His gaze snaps to mine, and something unreadable flickers there before it's gone. "Please don't mention the bond to my friends."
"You have my word." The answer comes without hesitation. I want to trust it. I'm not sure I have a choice.
Kage and Malachi claim a corner table, spreading Jordi's maps between them and speaking in low, urgent tones. Naima, Margot, and I take the booth beside them, nursing our ales and trading whispers about everything that's happened.
"I'll be back," Naima says after a moment, her eyes fixed across the room.
I follow her gaze to where Sylvie sits with her friends, dark hair tumbling over one shoulder as she laughs at something.
"Try not to insult anyone this time," I quip and bite back a laugh when she casts a murderous look my way.
"She really likes her," Kage says.
"I can't imagine why," Margot mutters beside me. "Sylvie is basically Bas in female form, and all Naima does is insult him."
"Ah, Bastian the betrothed." Kage glances at Malachi across from him. "Did you know the only way out of the Veritas Order is to sign your name on a list and wait to be matched with a legion guard?"
"Why would anyone do that?"
"Because Mother can be suffocating. Some people prefer marriage to a stranger over staying under her control,” Margot comments.
"Mother?"
"The High Sage," Kage supplies before I can answer. "She raised them. All seven."
"How did that happen?" Malachi asks. His tone is casual, but his gaze has sharpened, tracking every detail.
Margot clears her throat and sets her hand over mine. "I'm sure Kage will fill you in. Ada and I need some air."
I stand, and Malachi's eyes follow the movement. They trace the line of my dress, the hand Margot keeps clasped in mine, and finally settle on my face. The weight of his attention prickles against my skin. I turn away before I can read what's in his expression.
"He's the friend staying at Jordi's?" Margot waves a hand through the cloud of cigar smoke as we weave through the gambling den toward the back.
"Unfortunately."
The terrace greets us with clean air and the crash of distant waves. Most of the crowd has gathered on the far side, so we claim the corner by the railing, where the shadows are deepest.
I rest my forearms on the worn wooden railing and exhale, taking in the view: the dark tangle of trees beyond, the lit patio below where no one ever lingers. People prefer to conduct their questionable business in the dark, not under lamplight.
Margot clears her throat. "He's..."
"Handsome?"
She laughs, startled. "I was going to say intense. But yes, he's gorgeous, if you're into the rugged aristocrat type."
I snort. "When was the last time you saw an aristocrat in Veritas?"
"Last Moon Festival." Her green eyes glint with mischief. "When you threw one out of your bed at three in the morning."
"If you thought that man looked anything like Mal, you weren't paying attention."
Her brows shoot up. "Mal?"
Heat creeps up my neck. "You're an idiot."
Her soft laughter coaxes a reluctant smile from me. Margot knows I hate discussing these things. Not out of prudishness, but practicality. Casual encounters with festival visitors are likely the closest I'll ever come to a relationship, unless I want to follow her path. And that's not something I can see for myself.
“You’re right,” she says after a moment. “There's rugged, and then there's Bain. But there is something almost regal about the way he carries himself.”
