Ryc leans into me, laughing, and as I rest my head upon his shoulder, I find Eve staring daggers and fighting a curling lip aimed at the boisterous fae across the table. She shifts under my stare, her eyes meeting mine. There doesn’t need to be a bond between us for me to hear her thoughts, they’re plain upon her face.
I burst into laughter and attempt to stifle it behind a hand. Eyes swing in our direction and ultimately fall upon Eve. She makes no effort to tuck away her face or the dry expression upon it.
“You can join in too, Eve,” Fenryn laughs. “Good times had by all. I provise—premise—promise,” he corrects himself as he makes a sweeping gesture over the table.
Lilith appears beside him and, leaning between him and Rowen, sets a tall glass of water before the mountainous fae. She straightens herself, perching a hand on her hip.
“Drink, Fenryn,” she says, her voice firm but accompanied by a smile. “Castle Erus doesn’t need another streaking incident.”
Fenryn trades his wine glass for water, lifting it in thanks toward Lilith. “Wrong,” he bellows. “It needsmore.”
Lilith rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she returns to her seat on my left. Fenryn, with little care for the mess he’s making, downs more than half the glass in a single tilt.
Darin, sitting on the far side of Eve, leans onto the table. “Run rampant through your own home, fae. There are other matters to discuss.” He turns to Ryc, peering down the length of the table to us. “Have you chosen a successor?”
The trailing remnants of laughter evaporate.
Ryc sighs.
“You couldn’t have waited, Darin?” Rowen asks, pulling his empty wine glass to the edge of the table for the staff who’s appeared beside him. Rowen nods his thanks at the male fae before turning back to Darin. “I’m confident Alaryc has deliberated this.”
“Fair enough, but Ashdown is infive weeks,” Darin counters, his tone firm. “The nomination should be presented—waiting sends a message.”
“It will be presented,” Ryc replies. “In due time. There are loose ends I’d like to secure beforehand.”
Loose ends?
What kind of loose ends?
“Ganus is growing suspicious,” Darin says. “And after our last meeting, his attention isn’t going to be benevolent.”
“Ganus is welcome to speculate and dig as much as he would like,” Ryc says with a small laugh. “Though his time would be better spenthealingor perhaps attending the needs of Battalia.”
As Rowen smothers his chuckle with a sip of wine, Fenryn looses a long, low whistle.
“Does your nomination know?” Darin presses, despite earning a few pointed glares from around the table. “Have you at least told them?”
“He does,” Ryc answers with a calmer, kinder voice than I would have. “He’s willing and ready.”
I straighten myself.“Who have you chosen?”I ask through our bond.
As Fenryn quips some sexually driven joke, earning a disgruntled groan from Eve, Ryc answers.
“Cyran Stargarden, little love.”
My brows fly high.
That’swhy Ryc needs him.
Honestly, it makes sense.
I can’t think of any other fae who would be more dedicated to Erus in the same vein as Ryc.
Eyes racing about the ballroom, I search for the tall, lavender-haired fae. He’s nowhere to be found. In fact, I haven’t seen much of him throughout the evening.
“All that matters is whether the nomination will be supported by the court. The council holds no bearing on your decision,” Rowen says.
Ryc curls a hand over mine, taking a warm, firm hold. “He’swell-known and respected. And he’s earned Ves’ approval.”
