“Enough stalling,” I murmur as I catch my reflection in the gilded mirror. I hardly recognize myself in this floaty ballgown fairy princess thing, and it wigs me out. “We need to get moving.”
“Wait!”
I turn, frowning as I look back at Tanya. She’s rushing over, motioning for me to bend down so she can plop something heavy in my hair. When I stand back up and check the reflection again, I give her a horrified look. “Fuck no. Youcannotput a goddamn crown on me.”
Revelin winks, handing the stylist something I assume is a healthy tip, and I squawk in indignation again. “Lass, you have to look the part, even as a friend.”
I’m damn near having a fucking panic attack when Khol pulls away, heading over to confer with the stylists, and returns with a cheesy grin. In his hand are three male crowns, which he passes out to everyone but Revelin. “What the hell are you…”
“We’ll just match and you’ll feel normal,” the basilisk says. Dezi and Tiernan don’t look happy, either, but they take the damn things and settle them on their heads.
“I love it,” Rev says happily and just like that, amuchmore expensive and intricate crown appears on his head. “Now we’re all matching. It’s perfect.”
I look at the basilisk with a glare that could slice through iron. “I’m going to murder you.”
“Never,” he says as he grabs my hand. “Now, scoot little doggies. We have a party to probably ruin.”
“Here’s to not punching a monarch,” I murmur as we cross the threshold, the cool air of the corridor greeting us like an old friend.
Revelin groans and grabs my other hand. “We’ll all drink to that. Just wait until we arrive, lass.”
The best part is, he thinks I’m joking.
The moment we step into the grandeur of the Harvest Court’s charity ball, a sea of faces turns our way. Excitement buzzes through the air, and my stomach churns with the sudden onslaught of attention. Rich ladies in gowns that cost more than an average person’s yearly wages bat their lashes at Revelin and Khol, while old men with more money than manners leer at me, their gazes crawling over my skin like insects.
Gross in so, so many ways; I might vomit on this expensive marble floor.
I feel the weight of my brass knuckles against the silk lining of my pockets—a forbidden comfort in this den of wolves dressed like sheep. My fingers twitch with the urge to make use of them, but I restrain myself, pressing the cool metal into my palm as a reminder of the control I must keep.
“Sassy, you good?” Khol murmurs, his voice a low thrum that cuts through the clamor.
I nod, even though my teeth are clenched tight enough to crack. “Fine,” I lie. It’s not the crowd that unsettles me—I can handle a mob. It’s the way they look at us, like we’re exotic animals on display, ready for their entertainment.
As if sensing my internal struggle, Khol edges closer, his presence a solid reassurance at my side. Dezi and Tiernan instinctively close ranks, flanking me with a protective stance that’s both unnecessary and strangely comforting.
“Easy, witchling,” Dezi says with a chuckle, eyeing my balled fists. “Remember, no brawling at the ball. We wouldn’t want to ruin your lovely dress.”
“Or our lovely faces,” Tiernan adds, his light tone failing to mask the sharpness in his eyes. He’s watching the crowd as much as he’s watching me, always on alert for threats that lurk beneath the surface.
Therapy is probably warranted becauseI like them both pretty and looking rough.
I let out a huff, keeping my hands in my pockets despite the itch to lash out. “I know how to behave,” I mutter, though part of me itches to prove them wrong—to show this fawning crowd just how quickly I can turn from a damsel to a demon.
But as we wade deeper into the throng, I remind myself why we’re here. This isn’t about me or my pride. We have to listen for clues and maintain our cover with Rev’s band, so I need to play the part—even if it means swallowing my instincts and enduring the leers and whispers with a smile plastered on my face.
“Stick with me. I’ve had to do this shit for my uncle a million times,” Khol says softly, reading my tension like an open book. “We’ll get through this together.”
Slipping through the gilded doors into the reception area, we’re immediately wrapped in a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses. My fingers twitch inside my dress pockets as I plaster on a smile that feels more like a grimace. Dezi nods at me, a silent signal to keep it together, and I nod back, albeit begrudgingly.
“Smile for the cameras, Sassypants,” Khol murmurs, his voice barely audible above the din. “We’re just peacocks among pigeons here.”
“Peacocks with sharp talons,” I remind him under my breath, as another too-eager fan brushes against my arm, leaving a trail of cloying perfume in her wake.
We navigate the sea of opulence, our group forming a tight-knit formation amidst the ostentatious crowd. I shake hands with smiling tycoons whose eyes glint with unspoken business deals, their saccharine compliments sticking to me like cobwebs. I can’t help but scanthe room for an escape route, but Dezi’s hand at the small of my back steadies me.
“Look alive, Knuckles. Here come the court vultures,” Tiernan whispers with a side glance as we approach a cluster of minor royals. Their shiny jewels and over-polished smiles do nothing to hide the hunger in their eyes for fresh gossip. I exchange pleasantries, each word feeling like a stone in my mouth.
I’m overstimulated and annoyed, which is never a good thing. If I could just?—
