Pen clapped her hands. “Pictures, everyone! Gabbi, sweetheart, stand in front with Uncle Savla.”
Gabbi squealed and dragged me forward by the hand, positioning me like I was a prop. The clan photographer—a gnome with a camera nearly as big as he was—barked instructions about posture and smiles.
“Bigger smile!” he called to me, waving his hands. “Like you’re happy to be here!”
I bared my fangs. “This is my happy face.”
Someone snorted from the crowd next to me. I turned my head just in time to seeher.
Hanna.
She was standing a few paces away, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Her dark green dress brushed the tops of her boots, a few wild curls escaping the braid over her shoulder. Her eyes—sharp and bright—were fixed right on me, and the amusement there was unmistakable.She laughed softly when our eyes met, biting her bottom lip like she was trying not to make it worse.
Perfect. Just what I needed—an audience for my humiliation.
I looked back at the camera, muttering under my breath, “Glad someone’s enjoying this.”
Krusk leaned closer. “You mean your witch?”
“She’snotmy witch.”
Enka chuckled. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
I wasn’t sure at what point my older brother had decided that he was going to start poking fun of my friendship with Hanna, but he’d also brought Enka in on it. And it irked me down to my bones.
The flash went off, bright and blinding. Gabbi cheered. Pen squealed. And somewhere in the back of the hall, Hanna’s laughter carried over the noise—light, easy, and far too distracting.I tugged at my collar again, but this time, it wasn’tthe fabric choking me.
After the pictures, I made a beeline for the refreshment tables like a warrior escaping a siege. The food was the only safe ground left—roasted meats, glazed roots, and Pen’s mother’s infamous cookies stacked in a pyramid that looked like a structural hazard waiting to happen.
I’d barely reached for a bottle of ale when I heard her laugh again.It was unfair, honestly. There were a hundred people in the hall, but her voice somehow found me like magick—which, knowing witches, it probably was. Some kind of bewitchment that I was incapable of wresting myself from.
“Nice bowtie,” Hanna said, appearing beside me.
I glanced down at her. She looked far too comfortable here—confident, relaxed, the kind of female who could walk into a room full of strangers and make everyone think they’d known her for years. Her green dress shimmered faintly when the enchanted lights shifted above us, and her lips were still curved with amusement.
I grunted. “It’s strangling me.”
“That’s because you tied it wrong.”
I frowned. “Enka tied it for me.”
“Thenhetied it wrong.” She stepped a little closer, eyes flicking to my collar. “Hold still.”
Before I could protest, she reached up—soft fingers brushing my throat as she straightened the knot. I froze. The scent of her hit me—herbs, rain, and something faintly sweet. My pulse thudded hard enough I was sure she could feel it.
“There,” she said, smoothing the fabric. “Now you look less like you’re being punished.”
“Iambeing punished,” I said, but it came out rougher than I meant.
She smiled—slow and knowing. “You clean up well, though. Very… respectable.”
I gave her a flat look. “Respectable’s not my goal.”
“Oh? Whatisyour goal, then?”
“To survive this ceremony without committing violence.”
Hanna laughed again, full and warm, and I had to look away before I started smiling like an idiot. She leaned on the table beside me, eyes glinting.
