My supervisor begins piling up his plate. Kassandra’s wineglass is once again empty. I contemplate cutting off her supply, but fae can handle more drink than faeries. A bottle for them is like a cup for me. So, I move toward her.
His stare blisters my skin, the air thinning. Both siblings are siphoning from the plane now, draining all the energy in the room.
“I’m parched,” he announces. “I’d like a taste of that wine.”
My cue. As I pivot to him, the hairs on my arms prickle with the slide of power in his direction, as if the floor itself is tilting. I must focus to stay on two feet. He may be the strongest High Fae I’ve encountered yet.
“I would like my glass filled first,” Kassandra says.
I pause.
Her brother laughs. “So this is a special plaything of yours?”
“I can’t possibly keep up with your multitude of delusions.”
“You refuse every halfling lady-in-waiting.”
“They’re incompetent and boring.”
“They’re proper company.”
“I’m impeccably thirsty. Avery?”
I choose her.
“And insolent. Faerie, come here.” The plane jerks toward Dominik’s end of the table, and I stumble.
“He is not your master.”
My eyes flick between the siblings as they glare at each other. The plane pulls taut like a string. Briar hovers on the other side of the table, throat bobbing.
For a moment, I wonder if the plane of magic can snap. I thought I was a rat to Kassandra’s feline, but I was wrong. In the presence of Dominik, my genius seems like nothing more than an insect.
The coin is good, but the price is high,Briar had said.
Finally, Dominik waves a hand, the plane sagging. “You will have the first pour, Kass.”
Across the table, Briar lets out a breath. Keeping my eyes downcast, I approach Kassandra. I don’t make it far.
Illusion magic surges in a rush of wind.
I am jerked and spun around by invisible hands, the decanter slipping from my grasp. My back slams into a wall, the breath pushed out of my lungs, my legs tangling. Only when a very strong, very real arm wraps around my waist do I understand. I am not against a wall; I am in Dominik’s lap.
Kassandra gapes at me—at us—from across the table. The decanter floats toward her, tipping to one side. Her glass fills.
“Did I not say you’d have the first pour?” the heir says. “Now drink.”
She glares.
A cool chuckle behind me, icy fingers twining through my hair. He inhales, and I swallow bile. Briar hovers a yard away, gripping a platter of pastries, face neutral.
“Are you afraid, little faerie?” he whispers.
Kassandra stands, her chair scraping in the silence. Dominik laughs again, a cruel, dead sound.
“Sit, Kass.”
But she does not sit. She grips the table’s edge, expression frozen. The air chafes in and out of my lungs.
