The guests, clad in deep velvets, silks, and brocades, are carried away in conversations; the air around them is heavy with fine perfumes and incense. The women wear gowns adorned with gemstones that sparkle like stars, their hair styled in elaborate twists and braids. It’s such a relief not to feel overdressed anymore. Ayrene knew what she was doing—seeing the cut of the gowns and the hairdos of the court ladies, I easily blend in. Music fills the air, a haunting melody played by unseen musicians. The delicate sound of a harp, intertwined with the deep tones of a cello, creates a symphony that resonates with the very soul of the palace.
The closest groups of chatting courtiers grow quiet as soon as I’m near them. A human attendant in an impeccable silk uniform shows me to my seat. At the far head of the table sits the royal couple—they look ancient and otherworldly and tired, their eyes haunted. No piles of sparkling jewelry, layers of luxurious fabrics and clever garment cuts can compensate for the lack of color in their faces and their detachment from the surroundings. They’ve lost their eldest son, but there’s more to their resignation than that. It seems like they’re done with everything. As if Death is sitting next to them, and they don’t mind.
When the attendant pulls my chair back, Gale peeks from behind a stuffed peacock and winks. Praised be the Elders! I can’t hold back my grin. So, he escaped the cursed mansion of Ornatus too. Next to him sits the Dark Dryad, silent and mysterious, and the shifter, busy with a bloody chunk of meat.
The Warrior Pony Princess is here, too, in a gold-threaded dress that adds sparkle to her eyes. She’s talking softly to the blond man, both holding goblets of Fae wine. Her eyes darken when she sees me. I pat the pouch on my chest and wink at her. WPP’s gaze spells murder, and she leans into her friend, starting a heated discussion.
Two Fae are out: the creepy vampire child and the Huntress, and just one human, the mercenary. Nobody will miss them. Leaning back, I raise a gold-rimmed crystal goblet of Fae wine to my lips, scanning the hall. One contestant is missing tonight, probably planning a grand entry.
“You’d better be careful with that wine, human,” the dark-haired Fae male on my right says with mocking concern. “It’s not for your kind; it may come on a bit hard.” Great, some Fae-splaining. He has handsome but cold features and predatorily sparkling ruby eyes.
“Thanks for your concern, dear sir, but you might be surprised by my abilities,” I respond, sipping the wine casually, its intense flavor nearly choking me. Compared to the poison sold at Bountiful Bosom for copper a jar, this is a divine elixir. One of Godey Goldtooth’s cats drowned in a barrel once, and they found the poor thing after we drank the last drops. “It just added more flavor.” Godey shrugged and started charging a copper more for the next barrel of burning poison.
“My cousin is right, Talysse of Tenebris.” the Fae male on my left leans in, too close. There’s a family resemblance, but his hair is red, cut above his shoulders. “Fae wine goes to human heads and makes them do foolish things.”
“Not that we would mind,” the first one adds, amused. “They say you didn’t find the magic trinket yourself but fucked our prince and received it as payment.” His cousin cackles, and I casually reach for a pastry tray, knocking a large crystal decanter of deep purple wine right into his lap.
“Oh, apologies.” I meet his enraged gaze without flinching. “Seems like you’re right. This wine is really getting to my head.” The arrogant prick curses, pushing his chair back and leaving the table.
“You’d better get that cleaned up; it looks like it will leave a stain!” I shout over my shoulder, then return to my meal.
“That was…amusing,” the red-haired male says, helping himself to a load of marinated wings of some unknown creature. “There’s a fire in you. I can see the appeal. But tread with care, fiery human. You’ve just made an enemy.”
I shrug without bothering to answer, enjoying a spoonful of divine pickled vegetables instead. Suddenly, all conversations muffle. Steps echo behind my back and everyone’s staring at something. I throw a look over my shoulder, and nearly choke on a pickle.
