“I am.”
“And you serve the people who just murdered your queen and took your throne.”
Her hands pause for half a breath. “Magdalena wasn’tmyqueen. She was a tyrant who bled our people dry and called it loyalty after the death of our true King and Queen many moons ago.” She tugs gently at a curl. “The Deveraux brothers are brutal. Violent. Terrifying on their worst days.” A small smile. “But they don’t pretend to be anything else. That’s refreshing.”
I blink. Process. “You’ve lost it.”
“Probably.” She grins. “But so have you, or you wouldn’t be here.”
Fair.
I turn back to the window, letting her work. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, just present. The kind of quiet I’m not used to with people.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Since I was sixteen. My mother before me. Her mother before that.” Her fingers dance through another section. “We’re good at what we do.”
“Which is?”
“Making Royals look less feral.” She laughs again.” And occasionally keeping them from killing one another.”
I almost smile. Almost. “That happen often?”
“More than you’d think.” She secures the last pin. “Legend’s the easiest, though.”
My spine straightens. I try to make it look natural. “Is he?”
“Absolutely.” She steps back, assessing her work. “Creed’s too intense. Knight’s too quiet, which is worse. Sinner’s—” She shudders. “Sinner. But Legend? He’s cheeky. Playful. Dangerous, yes, but in a way that feels intentional. Controlled.”
Controlled.
The word sits wrong. Legend doesn’t control anything. He collides with it. Bends it. Breaks it if it doesn’t bend.
“You like him,” I say.
“Everyone likes Legend.” Emmie circles around to face me, tilting her head. “Even when they shouldn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” But her smile says otherwise. “Just that he has a way of making people feel safe when they’re around him. Like he’s got everything handled even when the world’s burning.”
My stomach twists. Because Idofeel that. That stupid, irrational sense of security when he’s near. Like I could burnthe entire campus down and he’d just laugh and hand me more matches.
“Is that his magic?” I ask. “His Ethos or whatever?”
Emmie’s brow furrows. “No. The royal Ethos rises only after a mating bond. It’s his principal power, the one he was born with, inherited from Queen Cosimo’s bloodline. He can manipulate the mind. His is mind sedation. He can calm, make people feel at ease. But—” She hesitates. “It doesn’t work if you don’t already trust him on some level. Magic can’t force feeling. It can only amplify what’s already there.”
Fuck.
So it’s not just his power. It’sme. I trust him. On some primal, ridiculous level, I trust Legend Deveraux.
I want to hate that realization.
I don’t.
Emmie moves to the vanity, organizing bottles and brushes. “Let me guess. You’re trying to figure out if what you feel is real or manufactured.”
“I’m not—”
