Every single time, the fucking Fae surprise me again in their sheer adoration of excess.
“Hell’s bells and Hecate’s spells,” I murmur, as Khol’s grin widens beside me.
“Right?” he says, his voice low enough that it doesn’t interrupt the soft music floating through the air—a melody that seems to twine around the gentle plinking of water from a minimalist fountain nestled in a corner.
As we’re ushered further into the sanctuary, a subtle symphony of tranquil sounds accompanies our every step: the muted shuffle of slippers across the floor, the whisper of silk uniforms as staff glide past us with an elegance that makes them seem like part of the ambiance rather than mere employees. They move with a grace that’s almost balletic, their chic black-and-white attire a sharp definition amid soothing tones.
“Here you are,” a woman with a smile hands us each a frosted glass filled with a pale amber liquid. “A refreshing herbal concoction to start your journey,” she says.
The drink is cool in my hand, beads of condensation slipping down the sides. I take a tentative sip—it’s crisp, hints of mint and citrus dancing on my tongue—and can’t help but feel a pang of absurdity at the grandeur of it all. But when I glance over at Khol, his ease in this alien world of luxury is both amusing and oddly reassuring.
“Ready for some pampering, Fiadh?” he teases lightly, raising his glass in a toast to our day ahead.
Leaning back against a velvet chaise, I roll my eyes at the sheer opulence that threatens to swallow us whole. “Look at this place,” I murmur under my breath, taking another sip of the herbal concoction that tastes like it costs more than my entire wardrobe. “I bet half these people have never even broken a sweat unless it was in a sauna.”
Khol doesn’t miss a beat, his eyes scanning the booklet of treatments with a focus that seems misplaced in such a decadent setting. “Ridiculous or not, we’re here now,” he responds without looking up. His pen glides across the paper, ticking off boxes with an authority that suggests this isn’t his first rodeo.
“Since when are you so fru-fru? This is the epitome of girly shit, but you seem more comfortable than me, so how does that work?” I ask, teasing him, but with genuine curiosity painting the edges of my words.
He sets down the form and meets my gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fiadh, don’t be dense,” he says, leaning forward with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “Massages? They feel good. Facials? My skin’s never been better. And pedicures?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Baller, absolutely baller. We’re going to outshine everyone tonight, even our pretty Prince—mark my words.” He leans closer, dropping his voice to a low growl. “And anyone who’s got a problem with that can talk to my bat about their outdated machismo bullshit.”
I can’t help the grin that breaks free, stretching across my face like itbelongs there. “I will let ‘dad’ know you’ve earned a gold star for being so... evolved.”
His laughter is a rich sound that fills the space between us, bouncing off the marble and mixing with the ambient tunes. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says, just as we’re approached by a staff member whose uniform looks more expensive than any formal attire I’ve ever owned before this trip.
“Right this way, please,” she instructs with a practiced smile, guiding us toward the locker rooms designed to make us shed our street armor in favor of their plush robes and slippers.
The air changes as we step through the door, steam wrapping around me like a warm embrace. I shrug off my jacket, peeling away the layers of my usual exterior to reveal something softer beneath. Slipping into the robe, I’m surprised by how the fabric caresses my skin, inviting me to leave behind any lingering tension.
Pausing for just a moment, I glance at Khol, who’s already embodying the role of luxury spa-goer as if he was born to it. Our eyes meet, and there’s a silent agreement that passes between us—a truce in our world of snark and survival.
I guess if he can let it go for a day; I can, too.
Emerging from the locker room,Khol and I move like two streams flowing into a peaceful lagoon. The plushness of our robes feels alien against my skin, but the basilisk’s affable grin tells me he’s already settled into this world of pampering. We’re led down a corridor, our slippers whispering against the marble, to where our first indulgence awaits.
“I can’t wait to be steamed like a fancy lobster,” I whisper with a wry grin. My voice is pitched lower than the tranquil music that seems tofloat through the air so none of the estheticians can hear me being a pill.
“You can only use that metaphor if you promise to suck all the meat of out of my shell later,” he shoots back with a chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Son of bitch, that’s got my entire body flaming already.
We step into the steam room, and it’s like walking into a cloud. At first, all I can do is breathe in the warm, moist air; it fills my lungs, seeps into my pores, and works its magic on my reluctant muscles. Khol sits across from me, eyes closed, a serene expression painted across his features. It’s disarming to see the usually fierce gang leader so at peace.
“Feeling more like a noodle than a tough girl yet?” His voice breaks through the mist, and I have to admit, the tension that usually winds my body tight is slowly unraveling.
“More like al dente,” I retort, though my attempt at snark comes out softer than intended.
He beams at me, shrugging a little. “If it makes you feel better, my sassy girl, this is the longest I’ve ever been away from my…family. And I’ve never ever left it to run on its own without contacting anyone. I’m trying to learn to delegate, too. You’re not the only one who needs to relax.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Really, Sassypants. This trip is all about us and the prince and the whole family thing.”
Again, with the throbbing in my pussy, but this time my chest is tight, too.
After what feels like an eternity and a second all at once, we’re ushered to the next phase of pampering—an invigorating body scrub. This is not the abrasive, hurried scrub of a shower after a brawl; it’s a meticulous, rhythmic exfoliation that leaves my skintingling and fresh. Khol watches me for a reaction, his smirk telling me he knows exactly how foreign this gentleness is to me.
“Enjoying yourself?” he teases, as if reading my mind. “You can admit it to me: I might not tell anyone.”
