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She slows beside a cluster of pale blossoms and examines the petals without touching them. I match her pace until she is ready to continue.

We turn a corner onto a secluded stone walkway and step into a wall of scorching desert heat.

Rakan stands in the center of the path. He’s seven feet of matte obsidian skin and ancient magic, with living fire flowing beneath his skin in an even gold rhythm. Beside him, Iris Beckett stands at ease, her glasses fogging slightly from her mate’s body heat.

Rakan has been my closest friend for several thousand years. I have seen him furious, grieving, impossible to reason with, and bored enough to create problems purely for entertainment. Seeing him this content beside Iris is still something I’m getting used to.

Iris steps forward. “You made it.” She offers Valerie a warm smile. “I was worried Camille was going to scare you off. I’m Iris. It’s so nice to meet another human who understands how exhausting these guys can be.”

Valerie lets out a light laugh. “Valerie. And yes, the dramatic flair is a lot to process. The tailor shop alone nearly gave me a panic attack.”

Rakan steps up beside his bride. His golden gaze flicks over the draping of Valerie’s dress.

“We merely appreciate aesthetics, Valerie,” he drawls. “Sigurd, however, possesses the aesthetic range of a concrete block. I’m shocked he managed to find you a dress.”

“I outsourced it,” I tell my friend. “I’m a CEO, Rakan. I delegate.”

Rakan smirks. I recognize the expression immediately. I was equally insufferable when he first met Iris, so I can hardly object now.

Iris hooks her arm through Valerie’s, and we start down the emerald path together. “Ignore him. What do you actually do when Sigurd isn’t dragging you across the world for weddings?”

“I’m a librarian in Saltweather.”

Iris’s attention sharpens. “Really? I spent years studying ancient Mediterranean trade routes while working in a coffee shop. I practically lived in libraries whenever I wasn’t behind the counter.”

“That sounds familiar.” Valerie smiles. “Though I must admit my life is considerably less academic most days. One of the children who visits regularly is a harpy. I spend a surprising amount of time reminding her not to yank the tabs on the pop-up books.”

“That sounds better than my dissertation research.”

“It depends on the dragon.”

Their conversation continues as we head toward the private patio. Valerie tells her about the library, the harbor, and her human friend, Hattie. Iris answers with stories from the coffee shop and her university years.

The patio sits beneath the canopy, with a wrought-metal table and four high-backed chairs overlooking the lower terraces. It would be almost homey if not for all the carved emerald. I pull out one of the heavy metal chairs for Valerie, and she gives me a quick smile before sitting.

Four winged peris drift onto the patio carrying solid silver platters. Their gossamer wings beat with a soft thrum as they hover above the paving stones and arrange roasted meats, fruit, and dark wine across the table.

Peris are uncommon even at Mt. Qaf. They keep largely to their own kind and rarely mingle with humans, although wealthy djinn families have employed them in their households for centuries. Valerie has most likely never seen one before, and her attention follows them as they move around the table.

When a peri sets a crystal goblet beside her plate, Valerie offers a polite nod. “Thank you. It all looks wonderful.”

The peri gives a brief dip of her chin before floating away. Valerie picks up her fork and leans slightly toward Iris.

“Do they ever land? The waitstaff, I mean.”

Iris laughs softly as she cuts into her portion of roasted meat. “Only when Rakan isn’t looking. It’s a whole pride thing. You get used to the floating eventually.”

“We merely maintain standards.” Rakan leans back in his chair. “They float because the raw emerald scratches their sandals. It’s practical.”

Valerie accepts the answer without missing a beat and returns to her food.

As the peris clear the main courses, Rakan’s gaze lingers on Iris for a long moment. He presses a kiss to her wrist.

“My love, I need to talk to Sigurd about something urgent. I’ll be right back.”

“Of course, Rakan. Valerie and I will be right here.”

He stands and straightens his jacket, then catches my eye. A slight tilt of his head toward the edge of the patio is enough.