Reluctant to speak, I offer a practiced smile.
I’ve a strong feeling I’ll be wearing it for the rest of today.
The last of the staff pass and Eve appears, a broad grin on her face. Our eyes lock, and the blue of her eye seems brighter, accented by the slip of silver lining along her lids. With a long, low whistle, she folds her arms across her chest as she leans against thebanister.
“Sorry I’m late. Blame Cyran,” she says as her eyes roam over me.
“Is Cyran alright?” I ask, stopping beside her.
She nods. “Aye. He wanted to ensure I understood the protocols for today. He’s anxious. I’m not sure why. He didn’t strike me as the kind of fae to be nervous in a crowd.”
My eyes narrow.
“There’s a lot of people in that room, Ves. A lot of faces even I don’t recognize,” she explains.
“Erusian ladies and lords, I assume?” I ask, fighting the twisting knot in my stomach.
“All here to watch you become queen,” she says with a slow nod.
Laughing I say, “All eyes on me until they see you.”
Eve barks a laugh.
How could they not?
Eve… isdashing.
Clad in the Witherhorn family color, she dons a well-tailored button down shirt and well-fitting slacks. Her collar left open, the band of Malbolge runes around her throat sits exposed.
A demon mark on display without shame.
A touch of demonic pride wells in my chest.
She may not be contracted to me, but Fate would have it a contracted fae would become my closest friend in all of this. I may not be fond of the hells, but I will not denyallparts of who I am.
Eve’s head tilts and a few of her loose braids decorated with an abundance of crystalline beads and clasps swing with the motion. Her eyes narrow as she studies me. She looks nothing like a guard—save for the daggers strapped to her chest and thigh—and everything like a gallant vagabond.
“Perhaps I won’t run off with Ryc,” I laugh. “We could make for the door.”
She laughs, a sanguine smirk appearing on her lips. “I don’t steal from this king.”
She pulls herself from the banister as half a dozen questions spring into my head. Turning, she offers me her arm. As I take it she says, “If you want to hear why, your book will tell the storybetter than me.”
At her mention of the book I’m reminded of her request and guilt is quick to strike.
“I never asked,” I say quietly. “Did you get what you wanted from the sophont?”
Her smile fades as she sighs. “I did. Thank you. Mikael is lyrical in his storytelling.”
“Mikael?”
“He has a name,” she says, chuckling. “The book. Mikael Crissop. Lived in Lightvale before the Dividing War apparently.”
It’s ahumansoul and not a demon’s?
My heel catches on my dress as we take our first step. In a blur, Eve swings around, steadying me by my waist.
“Fall tomorrow, not today,” she says, her eyes wide.
