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FIADH
The world spins like a kaleidoscope as I crash onto the polished marble floor. Blinking, I push myself up, my bedraggled appearance clashing magnificently with the glitz and glamour swirling around me. Lovely. I’ve made my grand re-entrance looking like a vagabond crashing the ball.
“Fiadh?” Revelin’s voice cuts through the din. He’s at my side in an instant, all princely concern, but I wave him off.
I don’t need him to rub my bruised ass in the middle of this trap-filled room.
“I’m fine. Don’t fret, boys.” I glance around, taking in the still empty room warily. “But we need to split before someone spots us in different clothes and decides to play twenty questions.”
No sooner have the words left my mouth than a deep voice booms across the ballroom. “Prince Revelin, there you are!”
I wince as I realize I spoke too late. King Eamon of Harvest Court is striding toward us, his golden crown glinting under the chandeliers. Just my luck—tumbling through time and space right into the sightline of this Court’s illustrious ruler.
Well, the guy married to the illustrious ruler; I suppose.
“Your Highness!” Rev plasters on a grin, and I hope it doesn’t look as manic to our host as it does to me. “Fancy meeting you here. Lovely party you’ve got going on—and the canapés? Divine.”
Eamon’s brows knit together as he takes in our appearance in puzzlement. “Are you quite all right? You and your friends look a bit... windswept.”
“My reputation precedes me, I’m afraid. I love getting out of the fancier duds to be comfortable, no matter where I am,” I laugh, pretending I’m the reason they’re all in non-formal clothing suddenly, but the sound strained even to my own ears. “And the Prince is always making a fashion statement, so he blinked them in for everyone. He swears hobo chic is very popular this season.”
Feray would keel over dead if she heard me saying this shit—hobo chic?! It’s like the Twilight Zone in this bitch.
Revelin jumps in before I have to make up more fashion-related nonsense, thank the Goddess. “Your Highness, I’m afraid we can’t stay very long. We’re behind schedule because of a few incidents along the way, and if we don’t get on the road to Midnight, we’ll set the entire tour back a day at the least. You understand—commitments, politics, fans…”
Eamon looks like he very much does not understand, but Revelin is already steering me away, his grip on my arm firm as he smiles apologetically. “I promise to move Harvest to a later date on the next tour so your events are not truncated, of course.”
The multi-colored rockstar definitely does not mean that; the way Harvest cut his favorite charity events earlier rubbed my royal mate the wrong way. They’ll be lucky if he stops here at all in the future, I’d wager. As I suppress a smirk about that detail, Revelin looks at the others, hustling me through the door of the side room. His eyes dart left and right like he’s expecting an ambush as we make our way through the main ballroom close to the wall, sticking to the shadows carefully. My heart is pounding, the adrenaline from the escape from the King flowing through me like sparkling champagne.
“That was too close,” I mutter as we weave through the throng of partygoers. “The King is going to think I’m a basket case for insisting we change into grubby stuff at a formal occasion.”
“He likely already thinks that because you’re with me,” Revelin replies, flashing me a grin. “But don’t worry, I’ll have a PR minion smooth things over later. Right now, we need to get out of here before people notice the state we’re all in.”
I glance down at my rumpled clothes and grimace. He has a point. The last thing I need is for the whole Harvest Court to gossip about the bedraggled witch and her crew of miscreants who gatecrashed their fancy soirée. I’m sure it wouldn’t tarnish the rockstar’s rep, but it will definitely put me, Tier, Dezi, and Khol on their snooty radar.
It’s hard enough not to punch people’s lights out without them commenting on our backgrounds because of one appearance at a party.
“Lead the way, Prince.” I give him a mock curtsy. “This pumpkin’s ready to turn back into a barmaid and half-functioning witch.”
Revelin rolls his eyes but quickens his pace, and I follow close behind, my mind already racing ahead to the challenges that await us. When I look behind us, I see Tiernan watching like a hawk to make sure we’re not approached again. He takes the bodyguard gig seriously, and since his protectee is way too focused on making sure I’m safe, he has to race to do it.
Khol is right behind him, hissing softly as he keeps pace. “Sassy, I would prefer getting our heart rates up in a less vertical way. Are you sure we need to run?”
I snort. “I’m not the one acting like we have to make like the wind and blow. Mr. Famous Rock Star thinks we need to run for the hills.”
“You realize we have three more courts to go, and a lot of trouble brewing still, right?”
The voice catches me by surprise, and I almost scream when Dezi appears at my side. Damn vampires and their fucking super speed. I breathe out, trying to dispel the surprise so I can respond. “Don’t. Do. That.”
He winks at me, his handsome features not bothered by Rev’s pace at all. “Witchling, you look like you rolled out a hedge. He’s right to be concerned.”
Shit, I didn’t think it was that bad.
“Rev, make me faster before anyone sees my foliage hair-do,” I hiss, my eyes darting around the crowded ballroom. No wonder Eamon was staring at me like I just broke out of an asylum. I don’t care if Revelin’s princely duties are to schmooze and booze; we’re out of here.
“Pick her up, Ruby,” Tiernan says as he gets closer. “We’re almost to the side door. I’ll get it open and you zip our woman along. The other two can make it on their own.”
