All attention shifts to me.
The floating men—those I can see, at least—initially look unimpressed with my intervention. Their expressions carry the particular weight of people who have been dealing with something infuriating for hours while I apparently slept through the entire ordeal, people who feel their frustration deservesmore acknowledgment than a simple prohibition against murder.
Then they actuallylookat me.
Eyes widen.
Across the room—suspended in various positions of helpless floating—my bond mates take in my transformed appearance for the first time. I watch their gazes travel across features that I know have changed dramatically since they last saw me: the gold of my hair catching whatever light filters through the destruction, the pink of my transformed eyes carrying Fae intensity they've never seen in me before, the shimmer of my skin broadcasting magical nature I didn't possess when I entered that cocoon.
The dress doesn't help with the dramatic reveal.
Sheer panels and royal silhouette and fabric that screamsFae princessrather thanAcademy survivor—I'm aware of how different I must appear, how thoroughly transformed from the woman they knew into something that carries the visual weight of heritage finally asserting itself.
Koishii whistles.
The sound carries appreciation that makes heat climb my newly-pink cheeks despite my best efforts at composure.
"Ah," he observes, satisfaction saturating his tone. "My Awakened Queen. Your royal Fae appearance suits you indeed."
I pout at the observation.
The expression feels wrong on features I'm still getting used to, but the sentiment behind it is entirely genuine. I don'twantto look like a Fae princess. I don'twantroyal appearances and awakened heritage and the particular femininity that this transformation has apparently decided to emphasize.
I want my old face back.
I want to beme.
But apparently that's not an option right now.
My legs kick in frustration—the particular motion of someone trying to generate momentum despite being suspended in someone else's grip. The shadow tendrils holding me sway with the movement but don't release, Cassius's magic apparently not trusting me to navigate whatever chaos exists at ground level.
The tendrils seem to understand my intention before I can articulate it.
They swing me forward with the smooth motion of darkness responding to unspoken desire, carrying my transformed form across the space between my current position and where Koishii stands amidst the destruction he apparently caused. The journey happens faster than I expected—one moment I'm suspended near the damaged ceiling, the next I'm stopping directly in front of the trickster prince with proximity that allows action I've been contemplating since hearing thatwedding ceremonycomment.
I reach out.
And karate chop him directly on the head.
The impact isn't hard enough to cause damage—not with my current strength, not against someone whose Fae nature probably provides protection against casual violence anyway—but it's solid enough to communicate displeasure in terms that transcend verbal expression.
Thwack.
The sound echoes through the suddenly silent room.
Everyone gawks at me.
Koishii's expression cycles through confusion—genuine confusion, the particular bewilderment of someone who has apparently never experienced consequences for their actions—before settling into shock that my audacity has produced.
"You—" he starts.
"I don't condone violence among team members," I interrupt, the statement emerging with the particular authorityof someone who has just demonstrated willingness to contradict their own words. "Butwhyare you taunting them?"
The question carries weight that extends beyond its surface inquiry.
"They wereworried," I continue, frustration and concern and something that might be affection all competing for dominance in my tone. "They were worried about me, about Nikolai, about whatever they thought was happening. And instead of reassuring them, you've been—what? Playing games? Enjoying their distress?"
He blinks.
