“Speak your needs, child,” she intones, and I wait for the guys to walk away so I can discuss my specific requests. Hopefully, this place, being full of mixed species, will mean this woman knows what ingredients I can use to supersize my birth control potion.
I should probably send some to Feray, too. She’s got a cadre of shifters and seven to eight eggs applies to her as well.
Khol and Tiernan give me space while I talk to her, wandering together among the rows. Their indistinct murmurs blend with the soft clinking of bottles and the whisper of turning pages from an ancient grimoire propped open on a stand. I’m low-key glad they’re the only ones who joined me on this little quest because I think Rev and Dezi would have teased me mercilessly. They don’t understand how intensely allergic I am to supes under the driving age, and I’m not sure how to explain that trauma. It feels childish, but I just can’t wrap my head around bringing kids into our world when they’re treated as shitty as Fer and I were.
Note to self: Therapy is a thing even if you don’t like the idea.
As I finish checking over the last ingredients, the shop owner suggests, Khol returns, his arms laden with everything I’d so much as glanced at. He places them on the counter with a definitive thud, sliding his card toward the crone without waiting for a total.
“Khol, that’s—” I protest, but his stern look cuts me off.
“Non-negotiable,” he says, and the crone’s lips twitch in approval.
She wraps each item, her movements precise and efficient. I don’t want to upset her since she was helpful and not even judgemental when I described the members of my new coven. “Be wary, young one,” she says suddenly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Even the Seelie of the Harvest Court weave webs within webs. Trust sparingly.”
No shit,I think to myself, but I nod instead. “Thank you.” Her words send a chill down my spine. Khol gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and I muster a smile. “We’ll be careful.”
The smile she gives me in return is oddly smug, but I don’t have time to do more than let my magic slide over her to verify that she’s been truthful. When I get the confirmation in my mind, I take the securely bundled purchases and sigh.
Time to face the funeral music.
Tiernan leads us out of the shop and back into the dizzying whirl of Arrowwood’s streets quietly. My mind races with thoughts of potions to brew and warnings to heed, but mostly, I can’t wait to see what else this place has in store.
Tier hoiststhe bags effortlessly as we walk towards the middle of Arrowwood, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. “These are light as feathers. Shouldn’t they be heavier with everything we bought?”
I roll my eyes, the cobblestones clicking under my boots as we stride through the business district’s enchanting chaos. “Of course they’re light, Tier. They’re enchanted.” I can’t help but smirk at the marvel in his eyes—it’s the same wonder that hits me every time magic simplifies the mundane.
“Enchanted or not, let’s hope they don’t float away,” he chuckles, and we continue our trek, Khol’s steady presence on my other side grounding me despite the whirlwind of new experiences.
The boutique looms ahead, its silver façade reflecting the afternoon sun like a beacon of opulence. I groan, eyeing the grandeur with skepticism. “This is the kind of place where I end up punching someone for being too pushy.”
“Let them try,” Khol murmurs, the protective edge in his voice sending a shiver down my spine. “I’ll handle it.”
Tiernan interjects with an exasperated sigh, “No punching salespeople. We’re here representing the Prince; an inter-court incident is the last thing we need.”
“Adorable,” Khol and I retort in unison, grinning at each other before turning sheepish under Tiernan’s disapproving gaze.
Maybe the terror twin is rubbing off on me? Shit.
Pushing open the boutique’s doors, we’re immediately accosted by a clerk whose nose seems so high she could drown in a drizzle. Her eyes sweep over us, recognition flashing instantly. “Ah, the esteemed guests from Briarvale,” she purrs.
Khol leans in close enough for his breath to tickle my ear almost immediately when she greets us. “Watch what you say,” he whispers. “Identifying enchantments on the doors, maybe. This place feels... prying.”
“Great,” I mutter under my breath. “As if shopping wasn’t violating enough.”
We trail behind her, entering a changing room designed like a theatre of vanity. A pedestal stands proudly in the center, with racks encircling it, laden with all manner of attire. My eyes widen at the sight—casual tees next to lacy underthings, ball gowns brushing against leather pants. A kaleidoscope of fabric and style meant to clothe every facet of Fae society.
“Damn it,” I curse quietly. The scope of this shopping excursion is daunting, each garment a reminder of how out of my depth I am in this glittering world. I’m going to hate every second of this and I’ll be even angrier when I have to change clothes for every fucking activity.
I am so out of my depth in Revelin’s world.
“Get used to it,” Tiernan says with a snicker, prodding me toward the sea of clothes. “This is just the first court. There are three more to go.”
“Shut it, or I’ll make sure you’re the one trying on lingerie next,” I grumble, jabbing him in the ribs with my elbow, earning a surprised grunt and a flash of his playful grin.
He winks and dodges my next swing as we dive into the heart of the boutique’s offerings. “Promise?”
My eyes widen and I choke on my own spit like a fucking moron as I try to sputter an appropriate retort. That’s not my kink and I don’t think it’s his, but the imagery is hilarious. Tier is bulky and muscled, designed to be a weapon even without one in his hand. Putting him in frilly lingerie would be as amusing as sticking Fer’s grumpy ass dragon in it.
