"I wouldn’t eat that if I were you."
The voice, low and smooth as silk, stopped her at once. Elara glanced up and met a pair of striking hazel eyes. The young man before her was effortlessly handsome, with sharp features framed by dark hair that fell artfully out of place, as though nature itself intended it to rest just so. His heavy-lidded gaze, sultry and aloof, held a flicker of amusement. He was dressed in a cravat of deep indigo, tied with the kind of precision that made him look like he belonged at court, yet there was something unruly about him. Rings glinted on his long, slender fingers, each one more ornate than the last, and his posture was all casual arrogance, as if he knew exactly how he looked.
It was him. The same man from the first party. The one whose eyes had raked over her like he was just waiting for the chance to take a bite.
The hunger in his gaze hadn’t changed—if anything, it had sharpened. His smile held something dangerous, the kind that made her heart stutter and her instincts flare.
"Unless, of course, you wish to share their fate," he said, nodding toward the crowd through the gardens, still entangled in their drunken game.
So, she had been right—they’d all taken somethingextra.
"Thanks for the warning."
He dipped his head slightly, that smirk never leaving his lips. "Anything for theHallowed."
Elara huffed, the title grating as it always did. But there was something in the way he said it—light, teasing, as though he, too, did not take it seriously.
"Tristan." He extended his hand, palm up, and Elara simply stared at it, bewildered. No one from Ulrith greeted her with such familiarity—hell, most didn’t greet her at all. She wasused to the reverent bows, the stiff nods, the distance. But a handshake? That wasbeyondstrange.
Her gaze dropped to his wrist, catching the unmistakable sunburst etched into his skin. Beneath it, intricate lines traced his veins, symbols that spoke of lineage and privilege—glyphs that told a story of wealth, power, and old blood. Someone born into the heart of Arinthel, raised under its golden towers and the shadow of the throne.
He was no outsider; he belonged here in a way few did.
Still, his hand lingered, his hazel eyes gleaming with challenge, as if daring her to take it.
“Elara,” she finally said, slipping her hand into his, her voice steady even as her heart gave a slight stutter.
Tristan’s brow arched, his lips curving into something far too smug for her liking. "Is that so?"
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, much to her annoyance. He was undeniably flirtatious, and worse, it was working. She couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. Tearing her gaze from his, she quickly glanced over her shoulder, scanning the crowd in hopes of spotting Calista. But there was no sign of her.
Perhaps she isn’t coming tonight after all...
"Anyone catching your eye tonight?" Tristan asked casually as he circled the table, coming to stand beside her. Elara barely glanced at him before he added, "That old bastard with the blonde wig over there? He’s been undressing you with his eyes for the better part of an hour."
A snort escaped her before she could stop it. The manwasancient, and the wig he wore was perhaps the most obvious one she had ever seen.
"And how, exactly, would you know that?" she asked, side-eyeing him.
Tristan leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a murmur that only she could hear. “Because I’ve been doing the same, and I like to know who I’m up against."
Elara’s gaze snapped to Tristan, her eyes wide. “What?—”
But before she could finish, a sudden clap echoed across the party, slicing the hum of conversation. Silence fell instantly.
Osin stood in the center of the gardens, a smirk playing on his lips, his posture casual, almost too relaxed. He spread his arms wide. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. At last, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived.”
The crowd erupted into cheers, anticipation thick in the air. Elara’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. Tristan shifted closer, the heat of his body brushing hers, but she barely registered it.
“Tonight," Osin continued, "we honor those of you who have proven your loyalty, your... resourcefulness. You see, a little birdie told me there were rebels hiding among us, traitors intent on disrupting our peace." His eyes gleamed, sweeping over the crowd. "But thanks to you, my dear guests, we found them. Those who sought to sow discord in our land have been captured."
A murmur of satisfaction rippled through the gathered elites, and Elara’s blood ran cold. Her thoughts spun in a frenzy. Dominic had spoken of spies, of Keepers within the Pit...Had they been betrayed?
“So, to celebrate such initiative,” Osin drawled, “we are going to play a little game. One that rewards not just speed, but cunning and luck.” His eyes gleamed with twisted amusement as he surveyed the eager faces before him. “Each of you had a hand in catching these rebels—whether through whispers, discreet actions, or more direct means. And as we know, to the victor go the spoils.”
Osin’s grin only widened. “And what better reward for your efforts, than a chance to win something truly priceless?” His gaze landed on Elara. “The first to reach the center of the grid will win. And the prize, of course, isher.”
Chapter 29
