A maddening chuckle answers him.
The sound makes my attention snap toward its source, and my eyes land on Koishii with the particular recognition of someone who has become intimately familiar with that voice over recent hours.
He stands amidst the destruction like hecausedit—which, based on context clues I'm rapidly assembling, he probably did. His posture radiates the particular arrogance of someone thoroughly enjoying themselves at others' expense, shiftedfeatures carrying expressions that cycle between amusement and something that borders on genuine mania.
"Well, if you all weren't losing your shits," he observes, tone dripping with condescension that makes my jaw tighten, "this would have resolved a whole lot sooner."
The statement apparently fails to satisfy anyone because the magical tension in the room—and I use the termroomloosely, since whatever space we're in appears to have been thoroughly destroyed by whatever altercation preceded my emergence from the cocoon—only intensifies in response.
Koishii snaps his fingers.
Magic responds immediately, power cascading through the space with force that makes my newly awakened Fae sensesscreamwith input I'm not prepared to process. The effect becomes apparent within heartbeats—gravity itself seems tostop, to reverse its usual pull, to lift bodies that were previously grounded into suspension that defies everything physical law suggests should be possible.
Curses fill the air.
A chorus of masculine voices expressing displeasure as they find themselves floating upward without consent—Atticus's blood magic crackling uselessly against forces that transcend elemental manipulation, Mortimer's draconic features flickering with obvious frustration, Zeke's feline grace entirely useless when there's no surface to land on.
Even Nikolai struggles.
His Fae nature should provide some resistance to another Fae's magic, but whatever Koishii is doing apparently transcends the usual rules of magical interaction. The prince's silver-blonde hair floats around his face in patterns that would be beautiful if he weren't clearly fighting against forces that refuse to release him.
What the fuck.
The thought surfaces with the particular eloquence that extreme confusion produces.
I look around, trying to piece together what happened while I was wrapped in healing cocoons and emotional breakthroughs and discoveries about my Fae heritage. The space we're in—recovery station, based on the fragments of medical equipment I can identify among the debris—has been utterly devastated. Walls bear scorch marks and impact craters. Furniture lies in pieces scattered across floors that carry their own damage. The ambient lighting flickers with the particular pattern of systems pushed past their design limits.
What the fuck did we waltz into?
"What the fuck did we waltz into?" Nikolai's voice gives my internal question verbal form, his tone carrying the same bewilderment I'm experiencing despite his current predicament of floating helplessly against the damaged ceiling.
Koishii's smile carries edges that make my transformed skin prickle with warning.
"Well,you'rethe one who kidnapped MY Queen," he declares, possessive emphasis on the word making something in my chest tighten with complicated feelings I don't have time to examine. "Your fault."
Nikolai's gawk is visible even from my suspended position.
"How the fuck is it MY fault?" he demands, outrage coloring words that crack slightly with the strain of resisting gravity that's trying to press him into architecture. "And I didn't kidnap her—I... well..."
He trails off with the particular hesitation of someone realizing their defense is shakier than they initially believed.
"I think I sleepwalked," he continues, the admission emerging reluctantly. "And my magic activated, but that's because her energy resonates with mine! It wasn't intentional to keep her from the others."
The explanation carries enough genuine confusion that I find myself believing him—find myself remembering our earlier conversation about Fae magic yearning for its complements, about bonds drawing compatible souls together regardless of conscious intention.
"Well, I don't give a fuck about you, but still," Koishii responds with the particular dismissiveness of someone who has already decided they're not interested in reasonable explanations.
Nikolai's expression shifts into something approaching offense.
"Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?"
The question drips with sarcasm that Fae courts have probably been perfecting for millennia.
"Aww," Koishii coos, the sound carrying mockery that makes even my patience wear thin. "Did I wound the precious prince's precious feelings?"
Before the exchange can deteriorate further—and based on the energy building between them, deterioration is absolutely the trajectory we're on—another voice cuts through the tension.
"Is defying gravity really necessary right now?"
