That I am not part of it.
But as the hours stretch on, curiosity gnaws at me. I want to see the banquet. The glittering excess of it, the Fae draped in gaudy fabrics worth more gold than any of us below could dream of. Fabrics they spill wine and smear pâté on without a second thought.
And I want to see him.
I want to admire Luceran in a suit, even though I already know he will look perfect. I want to see whether his hair falls loose and silken over his shoulders, or is bound neatly in a bun at the back of his head. I want to find him across the room and pretend, just for a moment, that he and I exist in the same world.
When we reach the kitchen, silver platters already line the benches in precise rows. A female snaps her fingers at me at once, and points to a tray piled with bright orange fish fillets drizzled with a smooth, yellow sauce and dusted with green flecks of something fragrant.
I’ve never seen food like it.
I have certainly never eaten it.
I lift the tray, its weight settling into my palms, and she immediately gestures toward the swinging doors at the far end of the kitchen.
“Do not speak to anyone,” she orders coolly. “Do not look anyone in the eye. When your tray is empty, bring it back. Then return downstairs. Do you understand?”
It physically pains me to nod.
I force my mouth into something that might pass for a smile, teeth grinding as my fingers tighten around the edges of the tray until my knuckles ache. For a wild, fleeting moment, I imagine smashing the silver straight into her smug face, then again when she hits the floor for good measure.
The thought is viciously satisfying.
But it would accomplish nothing. It would only ensure I never get closer to what I want.
TowhoI want.
So I swallow it down, every sharp edge of it, and turn toward the doors, knowing Luceran is on the other side.
I take a breath and step forward.
Pax reaches past me and pushes the swinging doors open, holding them just long enough for me to slip through. I glance back at him and manage a small, grateful smile.
“Good luck,” he murmurs.
The hall is dimly lit, candles casting a low, golden glow that dances across the stone. The Fae fill the space like living art, tall and slender, impossibly elegant even in their extravagance. Their fabrics shimmer as though woven from starlight itself, threads catching flame and moon in equal measure. Jewel tones gleam and ripple, clinging and flowing in ways that defy sense.
They even smell different.
Not perfume, something innate. Clean and intoxicating. It seeps from their skin as naturally as breathing, and I have to force myself not to inhale too deeply.
It’s then that I realize I am looking at them. I bow my head at once.
I move among them in silence, holding out the silver tray, offering the orange fish wordlessly and never lifting my eyes. Some take a portion without acknowledgment. Others wave me away with careless flicks of their hands. Some ignore me entirely, as if I am no more than a shadow crossing the floor.
I pay no attention to them either.
I am only searching for one.
But Luceran is not here.
Disappointment curls tight and unwelcome, and I turn back toward the kitchen doors, shoulders sagging despite my effort to keep them straight.
“Come here, girl.”
The command snaps through the air.
My heart stutters. I turn and step toward the voice, lifting the tray as instructed. A slender hand, every finger heavy with golden rings, plucks a piece of fish and slips it into his mouth.
