Page 71

In the mirrors in front of us, I see half the upper balcony stuffed with councilors, lesser nobles, and hangers-on. Most stare at Knuckles like she’s the world’s prettiest hand grenade—accurate, but hysterical that they can see it. The rest are already calculating how to pivot if she really comes back.

Lady Morana’s secret, masked cabal is posted up along the right side, cool as the moon, while they don’t even pretend to hide their interest. Morana has three of the guards from their lair flanking her—one with an eyepatch that probably isn’t for effect, one with a ring of scars around his neck, and the third, a whisper-thin creature with a mouth that never closes all the way. I label them Blinky, Winky, and Nod in my head. Blinky is the one who’ll talk first, Winky is muscle, and Nod is the assassin-type.

Nod is the one I am most focused on because he will use stealth versus brute force to achieve his aims—whatever they are.

Turning as we wait for the royals to speak, I mark the Vizier as off to the left, a step behind the thrones. He’s not watching our girl, but instead staring down Dezi, which is an interesting choice. I don’t get it until the vampire turns slightly, exposing the full arch of his canines, and the Vizier’s lips twitch. He’s issuing a challenge to the man, which means I’ll need to watch him, too.

The rest of the room is making murmured noises like static, but that’s what worries me; this is not a ‘static’ situation.

Fi advances toward the dais, so I move with her, staying a half-step behind. My charge has his hands clasped behind his back in a casual pose, but if I were to guess, I’d say he’s got one of our girl’s knuckle dusters palmed in one hand. Dezi and Khol are wearing blank expressions, but both of their eyes are burning with enough emotion to light the room or kill someone. It’s probably a toss-up between the two, depending on what our hosts do next.

As she takes the final steps to the foot of the stairs, her marks flare blue, and not for the first time, I feel a hot pulse of pride in my chest. The woman I met months ago believed she was a dud who completely defunct in the magic department. That’s what those idiots back home told her and she’d been conditioned to believe it. But now? After discovering her real background and gaining strength, Fiadh’s confidence could burn down the world with a stare.

And she’s going to show every one of those motherfuckers who they messed with when we get home, but first, we have to deal with the Fae.

Stopping at the foot of the dais, Knuckles raises her chin. “I declared my victory and you have accepted me,” she says, voice carrying to every rafter. “Is there anything else you need to see or can my family finally rest? The Prince has tours and concerts in your lands and does not want to disappoint your people, since you failed to execute us.”

I expect the King to speak, but it’s Queen Clíodhna who breaks first, her voice like a razor. “The trial is not meant to be an execution, Lady Morgenstern. The Worldroot trial is… required for all who claim to be heirs.”

A ripple of unease echoes from the gallery. Someone hisses the word ‘liar’, too soft for mortal ears but loud enough for those of us with preternatural hearing. The crowd is fracturing already, and we haven’t even launched a campaign to overthrow these dumbasses. They haven’t been good rulers, and our appearance is encouraging the cracks to show.

Good news for my mate when she returns—rebellion will only grow when we leave.

Fiadh’s smile is so sarcastic that it drips with her derision. “A tradition you conveniently ignored when it was your children’s turn. Interesting how that works out, hmm?”

For a moment, the atmosphere in the room balances on a knife’s edge. I set my jaw and get ready for the fallout—it’s fifty percent hostility, forty percent terror in here. The last ten percent is playing the odds like it’s a casino and the house just changed hands, so they’re useless. I hope Morana, the Vizier, and their secret group of rebels will assist, but I won’t count on them. They’re just as likely to disappear into the background to preserve their cover.

Khol shifts and Dezi cocks his head like he’s trying to sense something. I catch Rev’s eye and he blinks once, then two more times in rapid succession. It looks stupid—like he has something in his eye—but it’s the signal we set up for communicating that something might pop off. I prefer non-verbal cues, especially ones that don’t draw attention like hand signals do.

However, the King raises a hand and the whole room fades to stillness. He stands, and the Queen rises with him, the two of them moving as if choreographed. King Cathán descends the stairs with his wife, their long-ass cloaks trailing behind like living shadows.

I can’t decide if this is bad or good yet because they’re making Botox faces again.

“Let it be known,” Cathán says, his voice echoing in the room, “that the bloodline of House Morgenstern has been confirmed by trial and pain. The Court will recognize your right, Lady Fiadh, but only with proper ceremony. There will be no further violence here, not tonight.” He glares at Morana, then the Vizier, and then sweeps the gallery with an icy stare. “We will respect tradition, even if we must create new ones to do so.”

Behind me, I hear a sharp exhale I think is my prince and then Khol barely containing a snort of disbelief. As usual, Dezi stays impenetrable while his crimson eyes watch the Fae royals like a caged tiger eying a steak left unattended.

Once everyone in the hall is quiet again, the King faces our mate directly to say, “We will host a ball when you return, so that some of the old customs are followed. When it is complete, you will be inducted and receive all rights as heir. Until then, you are under royal protection, as are your companions.”

Mmm-hmm. I bet we are… until we hit a dark alley or the border.

It’s a pretty speech, but to me it sounds like they’re repeating what Knuckles demanded as if it’s their idea to stall for time. Inside the Court, we probably won’t have any issues that can be linked to this douche, but once we head to Reaping and even Daybreak? They could certainly hire people, Fae, monsters—hell, whatever the demon skull things are that were already hunting Fiadh. If it’s not a direct attack, they can wrangle perception just as they have for however long it’s been since they stole those chairs.

The King turns, ascends the steps, and sits down as if everything is fine. Clíodhna follows, resuming her elegant pose as if nothing happened—but something very important has. That’s why none of their six children are present; they are being sequestered in case Fiadh decides to take the current leaders out, I’m sure.

Oliver has done that before when Daybreak was playing at starting another war years ago, though Revelin wasn’t in Faerie at the time. We simply received word that we shouldn't come through the Veil until further notice and that Rev wouldn’t be able to speak to his mother or siblings for a while. They stayed quiet for almost a decade and it drove my friend almost to pieces as he awaited random secret communiques.

For now, the King has spoken, and the law here is the law until someone braver, or dumber, decides to contest it.

The crowd, sensing the moment is over, ripples with whispers again. I note that Lady Morana is now deep in discussion with her cabal, while the Vizier’s eyes never leave us. There’s something like calculation in his gaze as he stares, and I sigh to myself. If he’s trying to say something without words, he’s failing. That is, unless he wants our vamp to think he’s considering stabbing him.

Once I give up on Galan, I go back to tracking the crowd: recording every twitch, every shuffle, and every hand fisted in a pocket or jacket. I file away the micro-expressions and the insignias on every lapel and every house crest. Someone here will make a move—maybe tonight, maybe after the ball, or maybe as soon as we step out of this room.

I refuse to be caught off-guard.

Relaxing my shoulders a notch, I let the tension of this day bleed off a little. I’m still running hot—my body doesn’t really do ‘off duty’ well—but I know how to play this next part. As the crowd begins to disperse, Dezi places himself between her and Morana’s path and Khol’s eyes do a lazy circuit of the exits. Rev is whispering jokes to our girl, making her smile a little bit as she turns away from the platform to face us.

“Time to go?” she asks hopefully.