The car door swings open, and the assault of flashes feels like a physical force. I squint against the barrage, my heart pounding, not from excitement but irritation. Amethyst is there, lips curled into what she must assume is a masterful conductor’s smile as she waves her hands, guiding the media frenzy like it’s her personal symphony.
“Revelin, over here!” A voice pierces the cacophony.
“Who are your new friends?” another chimes in.
“Is the girl your latest flame?”
The question is pointed, hungry for scandal, and I know it was fed to the idiot who asked it.
I plaster on the trademark grin, even as my eyes scan for Fiadh. Her face is taut, the expression in her eyes darkening like a stormy sea. Khol senses it too, so he makes his presence a steady anchor at her side. He might encourage her to be wild, but it seems he knows when to quell the violence when needed.
My respect for him grows a bit; he’s good for her.
“Friends from out of town,” I reply smoothly, deflecting their probing with practiced ease. “They’re just enjoying the tour.”
But it’s not enough. Questions keep coming, fast and invasive, circling around Fiadh like sharks to blood. With every camera flash, I see her fists clench tighterat her sides.
“Fiadh, how does it feel to be thrust into the limelight?”
“Any thoughts on the bar incident that has everyone talking?”
That’s when it hits me—there are too many details spilling from these vultures’ lips. Details that were scrubbed clean from the web by Louie’s expert hands. My gaze flicks to Amethyst, her eyes darting away just a fraction too late. Suspicion coils in my gut like a viper ready to strike.
“Looks like the leak is at it again,” I mutter under my breath to Tiernan, who gives a subtle nod. He and Dezi have moved like shadows, forming a barrier between the most aggressive reporters and Fiadh, an unspoken dance we didn’t rehearse but all know by heart.
“We have to plug it before we all drown,” Dezi quips back, his tone light but his eyes sharp and calculating.
“Twenty bucks says Fiadh punches a reporter before we leave,” Khol whispers to Tiernan, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.
“Fifty says within an hour,” Tiernan counters, though his focus never wavers from the encroaching crowd.
All the while, Fiadh’s jaw ticks in a rhythm that spells trouble. She’s a keg of dynamite, and the fuse is far too short tonight. I step closer, a silent show of solidarity. If anyone’s going to blow this up, it’ll be me—not her. Someone amongst the people I’ve worked with for years is putting my mate and our family in danger, and I don’t like it one fucking bit.
The chandeliers cast a warm glow over the ballroom, their crystals refracting light across the faces of the high society that mills about with wine glasses in hand and jewels sparkling at their throats. The air is thick with perfume and expectation. I keep my expression neutral as Tiernan’s gaze sweeps the room like a hawk, his entire being radiating silent threat to anyone who dares too close to our circle.
Everything about this screams opulence rather than benevolence.
“Bit overdone, don’t you think?” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. This isn’t just a charity dinner; it’s a show, a power play dressed up in silk and satin. Arrowwood may be small, but the council’s grasp on grandeur is suffocating.
I consider, for a fleeting moment, calling my mother, but the thought of dragging her into this circus and giving my father ammunition against me sends a bitter taste crawling up the back of my throat. No, I’ll keep the royal family out of it. I’m Revelin, the rock star, not the prince—tonight, at least. I can command my own desires, and this wasnotwhat we negotiated. They will pay for that slight once I get my hands on the dickheads responsible.
Council members flutter around us like moths to a flame, each one parading their progeny like prized thoroughbreds. “Revelin, this is my daughter, Lysandra,” says one, her smile all teeth. “She’s quite the fan of your music.”
I’ll just bet she is. More a fan of my crown, I’d wager.
Politeness is a mask I wear well, even when irritation simmers beneath. “A pleasure,” I say, offering a nod rather than the kiss on the hand she’s clearly expecting. Fiadh’s eyes are thunderclouds, her lips pressed into a thin line as an eligible bachelor is thrust into my view. I can feel her anger tangling with mine—a storm waiting to break.
“Isn’t he just divine?” Khol murmurs to Fiadh, his voice low enough that only those of us with enhanced senses can catch his words. “Though I hear his last relationship ended because he couldn’t handle someone with multiple brain cells.”
Fiadh’s shoulders shake with a suppressed snort, her scowl easing ever so slightly at Khol’s irreverence. But each new introduction, each subtle insinuation that I might find interest in these strangers, is a needle pricking at her composure.
“Look at that,” Khol continues, the smirk in his tone now directed at a female suitor with a laugh like wind chimes. “Pretty sure she couldn’t throw a punch to save her life.”
It’s a ridiculous game, but I find myself struggling to maintain my diplomatic smile. Khol’s barbs are meant for Fiadh, but they cut through my tension, making the whole charade almost bearable. Almost.
The line of beautiful people finally ends when a gaggle of press nearly bum-rush us while walking towards the head table. They sneer in satisfaction as they watch my girl get surrounded by the vultures, and that puts another strike in their column in my mind.
“Fiadh, what’s the real scoop between you and Revelin? Are sparks flying, or is it just for the cameras?” an overly peppy influencer thrusts her phone in Fiadh’s direction, live-streaming to an audience hungry for scandal.
