“You’re not giving him much time to prepare,” Darin says, leaning back in his seat.
“He’s been preparing for ascension since spring,” Ryc replies with a small smile. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ve worked closely for the last couple centuries. He isn’t green.”
Since spring?
Would my escape from the hells have anything to do with that decision?
I’m not sure if I should be impressed or insulted by Ryc’s confidence in earning my attention.
“Mated?” Darin asks and while they’re fair questions, the reason for Ryc’s less than patient past with the Sovereign King grows clearer.
“No,” Ryc answers. “For now.”
My mind races to Gladir, to his demi-fae daughter.
They’re no longer involved because Cyran has been called to duty—and part of that duty is hunting hismate. He’s let go of love—even if fleeting—in favor of expectation.For Erus, his country.
My gaze slips to Lilith.
Something Fenryn doesn’t seem interested in doing.
“He ‘grees?” Fenryn’s slurred question drifts across the table. He lifts a pointed finger, swinging it in a broad circle. “To all this…”
Ryc nods.
“Impressive.” Fenryn lets his hand fall to the table, rattling it once again.
“Since we’re on the topic of the council—”
I rise from my seat, stopping Rowen in his statement.
“You’re welcome to discuss whatever you wish,” I say, offering a practiced smile. “But I find myself exhausted and in want of more comfortable clothes.”
Eve stands, more than eager to escape the table. “Come on,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I know you’re dying to get those shoes off.”
Fenryn lights up, straightening in his seat. “See!” he laughs, pointing at me. “Ves’ taking my—advice! Leave the dress—leaveit in the hall. Ryc’lllovethat.”
I clamp my jaw shut, flattening my lips as a number of groans mixed with laughter rise from the table. Eve snags me by the arm, pulling me away with much earned haste as she mutters to herself in Malbolge.
“I’ll find you shortly,”Ryc’s voice resonates gently in my mind.
“Of course, my light,”I return, peeking over a shoulder.
Our eyes meet briefly before they’re stolen by passersby between us. The moment the ballroom doors close behind me, I heave a long, relieved sigh.
It’s quieter in the hall.
Yet my ears ring with the day’s worth of loud cheering, laughter, music, and more. Bracing a palm against the wall, I reach and tear off a shoe. The instant release from the pinching pain is damn near euphoric and my head falls back for a moment.
“That bad?” Eve asks and she glances at the shoe. “Gods, Ves. Why in the hells didn’t you say anything?”
Confused, I follow her stare.
There, inside the shoe, black silk lies stained with silver. I admit, the shoes hurt. But not bad enough to warrant this—or so I thought. I huff a small sigh. I’ve neither the inclination nor energy to inspect my foot. Not here.
“It’s fine,” I reply with a shrug. “I’ve endured worse.”
She scoffs, snatching the shoe from my hands. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve endured worse. Shoes shouldn’t do this.” She gives the clenched shoe a shake. “You should have said something.”
