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, lips tempting like secrets I am dying to tell and those piercing scarlet depths, begging to dive into.
A lopsided grin forms on his lips, and he says out loud, “Why, thank you. Glad you find me sophisticated.”
Jestin shoots him a glare, which I know for a fact intimidates most Fae, but Aidon only sustains his smirk and continues. “I was ready to change whatever you found lacking, but clearly I don’t need to.”
And now I’m blushing, which isn’t helping my case with Jestin, who notes my embarrassment once again and shakes his head.
I shrug, aiming to cut into the tension with a bit of humour. “I like pretty things, who can blame me?”
“Don’t lie to her, as if you could look like…” Jestin motions up and down at Aidon, “that, without shapeshifting.”
Aidon lifts a brow in sharp mockery. “My predecessors had millennia to refine hereditary flaws in our bloodline. Each shapeshifter in my line improved themselves to the best of their ability. I am the result of their relentless perfection.”
He mocks Jestin’s gesture at his own body. “Perfect father candidate.”
I choke, stumbling into the Hermitage Warrior in front of me. He catches me on instinct, mutters an apology, and bolts like I’m cursed, and honestly, it isn’t far from the truth.
“Unbelievable,” Jestin abandons the nonchalant act and turns to me, slowing his pace. I aimlessly adjust to his tempo. His eyes drill into mine with a calculating intensity as if he intends to intrude on my mind, but lacks the ability to do so.
He resents that I can,Aidon says.
I raise an eyebrow.Is there a limit to your mind intrusion?
I haven’t found one.He grins, then he tilts his head.Maybe distance?
“How did you even find him?” Jestin shakes his head, glaring at me.
Unease prickles at the back of my neck, urging me to lower my head, but I keep it high. I’ll never rid myself of the ‘weak’ label if I’m caught bowing to a lesser Fae.
Jestin looks away, letting me know he acknowledges my heritage, but not my dominance.
