The dashing figure filling the frame struck her speechless.
He wore a modern black-on-black suit, no tie or vest, the cut of the fabric emphasizing his broad shoulders and muscular limbs. He’d left the top of his shirt unbuttoned, exposing a hint of tanned chest, and the black hair he normally wore tied back flowed in tousled waves to his shoulders.
Her mouth dried out, her lips parted, and she could’ve sworn his magic tingled through her blood as she gaped at him. A similar expression of awe reflected back at her as he took in her dress.
He leaned his forearm against the door frame, running his eyes from her black stilettos to her wine-red lips. “Cassandra, you look…”
“Fine?” she teased, arching her leg through the slit.
“Like my most mouthwatering dreams come true.”
His burnt-honey eyes captured hers as he sucked his lower lip between his teeth, and she wished she’d worn something more substantial than thin, red lace panties. If he kept looking at her like that, they’d be soaked through before they even left the bungalow.
“You’re going to set more tongues wagging tonight than any other consort. I’ll be the envy of every male in the room.”
“Flatterer.” She swiped her hand, trying to dismiss the warmth dripping through her limbs.
“I have some news to share with you,” he said with a delighted grin. “Which should hopefully make it easier for you to focus on our task tonight.”
“What?”
“I heard from Cael. He has Xenia, and Maksym is dead. She’s alive, Cass. She’s safe.”
Cassandra burst into tears and threw herself into Tristan’s arms. He squeezed her tight then held her at arm’s length, wiping her cheeks with his callused thumbs. “You’re going to ruin your makeup,” he chuckled.
Cassandra sniffled a laugh. “Where are they?”
“They’re in the Desolation.” She gave him a quizzical look. “It’s a barren desert in the lower southwest corner of the continent. Cael’s leading them to Rhamnos.” He intertwined their fingers, stroking his thumb along the back of her palm. “They’ll be home soon.”
Cassandra exhaled a relieved breath. And though the crushing weight of her anxiety over Xenia’s capture had abated, new worries swiftly took its place. Rhamnos could eat a mortal alive. She hoped that Xenia’s brains combined with Cael’s brawn would keep them both safe.
“Ready?” Tristan placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, then escorted her out to the sidewalk and their awaiting ride.
Two enormous Beastrunner stallions, their ebony hides glistening in the moonlight, scraped their hooves against the cobblestones. Behind the huffing beasts, a jet-black carriage with four spoked wheels blended into the night—a ride constructed for stealth. And since the gigantic creatures pulling the carriage were Fae, not animals, there was no driver.
“A carriage?” Cassandra gawked. “How positivelycolonial. Is everyone being picked up in one of these tonight?”
“All of the VIP guests, certainly,” Tristan answered. “The Vicereine has a flair for the dramatic.”
He opened the carriage door, placing his hand on her back to help her into the cab. She shivered as his fingers grazed her bare flesh.
She’d never ridden in a horse-drawn—Fae-drawn?—carriage before. In fact, the onlyvehicleshe’d ever ridden in was Tristan’s arms. Thalenn was a city made for walking and, until a few weeks ago, that had been her preferred mode of transportation. Sure there were a few magically powered cars in the colonies, but the cost to ride in one, let alone own one, was astronomical—an extravagance no mortal outside the Heronswood families could afford.
The brocade fabric of the bench chilled her bare leg, and she pulled at the slit of her dress, attempting to cover her crossed thighs.
Tristan snickered at her struggling, taking the seat opposite her. His tightly tucked wings smashed against the ceiling.
“Just like the Vicereine to make me as uncomfortable as possible on the ride over,” Tristan grumbled.
“Worth it for the rather spectacular entrance, surely?” Cassandra smirked.
Tristan banged his fist on the ceiling, signaling to the Beastrunner stallions that they were ready to go, and as the carriage lurched into motion, Cassandra’s nerves soared.
“So,” she said, struggling to maintain the calm demeanor befitting a spy, “any suggestions of who my first mark should be this evening?”
Tristan grimaced. “As much as the thought boils my blood, see if you can get close to August Lambros. He was pretty cagey during the council meeting this morning when the topic of the bombings in his district came up. And there are reports of rebel activity in Akti, his sister’s territory on the continent.”
“August Lambros’s sister is a High Councilor?” There was so much that Cassandra still didn’t know about continental politics. It wasn’t a topic deemed necessary for a Shrouded Sister’s studies.
