The wide doors were thrown open, revealing curved tables lined with decadent food—a reminder of the torture my sister had inflicted on me in designing a celebration in my name that I didn’t want.
My stomach twisted, rejecting any notion of nourishment. But the moment a servant passed carrying a tray of wineglasses, I plucked one and downed its entire contents.
Maelsar did the same, smacking his lips when he finished. “Shall we find Dasha?”
“Have I ever told you I hate you?” I groused as I stomped to a table I’d strategically positioned by the entry and grabbed a glass of sape, a fruit infused alcohol that was far stronger than any wine.
He only laughed and followed me as we circled the room, keeping our distance—for now. Really, I was trying to surreptitiously sneak peeks at the doors leading to the other wing of the palace, where the Seers would arrive from. My ribs cinched too tight, making it difficult to discern Sylaira’s proximity through our bond.
I just needed to fuckingseeher.
The room, a perfect circle around the tree, reminded me so much of the mark seared between my shoulder blades. And hers. I had no idea what my sister had sent the Seers to wear, but I hoped that it covered her backside in its entirety.
“If you glare any harder, you’ll break the columns holding this room aloft,” Maelsar taunted, jabbing me in the side with his elbow.
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” I commented, coming to a stop near one. The carved marble ringed the base of the tree, keeping anyone from touching the ancient bark. Some depicted the Goddess. Others paid homage to High Priestesses of the past.
Their beauty was merely a mask, another display of opulence designed to elevate the status of the current Koron.
Yet as I scanned the room from my vantage point, there was still no sign of the Seers, even though the chain linking our fates wound tighter.
I glimpsed the Sightkeeper who had cornered Sylaira and me in the garden, the ridiculous plume on his helmet swaying as he assessed the ballroom for threats to his charges. Our eyeslocked, and I offered him a mock salute with my sape. Maelsar did the same, feral grin flashing his teeth.
Ruby rose to the male’s cheeks.
Maelsar snorted beside me, then took another drink. “We’ve really got to get him removed. But fucking with him is so much fun.”
We’d spent the past few days calling him out for sparring while subtly plying his bunkmate with alcohol to loosen his lips. There was no doubt in my mind that he fed Iaoth information about the Seers, and therefore, he was a risk to my mate.
So my second-in-command and I had begun plotting how to have him removed from that post. With his budding…relationship with the female he’d had caged when I met him in Stadur, we had a spy of our own among the Seers. Lyriasthe was already proving to be a valuable asset, even if she gave Maelsar as much shit as Sylaira gave me.
We wound further around the massive trunk, approaching the high table. Dread twisted in my gut. But there was no reversing course. No retreating.
I had to play my part whether I wanted to or not.
So I braced myself, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, and closed the remaining distance to the Koron and Korona. The monarchs perched on their gaudy thrones, bored gazes lingering on the dance floor in front of them. Both glittered with enough stones to weigh down a ship at sea.
Anger flared, and my fingers curled into fists. If they’d stop sending money to the fucking Fae realms for stones, we’d have enough coin to feed and heal our soldiers properly. Thousands of lives would have been spared. There would have been less disease and hunger. Our army could have been large enough to deter the Demons from declaring war in the first place. And now, we had to stop short of the Paks Desert in the Demon Realm because of our lack of supplies.
I’d fought the red-eyed beasts when they closed in on our home nearly a year ago. Had to, because we didn’t have enough bodies to hold them back otherwise. Until Iaoth had tasked me with hunting down a male with power to create plagues.
That had made the difference in the last half year of this war.
And then I’d been forced to return to my duties tracking Elessarum and Seers.
“Vaeron!” Iaoth called out to me, her voice shrill and scraping against my ears.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered under my breath to Maelsar. I threw back the last of my sape, then plastered a stoic expression on my face and approached the rulers of the Angel Realm.
I sank to one knee, and Maelsar mimicked me, our capes sweeping out behind us.
“Rise,” Stadiel ordered, and we obeyed. We were good soldiers, after all.
My sister’s piercing regard flicked over my attire. Then, she sighed, like the sight of me pained her. “First, you’re late. Second, you really need to dress in our realm’s colors,brother. You’re starting to look like you belong to the intruders.”
I said nothing, even though I wanted to reach out and throttle her for her insult. For the brazen reminder of the blood that had fallen into my mouth when all I was trying to do was protect my mother and her.
“No matter. Dasha will be here soon. And then the ball canofficiallybegin.” Her words were barbed like I was the one holding up the process and not my betrothed.