Regal and magnificent, clad in a midnight silk shirt, unbuttoned to display his Ancestral Mark, Aeidas strides toward the table. The inky velvet pants hug his powerful thighs, accentuating the way he moves—with the casual elegance of an assassin. He doesn’t need any crown to show his royal status. There’s something in the straight line of his broad shoulders, in the way he holds his head and his eyes—cold and distant now. Some people are born to rule, destined for it by the Elders. And even if he were born in a barn, he’d have found a way to get his crown.
What makes me quickly down the rest of the wine goblet, is the Unseelie walking next to him. She’s gliding on the floor, her long silver hair dragging behind her like a train. Her pale rose dress encrusted with pearls brings out her perfect complexion, and her violet eyes seem to be speaking to each one of us: flattering, seducing, promising.
“This is Sorcia, his late brother’s promised. Rumor has it she’s set to marry him,” the red-haired male explains as if he had noticed the tightness in my chest. “She’s the greatest beauty in the kingdom, a daughter of a powerful house, and don’t be deceived by these delicate hands. She has a mind of steel and teeth. She’d torture you, mangle you, cook a delicious soup out of you, and feed it to the prince you’re ogling so unashamedly.” His cruel cackle slices me like an icy blade, and the way the prince serves her wine helps her in the chair, plunges it deeper into my chest. Aeidas settles between the ethereal female and his mother, every inch the cold, ruthless Prince of the Unseelie. His eyes wander around, and when they clash with mine, something flashes in their emerald depths. Quickly looking away, I push my chair back and go around the table, followed by many curious gazes.
“Gale.” I place a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up at me; the warmth of his smile immediately makes me feel better. “Shall we dance?”
“Talysse, I was just about to ask you myself.” He rises, takes my hand, and guides us to the open space where some couples are already swirling to the haunting melody. There’s a sway in my step—the annoying Fae was right. This wine really got me.
Gale’s hand rests on my hip, the other holding my hand. We’re so close I can see every amber sparkle in his almond eyes. His golden earrings capture the warm light, and he whips his head to flick the unruly curls from his forehead.
“I am so happy you made it out of these Elders-forgotten tunnels, Talysse,” he murmurs, and there’s sincerity in his voice. So refreshing and heart-warming in this court of lies.
“I can only say the same, Gale. How did you manage to kill the mercenary?” His gaze drifts to the distance, his dark brows furrowing. And he takes too long to answer.
“Oh, Ornatus did half of the job. The old bastard was not entirely dead. All I had to do is get the ax and take advantage of the chaos.” He chuckles nervously and my gut is telling me he’s keeping something to himself. Full of secrets, just like the Fae. Disappointment and some inexplicable sadness weigh on me. The joy of seeing him again melts like ice in the morning sun. “And you? Are the rumors true? You retrieved the relic, striking a very unusual alliance? Be careful with him, Talysse—”
“I believe I treated her fairly despite my reputation,” a deep voice, nearly a snarl, resonates behind him. Gale’s face freezes in a mask of pure hatred for a second, but he quickly replaces it with a fake smile.
“May I have this dance?” Aeidas asks coldly, and it is clear to all of us that this is not a question but an order. The beautiful Sorcia, her palm resting against the bare skin of his chest, her thin, graceful fingers lightly caressing his Ancestral mark, looks at me, her fine white brow raised.
“Oh, it’s the daughter of those traitors of Tenebris who hid the last Seelie of the province!” Her long white lashes flutter. “You don’t look like your sister at all, dear!”
“Her name is Nightglimmer,” the prince growls. Sorcia shudders. It’s barely detectable, but it’s there. She fears him.
“How do you know how my sister looks?” I hiss, taking a step toward her.
“My job is to know things, Talysse,” she hisses, an unspoken warning concealed in her words.
Aeidas removes her palm from his chest. “Go get some refreshments, Sorcia,” he orders her in the same cold, imperious tone he has just used to ask me to dance. The female’s face twists for a second, her beauty contorted by something monstrous. She hesitates but shrugs and turns her back, the angry clicking of her heels raising many brows.
When I look back up, Aeidas is towering over me, his silver tresses brushing his shoulders.
