He opens his mouth to retort—something truly filthy, I bet—but Tiernan cuts him off. “Alright, let’s get changed. He’s got a public to appease and I’m fucking hungry.”
After we change,we descend to the fancy ass restaurant downstairs. Our attire is a notch above casual—except for Revelin, who’s looking every inch the royal he is. The patrons’ stares cling to us like cobwebs, sticky and unwelcome. The prince catches my eye and nods subtly before murmuring an incantation. A wave of silence wraps around us, muffling the outside world.
“Here’s the plan,” he begins, taking a deep breath. “Tiernan and I need to meet with Amethyst and the council today. We can’t afford any missteps, not after Goldgarde.”
His blue eyes flicker with memories better left buried, and a protective rage simmers in my chest. “If they so much as look at you wrong, I’ll—” I start, my hands balling into fists.
“Knuckles, please. No disemboweling talk at the breakfast table.” Tiernan chides gently, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
He’s pissed about that shit, too.
“Fine,” I relent, leaning back in my chair. “But only because you asked nicely.”
“Dezi, what’s your plan?” Revelin’s voice is steady, but I catch the minute clench of his jaw that says he’s bracing for trouble.
The vampire leans back, his dark eyes scanning the perimeter like a hawk. “I’ll grab some shadows and scout the town. We need eyes on every corner.” Dezi looks at me next. “Witchling, Khol can take you to the spa here. You should be seen soaking up the pleasures of Amber Hollow as well.”
My mouth twists into a reluctant scowl, even as my stomach does an unexpected flip of excitement. “Spa? That’s not really my scene,” I grumble, although the thought of warm water and massages whispers seductively in my mind.
“Come on, Sassy,” Khol says with a grin, “think of the fluffy one. You can both laugh about this later. I’m sure you can tell the pixie all about it when she gets here. Maybe even send pictures?”
The idea is appealing, and before I know it, I’m mentally framing shots of the spa’s luxuriousness to share with Feray. A strange swell of femininity rises within me, and my hand jerks, nearly sending my chair toppling backward.
What the actual hell? Am I… turning girly?
Laughter ripples around the table. Revelin’s eyes twinkle with mirth, and Tiernan shakes his head, trying to suppress his own chuckle. “Knuckles, you’ll still be our fierce warrior, even if you emerge with acrylic nails and a blowout.”
“Exactly,” Khol adds, his grin infectious. “And if you chip a nail, I’ve got you covered. Who do you think keeps mine looking nice?”
“I’m very good with many cosmetics,” Revelin says with a shrug. “I just let my people do it now because I enjoy their artistry. But I can help if you end up liking anything you experience.”
“Traitors,” I mutter with mock bitterness, but warmth blooms in my chest at their gentle teasing. I nod, conceding to the spa plan. “Fine. Khol and I will be pampered princesses today in service of your rabid following.”
The vampire studies the two of us for a moment, mischief flickering across his face briefly before he nods. “That’s acceptable. You’ll still be in within the relative safety of the hotel while we are split up and the Prince will have his guard.”
“What about you, old man?” I ask playfully. “No one to watch your fine ass?”
He chokes on his coffee at the compliment, then recovers quickly. “I’ve stayed alive without them for longer than most countries have existed, witchling. But your concern is noted. Good girl.”
My face heats and I drop my gaze to the plateful of food, stuffing my mouth before I say something I don’t know if I’ll regret or be happy about.
Luckily, no one presses me on it.
As we each delve into our meals, the soft clinks of cutlery become a calming melody against the muted backdrop of the restaurant’s hum. Despite the surreptitious glances directed our way and the sporadic notifications chirping from phones—no doubt spreading word of our arrival—I feel a sense of belonging envelop me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, almost too softly to hear over the din, but they understand—their nods and smiles speak volumes. They know, just as I do, that we are bound by more than just fate or chance. As I gaze across the table at their determined faces, I realize that no amount of spa-induced softness will ever dull my edges.
Amidst whispers and watchful eyes, I’ve found my place in this ragtag family—and nothing could be more empowering.
Ipush back from the ornate breakfast table, its surface now cluttered with the remnants of a meal hastily eaten and barely tasted. Revelin’s brow is furrowed in thought, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the dark wood. He’s dressed for diplomacy today, cloaked in black and silver pinstripe pants and a silk shirt with the tattoos that mark his princely status showing. I study him briefly; even his attire can’t mask the tension coiling in his shoulders.
My confident, brash friend and coven mate is worried he’ll be rejected again.
“Ready to face the council?” I ask, standing and straightening my bespoke vest—a plain thing compared to his finery, but it’s not my job to stand out.
He nods, though his gaze lingers on the empty plate before him, as if he hopes for answers to appear alongside the crumbs. “Time to face the music,” he replies, but there’s a hesitance in his voice that tugs at my resolve.
As we exit the restaurant, the clack of our boots against the marble floors echoes through the sprawling lobby of the fancy hotel. I can’t shake the unease that’s settled in my gut. Memories of past events in Arrowwood and Goldgarde flashing like warning signs. The potential for disaster looms over us, a specter that could derail the week’s carefully planned festivities or worse—leave Revelin exposed to the fickle whims of the press and the public’s scrutiny.
