“And fucking bring them to me alive.”
Salom’s expression shutters as he absorbs my demand, or rather, my objurgation.
“Yes, Vizosh.” My title, which he so seldom uses, rings harshly off his tongue as he takes off, winding around the developing clusters of guests, commanding a mixture of fear and admiration from many.
Even though my mind should be wholly focused on the fact that a man is dead and a girl is missing, it wanders to last night’s boat ride home—to Isla’s reaction when she went from believing Salom was her mate to the realization that it was me. Well, that itcould beme. Why does it rankle a day later?
“Drink this. It’ll help with whatever’s bugging you,” Ilya says, appearing out of nowhere. He pushes a tumbler filled with clear liquor into my hand.
Vodka is the last thing I want to ingest tonight, but I thank him and hold it at my hip until a waiter drifts by with an empty platter. I chuck it atop while my brother bombards me with all the current scandals happening at court.
When I fail to react to his salacious updates, he pivots fully toward me, blocking my view of the stairs. “Has there been another attack? Another railcar incident?”
“No.”
He frowns but then notices me peering around his plaited blond mane. “Looking for someone?”
“Simply contemplating our guests.”
“Our guests, or the stairs?” The tension in his brow smooths. “If you’re planning an escape, the royal trolley beats the stairs. Take it from someone who’s had to rely on speed to keep his most prized possession attached to his body.” His voice drops in a conspiratorial whisper. “Word of advice: avoid bedding a human’s wife. Unlike us, Round-ears actually value their vows and are very possessive of their spouses. Kind of like shifters, come to think of it. Speaking of shifters…Lorcan’s back.”
The news narrows my airway. “Is he?”
“Our paths crossed in the hallway when Izolda sent me to fetch your crown.” He nods to a soldier holding a velvet cushion upon which shines the symbol of my reign. “Isla’s daddy was heaving literal smoke and barely acknowledged me. I asked Aodhan if he’d caught any chatter on the pack link concerning Lorcan’s stormy return, but he’s heard nothing.” Ilya takes a sip of his drink, eyeing me over the lip of the glass. “Seeing as you’re looking rather tense, I’m thinking I asked the wrong brother.”
Shadows drape over the stairs then. One remains dark, while the other brightens into a woman gloved in a blush-colored gown. The ring box in my pocket seems to gain a full pound…ten.
I tap it nervously before winding my restless fingers behind my back and interlocking them. I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and thin my lips, trying hard to keep my stare leveled on Lorcan’s glower.
But like magnets, my eyes are drawn back to his daughter, to the plunging neckline of her gown that is pricked through—in the most strategic places—with floral appliqués. Even from where I stand, I don’t miss how the tiny fabric leaves jostle with each beat of her heart, how her slicked-back hair gleams blue with every rotation of her head, and how her dusky lips part with each draw of her lungs. At least feigning to be infatuated with Isla Ríhbiadh will be no hardship.
Her words from earlier—the ones about my colorless mien—smear themselves across my ego. I’ve never cared what others thought of my looks, yet somehow, I suddenly care what she thinks?
This is a ruse.
Only a ruse.
Thank fuck she doesn’t find me attractive. It’ll make the forthcoming months easier, for if my sister truly birthed avengeful niece, then I need my wits about me and not inside Isla’s underthings.
Long earrings crafted from pearls and sequined cloth flowers similar to the ones on her dress swing as her face pivots toward me. My lungs cramp, then sear as I deplete them of oxygen. I part my lips and inhale but find myself still short of breath. If only my damn talisman could keep me fully immune to Isla Ríhbiadh and not just to her Crow magic.
“Well, that explains Lorcan’s mood. And yours.” Ilya’s delight, paired with the reminder of Lorcan’s irritation, works wonders on draining the blood from all the nonessential organs it had flooded. “So much for the shifter princesses being ‘loud tots,’ huh? Has my grand idea of marriage suddenly found its appeal?”
May I only be this transparent with my sibling.
I set my shoulders, bracing myself. “Islaisloud.”
A presence to be felt.
A force to be reckoned with.
“But not a tot, right?” he needles me.
Given that I’m about to play the part of Isla’s mate for the foreseeable future, I’m about to admit I was too brash in writing her off as a potential match. Unless…unless Lorcan has taken issue with our scheme and returned to inform me in person?
I sweep the crowd for Izolda. When I find her standing beside Zendaya, a hollow pressure builds in my chest. Could the Shabbin Queen have already wiped my sister’s mind?
“Whoa, are you all right?” Ilya asks. “You’re…purple.”
