“We shouldn’t keep them waiting. Rumors have had time enough to take root already,” he says, back to his quiet assessment while he waits for me to join him.
“What about Xa— my hu— His Majesty?” I ask, stumbling through words that feel too familiar and intimate to refer to a stranger.
“The Presentation is to introduceyouto the nobility,” he says as if he’s scolding a child for a foolish question.
Now doesn’t seem the time to make more enemies in this world, so I simply bite my tongue, following the feline demon back into the den of wolves.
On a second look, the ballroom full of impossible creatures is no less awesome and intimidating as when I first arrived. And now, I have neither the Dealmaker nor the king to divide the crowd’s attention with. It all rests on me.
Hundreds of pairs of demonic eyes scrutinize me, taking my measure while making no mystery of their disdain. I don’t have to be an expert on demons or their world to know when I’m conspicuously out of place.
Blood runs cold in my veins, my heart a solid lump in my throat. I force myself to take slow, steady breaths—this dress is too perfect to blame swooning on.
“Careful, human,” Valenar says, bending down low so his chin hovers just above my shoulder. “There are few things so enticing to a demon as ripe fear.”
I snap my head to the side as he backs away, the mischievous challenge in his eyes meeting the glare in mine. My lips stay pursed, even as he tries to crack a smile, and the longer the moment draws, the more I can see him beginning to waver. His pupils narrow first, then his tail twitches. When finally my stare makes him do the nervous shuffle from one foot to the other that Phillip does when he’s been caught and can’t get out of it, I lower my own voice, leaning in.
“Are they all also so foolish as to mistake nerves for weakness?” I counter, my voice holding its shape better than I expect it to. After facing down the Judge and signing a contractwith a demon, I’m starting to think myself capable of more than I’ve previously believed.
Clearly, it’s more than Valenar expected, either. The humor fades from his face, his eyes hardening. “Don’t let them see you flinch,” he hisses under his breath, more of a challenge than a helpful warning.
Just for that, I’m determined to remain unmovable as stone.
Before I’m able to come up with my next clever response, I’m overwhelmed with the scent of the sea, salty spray, sun on the rocks—I’ve only been to the coast once, but it’s uncanny how accurate the smell is. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a silvery-white cloak approaches, his sculpted features difficult to read, almost like he’s a statue come to life, his jaw and cheekbones cast in bronze and given a pearlescent sheen.
Though his face is unreadable, his sea glass eyes are simply observing, not full of judgement and disapproval like so many others.
Valenar clears his throat. “Allow me to introduce the king’s bloodsworn bride, Ingrid Wakefield; Prince Delmareth, The Storm’s Burden, and Golden Heir of the Azure Isles.”
The prince inclines his head toward me, elegant, ivory-colored horns catching the light as he does. His cloak moves with his shoulders as he gestures to something behind him, and all at once I realize it’s not a mantle of fabric he’s wearing, but great, feathery wings. White and silver, each feather tipped in a dark gray, the wings seem too large even for such a tall man, and I get the impression that they carry a heavy weight only he truly knows.
“Bride-Ascendant Ingrid, an honor,” the prince says, inclining his head. “And my brother, Prince Thaliondel, TheSea’s Light,” Delmareth’s voice is quiet, weary almost, but demands respect in a way few can.
From behind his great wings appears another sculpted face, this one even more angular and sharp, with eyes like stormy skies. Unlike his brother, though, Thaliondel cracks a smile as he steps toward me, sharp canines glinting in the light when he reaches for my hand.
“Lio, please,” he says, bending over my hand to place a chaste kiss on the back of it. “Being second-born comes withsomeprivileges, and foregoing a bit of the formalities is certainly one of them.”
“There aretimes, brother, when some formality is called for,” Delmareth says through a sneer. “You’d do well to remember that.” His hand clamps onto his brother’s shoulder, pearl-tipped talons gripping the younger prince tight enough that his dark-feathered wings crackle with electricity.
“And there aretimes, brother,” Lio returns the sneer with more venom behind his words, “when it is appropriate to be more welcoming than stately.”
Prince Delmareth’s eyes darken, but it’s the only physical sign he shows that his brother’s words have affected him at all. As much as I appreciate Thaliondel aiming to be more genial, I can’t help but sympathize with the older sibling trying to wrangle their wayward brother into respectability.
“While you are busying yourself with‘welcoming’the human, I will try to discern for the Crown whether she is brave or demented for standing where she is,” he says, almost as if I’m no longer present.
“She’s clueless, mostly,” I supply coolly, sympathies washed away.
Lio fails to contain his surprised laughter, and while Delmareth is taking his measure of me, another demon pushes his way into our conversation.
“I do hope the Golden Heir isn’t boring you to tears,” says the newcomer, enough drinks carried in his clawed hands for everyone.
“Viscount Velmarch,” Valenar says with a weary sigh.
The viscount chuckles, his half-lidded eyes glassy with a look I recognize as having had a few too many drinks. His skin is dark as wine, and his unruly hair is tangled around the twisted, vine-like horns that curve back from his temples.
“Always so sour Valenar,” the viscount chides with a patronizing tsk and a finger wag that sloshes wine over the rim of one goblet, only missing my slippers by a hair. “It’s like I’m always telling Del, here,” he says, words slurring together with no regard for the way the prince’s jaw tightens at the familiarity. “You gotta loosen up. Hits land harder when you’re tense,” he chuckles, sloshing more wine, this time making Lio dodge. “Speaking of, Del, I’ve been asking around about—”
The elder prince’s enormous wings flex, his jaw tense as he shifts his grip from Lio’s shoulder to the viscount’s, steering him away with tight-lipped words I can’t hear.
