I feel a pang of something. Envy?
They look so carefree. Fuckers. None of them has a future arranged marriage to contend with. No, they get to hang out together, a unit, looking out for one another.
One is one, and all alone, and ever more shall be so.
I’ll never be part of that group.
Theodora thinks I’m the biggest asshole she’s ever met, which is fair considering the way I’ve behaved.
It doesn’t matter what I do; I’ll never be able to make things right with her. That’s just something I’ll need to live with.
The consequences of my actions.
Turning my back on them, I head towards the nearest server. I’d love to drown myself in alcohol tonight, but that would not beadvisable. With my father and who knows how many Conclave members here, a clear head is necessary.
“One champagne and one club soda.” I take my two glasses and start to move, but someone puts a hand on my jacket. I flinch at the thought of sticky fingers on my silk tuxedo; this fabric is designed to both reflect the light and drape beautifully—fingerprints are an absolute no.
“Enjoying yourself?” a voice asks.
I turn to see François.
Why does this Freshman feel the need to always greet me? Is he trying to become my friend? That’s not going to happen, especially as he is touching. My. Suit.
I shift out of his grasp, and he grins, completely unconcerned.
“Have a fun night.”
“Unlikely,” I mutter as I set off to return to my fiancée.
“Finally,” Jordan sighs, snatching the champagne glass the second I arrive. “I thought I was going to die of thirst. Let’s go find Papa.”
Great, some quality Alistair Singleton-Smith time.“Good idea,” I reply, forcing the corners of my mouth up. We make it a total of ten feet before a critical thought snaps into my mind. I pivot instantly.
“Sorry, dear. I have to use the restroom, back in a few minutes.”
I don’t give her time to protest—or even process the lie—and I don’t care that she will complain later. This thought requires immediate action. I melt into the density of the crowd, navigating the social clutter toward Theodora’s table like a guided missile.
They are all looking at me with a mix of surprise and suspicion as I approach.
“You managed to escape the black widow?” Donovan asks, looking over my shoulder.
“Not really,” I reply, keeping my voice low.
“This has to be quick, but…” I direct my attention to Theodora, “...can you use your telepathy tonight on François de Vaux? Any information could be helpful. I don't trust him.”
I know she doesn’t owe me any favors, but this isn't about personal alliances; it is about strategic survival.
Theo’s eyes narrow, then she gives a decisive nod. “I’ll need help recognizing him though. And don’t forget, you can send me mental messages, Cosmo. We don’t need a face-to-face meeting.”
Fuck, of course. “I have to go.”
—Wait—
I pause and look at Theodora.
—The twins’ parents are here—she broadcasts into my mind —And their mom has the dark essence, I could see it—
Shit.
