Brax keeps his hand planted on my back. He guides me out of the arena, through the corridor, and onto Sean's jet.
He orders, "Get this thing off the ground," and steers Zara to the back.
The door closes before we get halfway through the cabin. We take seats on the couch across from Sean and Zara.
They're still pissed. Sean's jaw tics. He spouts, "I'm going to kill anyone who was involved!"
Zara puts her hand on his thigh.
He looks at her, shaking his head in anger. Then he glances at the ceiling, his eyes darting around it.
"You think they put cameras in here again?" she frets.
He pins his eyes back on her, asserting, "We're getting another sweep when we're back. No one is to be trusted at this point."
Zara releases an anxious breath, nods, and tense silence grows between them. She breaks her gaze and turns it on us, asking, "Where did you two go?"
My breath catches. My thoughts scramble again. I glance at Brax, suddenly tongue-tied.
He shifts back into his seat with deliberate slowness. He acts like he's lounging on a yacht instead of sitting inside an aircraft that possibly has surveillance on us even though it shouldn't. His lips press together in a line that mirrors amusement and warning all at once.
I try to concoct a structured explanation and open my mouth, but Brax stops me in my tracks. His hand slides onto my inner thigh, firm and claiming.
His signature sarcasm drips through every syllable. "Oh, we were telling Kirill and Fiona we're getting married."
Zara blinks.
Sean's brows rise toward the roof.
Neither of them speaks.
My heart pounds hard against my rib cage.
Brax continues to brush his thumb against my thigh in a slow, deliberate stroke, igniting a fire inside my core. He adds, "My little Minx is just chomping at the bit to marry me. Aren't you?"
He pins a heated, accusing gaze on me.
I clear my throat and smile, leaning closer to him. "That's right."
Sean snorts.
Zara cuts off a short laugh.
"What's so funny?" Brax questions.
Zara's lips twitch, a quick flash she tries to bury. Her gaze wanders to Brax's unapologetic grip on my leg.
I place my hand over Brax's to steady myself. "Kirill and Fiona agreed we could take Ulrich and Jytte's seats on the Royal Council!"
"I need a drink," Sean mumbles, and reaches for the cantor of whiskey. He takes the cap off, pours two fingers in a crystal tumbler, then downs all of it. He fills another one and hands it to Brax, offering, "Assume you need this."
Brax downs it faster than Sean drank his.
I sit straighter.
"And the timeline?" Zara asks, tone neutral, words slow and measured.
Brax blurts out, "The next full moon. You know how the Underworld loves its deadlines."
