“Franco,” she says, a warning in her tone.
I glance down to find her studying my face. “What?” I say with as much innocence as I can muster.
“I may not be a psy vampire, but I know when you’re keeping something from me.” She takes a step back and clasps my hands in hers. “Out with it.”
“Fine,” I say with a grumble. I shift from foot to foot, then meet her eyes. “I’m ready to take the throne, Ember.”
Her eyes widen, and her energy sparks with surprise. “You are?”
“Yes.” My voice trembles a bit, but I force myself to speak the truth. “After everything I’ve seen and learned this past year, I’m eager to put our plans into motion. Not just as a prince, hosting fundraisers and charity balls. I’m ready to do more. Things I can only do as king.”
“Does your sister know?”
I nod. “She’s ready, although she fears my heart has grown too seelie. She worries my rule could face challengers.”
“And how doyoufeel about that?”
A corner of my mouth lifts in a sly grin. “I’d like to see anyone try. Between your magic and mine, there’s enough intimidation to keep others at bay.”
She blushes. It’s taken a while for her to grow comfortable with her magic, to use it without fear. To own it for what it is.
A wave of trepidation washes over me. “But I want to know howyoufeel about it.”
She doesn’t answer right away. I keep myself from reading her energy; I want her to relay her feelings in her own way. After a while, her lips break into a wide smile “Proud. I feel proud, Franco. I truly believe you’re ready to be king. Not only that, but you’ll be incredible.”
My heart flutters with relief. “Thank you,” I say. “But there’s something else…”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling sweat prickling at my nape. “Let’s go back to the throne room.”
We walk in silence down the garden paths and into the palace. Once we reach the empty throne room, I guide her up the dais toward the piano. Instead of leading her to her usual place upon the bench, I claim the seat for myself. The room is dark aside from the glow of starlight shining down from the glass dome overhead. It’s all the illumination I’ll need. Just enough that maybe she won’t see the terror in my eyes.
I face the keys.
My stomach churns. I don’t know what she’ll think about this. She’ll probably think it’s stupid. Offensive, even. I shouldn’t—never mind. All I can do is try.
I press one finger over the appropriate key, then move to the next. The tune comes out slow and clunky, and I’d be surprised if she can even recognize it. I’m about to stop myself halfway through when her energy reaches me. It’s pleased. Elated. From the corner of my eye, I watch her bring a hand to the base of her throat, first to the locket then to the opal moon that rests just above it.
After Ember insisted on wearing her gifted necklace every day, we had Madame Flora remove the glamour from it. Well, most of it. All that remains is a secret enchantment. One that marks Ember’s skin, hidden beneath her clothing. Something only I see when she graces me with the glorious masterpiece that is her naked body. When she does, I find three lines of sheet music dancing over the side of her ribs.
Three beautiful songs from three dangerous fae.
I finish the clumsy tune and turn to face her.
Tears glaze her eyes, catching on the starlight shining down from the dome, filling her irises with glittering jewels. “A song for love,” she says, voice breathless. She’s right. It’s the harpy mating song, the one they sing to attract a partner.
“There wasn’t a song that expressed what I wanted to convey,” I say, rubbing my damp palms over the front of my pants. My heart hammers hard against my ribs. “Turns out there’s no harpy engagement song.”
Her energy expands, but again I refuse to read it. This is too important. Her response should come straight from her lips.
On trembling legs, I rise from the bench and take a knee, just how Augie assured me the humans do. “I know you’re already my mate,” I say, taking her hand in mine as I meet her tear-glazed eyes. “I’ve already given you my heart, but will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? My queen to rule at my side?”
She reaches her free hand to her quivering lips but says nothing.
Doubt plagues me, sending words tumbling from my mouth. “If you aren’t ready to be queen, I understand. You don’t have to be unless you want to. And I know I’m supposed to have a ring, but I wanted us to pick them out together. It’s stupid—”
“Franco,” she says, her voice brimming with equal parts amusement, joy, and admonishment.
