Cullen soon joins in, giving Cyrus’s hair a tousle of his own. “Look at you, mingling with the big guns. You think this is your banquet, don’t you?”
“Hey, go easy on him,” their sister chimes in. “Can’t he enjoy his five minutes of fame in peace?”
The trio shares another laugh, while Cyrus, teeth gritted, finally says, “What are you doing here?”
“We decided to come, after all,” Cullen explains. “You know, just in case it’s the last time we ever see you. Now, I believe you’re in my seat. Shouldn’t you be sat over there?” he says, pointing to our table.
The interaction is painful to watch, but too captivating to turn away from.
“Sit over there, Cyrus,” their father says dismissively, gesturing to where Gideon is sitting beside the fawning girls.
The spicy taste of angry energy coats my tongue as Cyrus storms towards us, clenching his fists and locking his jaw. I sense something else radiating from him. It smells rotten, like spoiled meat or mouldy fruit – it’s the stench of resentment.
For a brief second, as Cullen tousled his hair and their father pointed him away, I thought I saw a tightening around his eyes that wasn’t purely rage. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, before his features hardened into that familiar sneer.
“Ouch, that’s rough,” Gigi comments, wincing as though they’ve just witnessed a bloody brawl. “In his defence, I’d be a jerk too if my family treated me like that.”
I don’t like it, but I feel a twinge of sympathy for Cyrus. His arrogance and bravado seem to lose their edge now that I’ve seen how his family disregards him. From the corner of my eye, I notice Taron watching me. He raises an eyebrow.
“What?” I ask.
“I didn’t know you were so easily affected by pity.”
“I’m not,” I say defensively.
“Oh?” He leans in closer to whisper in my ear, so close that it pulls at something raw and aching in my chest. “Has something else got you staring at our arrogant little prince, then?”
I watch as he silently takes his seat next to Gideon, and something strange takes hold of me, the urge to antagonize Taron.
I raise my glass to Cyrus, and the Young Prince initially looks surprised. His eyes pass slowly between Taron and me, a shallow frown creasing his brow.
Then his mouth curls into a wicked smile. He returns my gesture, and holds my gaze as he sips slowly from his glass.
“Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” Taron grumbles, stabbing at the remaining crumbs on his plate. “We’re not here to make friends. We’re here to win.”
Almost as if everyone had heard him, the table goes quiet. It stays like this for a while as the competitors concentrate on polishing off the food and drink, occasionally passing whispers.
I’m about to help myself to another milk bun, when High Prince Seraphius stands once again and taps his glass. His voice cuts through the soft murmurs of the gathering.
“Well, I hope everyone thoroughly enjoyed tonight’s banquet,” he says. “It was truly a meal fit for a king. I should know.”
He allows a moment for laughter, then his expression turns solemn. “Now, the hour draws near for the Obsidian Eclipse. I bid you all to join me in the palace gardens, where we shall witness our three moons align as one while indulging in one of my favourite Reckoning traditions, the Introduction.”
All the royals and dignitaries tap their glasses before pushing their chairs back excitedly. From the way they’re behaving, it seems they know something we don’t.
“What’s the Introduction?” I ask Taron, an uneasy feeling coiling in the pit of my stomach.
Taron stands. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
Chapter Sixteen
The energy in the palace gardens has a tension to it that doesn’t match the calm of the evening. Honeysuckle perfumes the air, but beneath the sweetness there’s an undercurrent of something more intense.
Like a storm growing slowly and more powerful with each passing moment.
The lights strung through the manicured hedges give off a soft, twinkling glow, and shadows dance across the glossy silks and satins draped from the branches overhead, forming a canopy for the competitors to gather under.
The scene is beautiful, yet it feels like a facade. The palace gardens, perched at the mouth of the sea, offer a view that I’m sure very few have seen. To stand here, you must be either incredibly lucky – or terribly cursed.
