I let her words hang, refusing to answer.
Aelora reddened into a fine, imperious flush. “Obviously lack of manners is a trait, it seems.”
I raised the glass Ronan had offered, wine dark as night trapped in a rubied glass, and drank. It slid down my throat, soothing my chest, loosening the courage off my tongue. When I set the glass down, I let the fangs fall. It was a tiny thing, a gesture edged the way a greeting can be sharpened into a threat.
She flinched, features folding into surprise. Gasps threaded the table, a fragile chorus that sounded comical in a hall of dragons.
“Oh?” I said, hand flying to my chest in a false alarm. “Were you speaking tome?” The words were simple, ridiculous, and then lethal in a way that still severed. “If saying my name properly is too much, I’ll gladly settle for your silence.”
She rose so fast the chair scraped, all the air in the hall leaning toward her. “I still can’t believe you brought this...this...thingto our kingdom, Ronan.” She jabbed a finger in my direction, theatrically, as though accusing me of crimes I had yet to commit. “Look at her face.”
My face?
“She can’t even mend that hideous scar. I hope you don’t plan to let her stay, because once I’m queen she’ll never set foot in Ryuu again.”
Queen. The syllable was a poison meant for Ronan. For me it landed like an accusation and a dare.
She’s only trying to rattle you.
What’s wrong with my scarred face?
Nothing,Ronan promised.You’re exquisite.
I didn’t mean for my smile to bloom, but it did, bright and reckless and stupidly proud.
“Thing,” I echoed, swirling the word on my tongue like wine in glass. “Haven’t been called that yet.” I almost laughed. “How small your world must be to fit me in a word that size.”
She leaned forward. “What are you then, if not some sad, patheticcreature?”
I didn’t blink, didn’t raise my voice, only met her stare. No fangs, no venom. Only truth. “Retribution.”
The man to Ronan’s right lifted his hand, setting it on top of Aelora’s. “My daughter, this is a civil dinner. Verena is our guest and she will be treated as such.”
His eyes were the same frosted blue as hers, but his face wore winters I hadn’t seen in Ryuu yet. He was younger than Fritz, younger than Obrann,and yet something in him was heavy in centuries’ worth of cares. He bore it with a kind of pride that felt like armor.
I tipped my chin to him. “You’re Aero?”
Blond hair fell over his tired shoulders as he bowed his chin. “I am. And Ryuu does not judge by rumor. We are pleased you have come.”
The platter between us smelled of riches I’ve never imagined—meat roasted beyond compare, vegetables blushing with spices, bread steaming with butter. Hunger rose in me like an animal, the world tapering to scent, to the soft give of the meat as my knife found it.
“But it’s not a rumor,” I said before I could swallow the lie. “My curse.” My eyes closed for one terrible, honest second as the food melted on my tongue and I felt the world stabilize. “What if I am as wicked as they say?”
Aero watched me with a steadiness that had nothing of fear in it. It was not pity, not even curiosity, but a kind of solid recognition, an acknowledgment that some things were storms, and you chose how to stand in them.
“Then I would say you will fit in quite well here in Sahfyre, my dear.”
I could see why Ronan left him in charge. He wasn’t intimidating in the obvious way. No scars. No roar. But his voice spoke the language people trusted. Quiet command. Ledger balanced with compassion. After two minutes, I liked him. Which was risky.
Aero’s plate lay abandoned, nudged politely aside. His fingers steepled, the motion clean. Ronan’s plate did the same, his own fingers tracing the rim of his goblet.
“Did Ronan tell you why I summoned him?” Aero’s voice slid toward me.
Not a question aimed to shame, more a window opening to conversation. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My eyes had gone searching down the length of the table where no one was eating. Every plate was pushed away, every goblet brimming and ignored. My own plate sat shamefully picked through.
I tasted the memory of the meat on my tongue—sweet, molten, almost sinful.
Holy shit. Poison.
