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The vampire stands just inside the door to our suite, robe cinched tight, and his face wiped clean of any readable emotion. His hands give him away—one is smoothing the lapel, and the other holds the battered envelope. He doesn’t open it now that the delivery pixie is gone. Instead, he crosses to the armoire, pulls out his satchel, and slides the letter deep into a hidden pocket. His expression gives nothing away despite a slight lift of his chin, which in Dezi-speak is basically screaming ‘not now’.
Okay, but I hope ignoring that doesn’t bite us in the ass later on.
Nobody says a word about Briarvale, not even Sassy. The entire room just pivots and every single person in it locks eyes with the others and silently agrees with the silent bloodsucker. That will be handled once we have this shit together—now is the time for Midnight, if we enjoy survival.
The prince stands, stretching his arms overhead. He grins at me, tilting his head. “You want to lead the way, or do we let the boss lady do the honors?” His tone is pure bravado, but his body is wound tight and ready for anything.
“Let the future queen go first,” I say as I nod at Fiadh. “She’s the one the world wants to see bleed, and she’s not hiding anymore.”
The pride in my voice is undeniable and I know they hear it.
Giving us a lazy glare, followed by a growl of irritation, our mate cracks her neck and grabs her sword. She swings it once, and then balances it on her shoulder like it’s a toy.
“Do you think we can go out there dressed like this, gentlemen? For shame,” she says, and there’s just enough mockery in it to make us all smirk.
The leopard is up instantly, stretching to his full height as Dezi closes his satchel with a snap. Rev’s halfway to the door, before anyone else can answer, swagger in every step as he flashes his still present Fae fangs. We all move straight for the wardrobe, knowing what we need to do to face those idiots sitting in Fi’s seat.
Since the back half of the room was already prepped for court formal, there’s a mountain of clothes arranged on hangers, armor stands, and even a rolling rack. Luckily, none of it got damaged in the vampire-new Fae woman bloodbath earlier. Dezi takes charge, lifting the first set of gear and laying it out with surgical precision.
“Dressing the part is not just theater,” he says to Sassy. “The new marks must be covered or highlighted as needed, and the cloth reinforced in case someone tries to knife you between the ribs. “It’s about presentation, but also safety.”
She doesn’t roll her eyes, but I can tell she wants to. Instead, she just pulls off her robe—with no hesitation despite scars and new glyphs on full display—and stands arms crossed, waiting. If the mosquito notices the effect this has on all of us, he ignores it.
The tunic he chooses for her is midnight blue, and tailored tighter than anything she’s worn here. The fabric is almost iridescent in the lamplight as Dezi slides it over her head, and then fusses with the collar, making sure it lies flat over the moon glyph burned into her skin.
It fits so well it looks like it was made for her—new marks and all.
Dezi nods, looking pleased with the choices. “Regal, but functional. It will be difficult to challenge you when you stake the claim.”
There’s a moment of silence where even Rev stops moving. We all know the next step is the hard one— it’s time to discuss how we’re going to bargain with the current court.
Our mate clears her throat. “Here’s the plan, for what it’s worth. We give the Midnight Court a chance to clean up its own mess. I will play nice by pretending we must finish the concerts so no one loses face. As soon as the last curtain drops, we’re headed back to Briarvale to deal with our lives back there. There will be no mention of coming back to deal with this mess, though we all know that I must. Got it?”
She’s not kidding; I can see it in his eyes—her plan is tight, and so is her resolve.
Tiernan nods. “We keep the peace for now, but we don’t let our guard down. If they try anything, we may have to answer with the threat of force.”
Dezi and Revelin give slow, approving nods, but we all know it’s Fiadh who has the call here.
Planting her feet, sword in hand, and chin high, Sassy says, “Good. I don’t want to kill them, but I’m not letting them lock me up or use me as leverage for anyone else. I won’t be used again—not by Midnight, by the Council, or anyone else who saw me as weak when I was bound.”
It’s not about power anymore—it’s about family, and making damn sure none of us gets used as a pawn again.
Thirty-Four
FIADH
The whole damn castle is full of eyes, and every single one is trained on me. I feel them as I walk, blue marks burning under my skin and the new Fae senses raw and unfiltered, like I’m seeing the place for the first time—and maybe I am.
To be honest, I don’t believe this place looks exactly like it did when we came in.
My guys move with me in a wedge formation. Dezi takes the back with his old-school predator stride, Tiernan and Revelin flank me like I’m a VIP, and Khol is opposite Dezi with a similarly predatory glare. Not that I need protecting, but we’re sending a fucking message. Every step we take down these dark halls says they didn’t break me, and I’m not backing down.
The Midnight Court castle is built for intimidation and performative displays, but even the torch-lit corridors and diamond-dusted archways feel useless in the hush that follows us. We pass a cluster of courtiers in dark veils, and their chatter dies mid-gossip. One drops her fan, and the clatter echoes down the hall like a klaxon. I see my changed reflection in the polished walls, as we move toward the throne room. The long hair streaked with ultraviolet, pale skin mapped with blue-white runes, and jaw set to maximum bitch make me look like I’m about to eat someone’s heart and use their rib cage as a coin purse.
Not a bad idea, now that I think about it, but I’ve eaten already—shame.
A train of nobles and servants peels off ahead of us, clearing the path as if they expect a detonation. The guards by the door barely glance at Dezi’s fangs, or the sword on my belt, or even the visible bandages on Khol. Their eyes are on my hand, where the Worldroot’s mark is bright as a star, pulsing in time with my blood.
