“Police,” they announce, and a collective tension seizes the group. It seems the previous night’s chaos has caught up with us quicker than we’d hoped. As officers climb aboard with an air of authority, Revelin slips away to a quiet corner, his fingers dancing over the screen of his phone.
I know where he’s going, but I sit close enough to overhear the conversation. My Prince is killing several birds with one stone—especially if these local Barney Fifes try anything stupid when we don’t have any representation here.
“Mother,” he whispers into the receiver, his voice steady but laced with concern. “Yes, we’re all safe, but it was quiet scary, I agree.”
Leaning in closer, I feign interest in my shoelaces, straining to catch more. Revelin pauses, listening intently, then speaks again, each word deliberate. “What about father’s deal with Amethyst? Are we still bound by its terms? Well, no, I’m satisfied with… I see.”
“Ma’am,” a detective snaps, and I jerkupright. His eyes are narrow slits, boring into me. “Focus here, please. We need your account of last night’s events.”
Khol glares at him and I hear the telltale hissing under his breath that tells me he’d gladly land his happy ass in jail to throat punch this jackass.
“Sorry,” I mumble, chastised, but my mind is still with Revelin’s hushed conversation, curiosity gnawing at me. I want to know what she said about that bitch who’s setting me up, but I can’t make out what else Rev is saying now that I’m looking at the group. It’s making me nervous, even though I think Queen Niamh liked me when we met before.
Dezi, noticing my discomfort, steps smoothly between me and the detective. “Officer, perhaps this could be expedited if we involve our legal representation?”
“Legal... right,” the detective mutters, clearly out of his depth dealing with royalty and their entourages. He looks at his partner and I realize they were hoping to corner us into admitting something—what I have no idea—by showing up without notice early in the morning.
See if that works when royal attorneys show up, dickwhistles.
By the time Revelin returns, sliding his phone back into his pocket, the air has shifted. He nods to us, a silent signal that he’s managed something. “We’re free to go,” he announces, and relief washes over us like the first warm breeze of spring.
The detectives look like they’re going to protest, but Rev simply smirks and wiggles his phone in his hand. The gruff one who snapped at me rolls his eyes, and they turn on their heels to shuffle out of our space.
“Thank fuck,” I grumble as I melt back into the cushions. “I fucking hate dealing with that kind of shit.”
“Second that,” Khol says with a roguish smirk.
I’ll just bet he does.
Tiernan walks over to the coffeepot, starting it as he pulls out all the mugs. “Regardless, we can head out now. They were fishing, anyway.”
“Goldgarde awaits,” Dezi says as he heads to the front, hoping to catch the driver arriving to hit the road.
Once the quiet old Fae arrives, we settle into our seats and the magical engine hums to life as we pull away from the curb. Outside, the town recedes, the promise of Goldgarde on the horizon soothing our frayed nerves.
The magical busglides to a stop, and the doors hiss open after our four hours drive to the next town. We’re immediately met by an escort of council members whose stiff smiles don’t quite reach their eyes.
“Welcome to Goldgarde,” one of them says, though their tone suggests anything but.
This is fucking weird.
We shuffle off the bus, our group a tangle of apprehension and weariness, funneling into a narrow hallway that smells like old stone and polish. The walls are lined with tapestries depicting scenes of Goldgarde’s grandeur, but they seem out-of-place now, overshadowed by the council’s palpable caution.
“Prince Revelin, a moment?” one of the council leaders beckons him aside, her voice low. I watch as Revelin nods, his posture straightening with a prince’s grace even as we’re shepherded into a room that feels more like a bunker than a meeting space.
Where the fuck are his people and why are we meeting the second we pull in?
“Fiadh, stay close,” Dezi murmurs, his gaze flickering around the room, ever the protector. “I have a bad feeling about this unexpected welcoming committee.”
I nod, trying to peer over shoulders to see Rev’s reaction as the guys speak to him. When his face drops, the sight tightens something in my chest.
“They’re stripping away pieces of his visit here. All the things he’s losing are his chances of connecting with the people. No school visit, no grand appearances—just a scaled-down concert shoved forward like an afterthought,” Dezi whispers to me.
“Goldgarde was a highlight,” I hear my normally fiery Prince whisper, and my heart aches for him.
This is bullshit.
Tiernan’s frustration is almost audible as he pulls out his phone, barking into it as he heads for the hallway. “Yes, it’s me. We need reinforcements in Goldgarde. Yesterday’s events have... complicated matters.” His voice has that steely edge of a man used to orchestrating solutions from chaos.
