His crass words threaten to sour and taint every thought in my head. “No. And I would prefer you didn’t speak of her like that.”
Petyr’s grin only grows wider, but his words are sharp, a warning dagger at my throat. “I can speak of her how I like. I hope you’ll at least share the good parts of Selene with the rest of us, or we’ll never get off this godforsaken island.”
I want Selene’s name out of his mouth before I plant my fist in his face. “If you want her help, you’ll treat her well. She has no reason to trust us, and we cannot blame her for it. Tell Tobias and Roan that there is no need for their involvement. Don’t forget my warning for Roan.”
The murmur that runs through the crowd, heads turning, has me straightening. “Excuse me.”
I leave his side without waiting for permission, almost shoving people aside. I lingered too long with Petyr. A male catches my arm, only to back away at my glare.
I’m just in time to catch Smee’s smug smile as she pulls the door closed. Sol looks absolutely furious, and Matthias is grinning, meaningsomethingis afoot.
And when I allow myself to look at her—
Not a single scrap of air is left within this hall. I cannot breathe, can’t do anything but stare at Selene, gowned in moonlight and sumptuous silk that brushes against long, lithe limbs.
The dress is not like any I have seen. But it looks as though it was made for her. Made for Hala’s creature.
I want to kneel at her gods-damned bare feet andworshipher, and the sensation of free-falling has me stilling, stunned at its strength.
The silk she wears is an exact match for her luminous hair, a shade between silver and white that has no name. Her hairtumbles loosely over her shoulders, the escaped tendrils I touch every chance I can freed and curled into smooth, soft waves. She wears no adornments. No jewelry. No shoes, even. Only that damned dress that shimmers against her skin. Two straps cross over her shoulders, dipping into a deep v that barely hints at what’s beneath before sweeping out against the floor like a wave.
I’m going to have to kill them all.
But it settles something in my chest when I lift my head. Because she’s looking at me with a small smile. Almost shy, as if she doesn’t outshine every single person in this hall with their gaudy-looking outfits by merely existing.
Someone shifts beside me. The male prepares to step forward, inhaling, and my hand smashes against his chest with such force that he staggers back. My low, snarled warning carries. “Absolutely fucking not.”
I dare any of them to try. Nobody else moves as I stride forward. Sol falls back, his hand finding Matthias as I take her fingers in mine and bow low over them.
A silent urge to join this game, with all eyes watching us.
Selene moves, shifting as if to mimic my movements, and my hand tightens until she stops. I barely shake my head. A bastard son is no royal to be fawned over, and I would despise it if I was.
Besides—
Goddesses do not bow to anyone.
Least of all mortals who can’t even find the words to tell her how perfect she looks.
The silence follows us as I draw her arm through mine until it rests against my elbow. Her hand tightens, the only sign of any nerves at all. Her face is carefully neutral as she faces down the Caelumnai, lingering in the hall she grew up in.
When I don’t move, eyes of night and starlight flick my way. “What are we waiting for?”
The faint tremor in her voice makes me want to carry her away rather than have her face this. But since that’s not an option, I’ll make it so she becomes untouchable. “Let them look.”
Look at what they did. At what they cost the world, and it seems like such a great loss in this moment that unexpected grief strikes my chest at the thought of all those lights; brilliant, burning lights like the woman next to me, snuffed out beneath greed and steel.
We deserved every punishment given to us. Perhaps we still do. Atonement is not something those in front of us give much thought to, distracted as they are by scraping out what power they can from the remains of our old lives and brandishing it against each other in this farce of a court.
But it’s not only them. There are others who deserve a chance.
A clapping sound has Selene stiffening. At Petyr’s signal, his approving smile from the other side of the room, the quartet orchestra strike up their vielles and the crowd disperses into groups of animated conversation, although many still look to Selene. In hope for redemption, or for something more carnal.
I steer her clear of Roan, leading her through the crowd with my hand curved protectively over her wings. She’s given a wide berth, for the most part. At the low warning snarl, I glance behind just in time to watch a male’s hand drop from attempting to brush her wings, Sol’s fingers gripping a wrist tightly enough to bruise. Matthias smirks at me, completely at ease, while Sol scowls at everyone we pass as though if this is his deepest, darkest nightmare come to life before they peel away and head to a table.
We step up to the dais. The thrones have been removed for the night, the long table in their place set up for a banquet and allowing those of us who sit there to watch the crowd in front of us. I catch Selene assessing the layout, her brows furrowing.
Petyr is already on his feet, waiting. His arms sweep out. “Welcome. You’ll sit beside me, Selene.”
