We settle in the sunlit room, and I swear I can taste the colors of the beams streaming through the stained glass at the window’s peak. I frown up at it in confusion until Min nudges me. “It’s glamour,” she whispers. “He’s anxious. He glamours things to distract people so they don’t notice.”
My heart goes out to Belvedere. I don’t usually struggle with anxiety, but I’ve been feeling it lately, and it’s not a pleasant thing. Still, I admire his distraction techniques.
He reappears, carrying a tray of raspberry lemonade, a tiny lizard perched on his shoulder. The little creature peeks from his collar, blinking curiously at us.
“Oh, he’s so cute.” I don’t know how I know he’s a boy, I just do.
“His name is Bell, after Daddy,” Belvedere croons, tickling the lizard’s chin. “He’s a curious little thing. Loves it when wehave company.” He claps his hands. “Right! Min gave me the basics. Now, tell me everything you know.”
Marcus fills him in while Belvedere listens intently. If Marcus or Leonard can taste the colors like I can, they don’t let on, and I wouldn’t expect them to. They’d probably think they’re crazy.
When Marcus finishes, Belvedere leans back, folding his hands over his ample belly. His fingers are adorned with gold rings that glitter in the light. “You’re going to need some serious reconnaissance if you want to find out who’s behind this. As it happens, there’s a huge ball coming up. Everyone who’s anyone will be there. You need to get inside and dig around.”
“That’s a great idea,” Min says.
“Not to be a party pooper,” I mutter, “but we’re supposed to be laying low. What if we’re recognized?”
Belvedere winks. “That’s where I come in. Subterfuge is my specialty.”
He sweeps us down a narrow staircase into a side room. It looks like a fashion designer’s fever dream with bolts of fabric piled high, mannequins half-dressed, shelves stacked with chests and boxes, scraps of lace and ribbon everywhere.
Belvedere rummages through the chaos, muttering to himself. “One of these days, I’ll get this place sorted out. Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control.”
Marcus stands at a window, looking pensive. I drift over, arms crossed, leaving only a breath of space between us. His expression tugs at me, nearly kills me. Like he’s only holding it all together because he’s the alpha, the one everyone expects to lead. It can’t help that he poured the wine the night everything went to hell. I dig deep to find something to say.
“So…” I murmur. “You looked mighty comfortable being hit on by Belvedere.”
Marcus turns to me, sweeping a hand down his tall frame. “I’m six foot six with abs. Do you really think he’s the first man to ever hit on me?”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. I wouldn’t have been more shocked if Marcus had sprouted wings. I’m about to toss back a snappy retort when Belvedere returns, bottles of colorful potions clutched to his chest, another half-dozen balanced precariously on his head.On his head. I smile at his ingenuity. He dumps them into my arms with a wink.
“Here, glamour potions. These will help you blend in. Min knows how to use them. The glamour on the pixies and council will hold until sunrise too.”
I glance at Min, and she shrugs. “Before I became your lady-in-waiting, I loved theater. Glamour is basically costume design with magic.”
Belvedere beams. “Exactly. These will cover your scents, too.”
Marcus inclines his head. “Thank you. We really appreciate your help.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Belvedere winks again. “I probably should’ve mentioned the ball is a BDSM party.”
I choke on my last sip of raspberry lemonade, the tart sweetness burning up my nose as I cough and nearly spray it across the room like an idiot. My eyes water, throat seizing.
Smooth, Esmerelda. Real smooth.
Through the blur, I see Marcus’s face falter. His jaw loosens, lips twitching as though he wants to speak but can’t quite find the words. There’s a flicker in his eyes—shock, but with a hint of mischief. Our eyes meet, and he winks at me. My jaw drops.
Belvedere mistakes my surprise for unease. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll be gentle with you.”
Before I can react, Marcus clears his throat. The air shifts, becoming thick and charged. His voice drops, low and lethal.“Belvedere, I’d have to be cold and buried before you ever got to be rough, or gentle, or anything in between with my wife.”
The words slam into me harder than they should. My pulse stutters, then quickens, each beat echoing in my throat. A shiver runs down my spine, heat chasing it a moment later. That tone. Gods, that tone. Commanding, unyielding, possessive. It hooks into something primal inside me, something my wolf rises to meet with a rumble of approval.
I press my knees together, breath catching.Uhm, what the hell?
It isn’t just words. It’s the way his body angles toward me, the way his voice hums with dominance—not a threat to me but a warning to everyone in the room. A claim? Surely not?
Did Marcus just go full alpha on me?
