“Look at that,” Khol teases, spinning her with ease. “They taught you something useful, after all.”
Their laughter mingles with the music, a shared moment of levity amidst the mounting tension. For a heartbeat, we’re just a group of friends at a party, the weight of what lies ahead momentarily forgotten.
Sighing as I watch both of my charges dance a few more rounds, I sip my drink slowly. I’ll feel better when everyone is at the table, but I knew this would happen. I don’t normally bring a lot of extra security in for Rev’s events unless it’s a concert, so my detail won’t arrive for two more days. However, with all the bullshit, I may actually need to reconsider the bigger cities.
There are far too many villains in our story at the moment to take chances.
Knuckles, Khol, and the Prince finally return to the table a few minutes later. The private seating is a momentary oasis in the swirling sea of opulence and intrigue—something I can tell everyone is grateful for. I reach for a glass of water, my throat parched from too much small talk and not enough air. Our witch slumps into her chair beside me, her eyes narrowed as she scans the crowd, her fingers tapping an irritated rhythm against the tabletop.
“Should’ve gotten my daggers out,” she mutters under her breath. “Could’ve used them to pin some of these pompous idiots’ tongues to the wall. You should hear what they say about Rev when they’re ignoring everyone around them.”
“Patience,” Khol murmurs, though his own smirk betrays a certain shared sentiment.
“Patience be damned, I—” Fiadh’s retort is cut short by a gaggle of nobles who saunter up to us, their laughter grating like sandpaper on my already frayed nerves.
“Tell me, Fiadh,” one noblewoman drawls, her voice dripping with condescension, “did you learn your grace at court or was it the stables?”
And like that, shots have been fired at the wrong fucking woman.
The insult hangs in the air, heavy and toxic. Khol’s hand twitches on the handle of his fork, but Fiadh raises a hand to stop him. Her eyes flash with a dangerous glint. I look at Revelin, whose eyes narrow at the idiotic mean girl Fae. He will not stop whatever our mate has planned—and maybe that’s the right idea.
“Neither,” she responds coolly, her words sharp as shards of glass. “But I learned how to handle bullshit growing up around cows like you. It prepared me well for moments such as this.”
A ripple of shock spreads through the group. Whispers flutter like dark-winged moths, eager to feast on the drama. Revelin wraps an arm around Fiadh protectively, his smile serene but with an edge of warning.
“My lass is more than capable of defending herself,” he declares, loud enough for nearby heads to swivel in our direction. “But I’d advise against testing her patience further. She’s known for being stabby and has already gotten arrested once in this town since we arrived.”
The nobles bristle, but the sight of the Prince’s open affection silences them. They retreat, but not before shooting venomous looks that promise further gossip. I exhale slowly; that scene will definitely make tomorrow’s headlines.
Not to mention he just fucked up half of what Louie did earlier in the week.
“Smooth move,” I say to Revelin as he sits back down, a wry grin on his face. “You ever going to inform us when you decide to full-tilt boogie and pivot off all our plans or…?”
“It was damage control,” he replies with a shrug. “Starting a new fire to distract from the old one.”
Before we can ponder the implications of his rash decision, Dezi slips into a seat next to us, his expression somber. “Word on the floor confirms the beast might strike again tonight,” he whispers, his eyes scanning the room. “Stay alert.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Because what this party needed was actual bloodshed.”
I can’t take these fools anywhere; I swear to fuck.
The evening wears on, each tick of the clock stretching like taffy, pulling the tension tighter. I’m coiled like a spring, waiting to snap because of all the idiots getting in my face. Dezi’s statement doesn’t make it any better, but at least Khol never strays far from my side, his presence a silent reassurance.
I’d slit my throat before admitting that out loud, though.
My gaze flickers across the ballroom, searching for the slightest hint of danger, but all I see are masked faces and false smiles. Then, without warning, a piercing scream shatters the illusion of safety. The sound ricochets off the walls, a clarion call of terror.
“Damn it,” I curse. “The whispers were right. Some motherfucker sent a goddamn monster into a party full of random people.”
A white-faced staff member rushes into the room, stopping at the head table. The Mayor and his wife get up fast enough to knock their chairs over, exiting the ballroom quickly enough to leave dust in their wake.
That’s just fucking great; they abandoned everyone here to whatever is attacking.
Chaos erupts once everyone realizes they’re not coming back, nor sending help. Guests surge towards the exits in a frenzied tide. Tables overturn, glasses shatter, and screams mingle with the crash of falling decorations.
My guys look at me, clearly worried, but there are far too many people in danger for me to be the focus. I sweep my arm out at the crowd, indicating we have to help. Tier jumps up first, giving me his hand, and the rest follow as we wade into the throng of fearful Fae.
“Move,” I command, taking charge as we push through the panic. Revelin’s face is set, his eyes scanning for the source of the commotion. My irritation has transformed into a fierce determination to figure out who is doing this and why.
