“And witches mate?” I ask doubtfully.
“Of course. And believe me, when you find that person, when you find your soul’s match, it will make every love that came before seem inconsequential.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.” He shrugs with a sad smile. I stare at him for a long time.
“Have you had that? The kind of great love you’re talking about?”
He sits back in his seat, saying nothing.
“Well, have you?” I nudge his foot with mine.
“I’ve loved many females.”
For some reason, that makes my cheeks flush with envy. I force myself to press on.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I did find my great love.” He smooths his hand over the table idly, his eyes tracing the motion.
“What happened?”
“I wasn’t hers,” he says simply, lifting his gaze to mine.
Who wouldn’t want Zadyn?
“Wow.” I blink. “What a fucking idiot.”
He bursts into contagious laughter, and I allow myself to join.
“Just tell me your great love isn’t Cece,” I amend through the fit of giggles.
He nearly chokes. “Cece and I—we just enjoy each other’s company. We all need our distractions.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the conversation is absolutely thrilling.”
“You’re an ass,” he says affectionately, tipping my chair back with his foot.
“And that’s why you love me.”
I stand, planting a kiss on his cheek before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
41
On the fifth and final night of King’s Fair, I am dressed to kill.
To destroy.
To demolish.
Tonight is a masked ball, and as the penultimate conclusion of the festival, it promises to be the most extravagant.
Igrid has outdone herself with the final look of her collection.
It consists of a cropped, onyx metal breastplate that fits me like a second skin, contouring my body into this hard, shiny thing. It gleams like molten obsidian under the light, coating my curves in cured lava. The black skirt is paneled—a strip in front and a strip in back—held together by black chains around my hips. Igrid styles my hair poker straight, reaching like a seamless sheet of silk to my hips. The black metal mask fits over the bridge of my nose and the contours of my cheeks tightly, held in place by silver chains.
“Look at you,” Igrid breathes, grasping my shoulders andspinning me toward the mirror. “Now you look like a Dragon Rider.”
