Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MONTY
W e arrive at the Cyllene Hotel by noon the next day. It’s a towering building of pale marble that looks more like a palace than a hotel, with several floors lined with long balconies and ending in towering turrets. Surrounded by trees and rolling hills, with only a massive garden in between, it’s just as private as a palace too. At first, I’m confused about how such a widely renowned hotel could be located in a small countryside town like Antilia Falls, with hardly more than a modest market square to its name. Where do guests find entertainment? Recreation? Where do they dine? Buy clothing?
It all makes sense as soon as we step through the front doors. We halt in place and take it all in.
Daphne gasps in awe from beside me, as does my sister. I don’t blame them. The hotel’s interior is a sight to behold. It feels more like we’ve stepped into a new world.
The walls are stucco and marble in warm pastel tones, the high ceiling enchanted to mimic the perfect sunny outdoor sky. The floors above are tiered, each boasting a facade of arched windows and faux crenelated rooftops to give the impression of a town built on a hillside, with walkways interspersed to connect opposite sides. A canal filled with crystal-clear aquamarine water weaves through the first floor of the hotel, with arched bridges that cross it and storefronts that line it featuring everything from cafés to galleries. No wonder the hotel is so successful despite its remote location. Everything one could want while on holiday is here in one building.
Glittering sprites and tiny birds flutter overhead, landing on balconies or the multitude of potted plants. The atmosphere reminds me so much of the Solar Court that I can’t help wondering if this was, in fact, a palace at one time, long before the war ended. Back then, all the fae courts were relegated to the north. The land we stand on now may belong to the Star Court, but three decades ago, it was Solar.
This wouldn’t be the first time one of the abandoned palaces of old was turned into a hotel. Smart business, honestly.
“I’d give anything to paint this,” Daphne says, clasping her hands at her heart as her eyes flit from one impressive sight to the next.
With my hands tucked in my trouser pockets, I lean in close to her ear. “We’ve hardly stepped inside. I’m sure there’s more to admire. Besides, haven’t you grown immune to such impressive locations after The Heartbeats Tour?”
She shakes her head. “I could never grow immune to art. Especially in this body. Beautiful things look different through these eyes. They feel different, here.” She rubs her chest and swivels her face to mine, eyes still wide with wonder. “Everything feels different.”
My breath catches. Now that we’re face to face, I realize how near I’m standing, how close I’ve leaned, with her lips a breath away from mine. The impassioned expression on her face is an echo of the one I’ve glimpsed in the sketches she’s shown me. Sketches I know she models for.
I can’t stop my eyes from dropping to her mouth, parted in awe, the tips of those adorable canines peeking out. A sharp yearning seizes me, and I’m desperate to know how her veneration tastes. How does it feel against my tongue? How does that body of hers—the body she claims feels things so differently, so much more acutely than her unseelie form—feel against mine? How can I inspire this look on her face?
Her brow furrows slightly, as if she’s reading my thoughts.
Thoughts she really shouldn’t read.
Fuck. What’s wrong with me?
Not only is this forbidden territory my mind is wandering down, but my sister is standing on the other side of Daphne.
Shame, you fucking pervert. Get your act together!
I suck in a breath and straighten to my full height. I can’t recall the last word either of us said, and heat has already begun to crawl up my neck, so I march away like an idiot and make a beeline for the reception desk. That gives me a solid few minutes to clear my head as I check us in. The receptionist directs us to where we can meet the bride and groom, and I return to Daphne and Angela with a mask of indifference.
“Come along,” I say and angle my head toward the main avenue that runs through the center of the hotel. I keep my hands in my pockets so as not to be tempted to escort Daphne. My sister is the one I should be escorting, but she doesn’t mind. Instead, she links her arm through Daphne’s. Daph stiffens, and I realize my carelessness at once. She doesn’t like being touched by people she doesn’t know, and I doubt our twenty-hour train ride was enough to make them friends.
Then, to my surprise, Daphne’s posture relaxes and she returns to admiring the wonders of the hotel’s interior, her grin as bright as Angela’s as they walk side by side.
My lips curve too. There’s something sweet and satisfying about seeing Daphne at ease with my sister. The member of my family I care about the most.
We make our way down the avenue, along one side of the canal, until we reach a florist’s shop. Scents of lilies and roses fill the air, the walls and floor space crowded with overstuffed bouquets. There, at the counter, stand the figures I’m looking for.
A tall male with rounded ears, shoulder-length dark hair, and spectacles grins at the woman beside him. She’s rather tall herself with pointed ears, long golden-blond hair, and a curvy figure. The man is dressed in casual attire, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the coiled snake-like patterns tattooed on his forearms while the woman is outfitted in a white day dress. Beside her stands a young fae girl, no older than seven or eight in appearance, with white bunny ears and pale hair arranged in two braids.
I take a deep breath, prepared to greet my best friend. To be the version of myself that I must be with him. “Thorny boy!” I say with a crooked grin.
Thorne Blackwood stiffens, then rounds on me with a glare. “About time.”
When it comes to our relationship, that’s Thorne’s way of giving me a warm greeting.
I pat him on the back then meet his soon-to-be wife, Briony Rose, in a loose hug. “And there’s my lovely former fiancée. Congrats on your upcoming nuptials. Second time’s the charm, isn’t it?”
She scoffs as we separate. “Yes, particularly because you lacked charm entirely. Perhaps you still do.” The fact that she had to add perhaps to the last part tells me my charm has at least somewhat grown on her. While Thorne is half fae—a demon, to be exact—and capable of lying, Briony is a pureblood succubus and can only speak the truth. Perhaps is a common modifier fae use to deceive without lying.
Thorne’s expression turns warm as he shines a smile upon my sister. “Angie, I’m so glad you could make it.”
Angela throws herself into Thorne’s arms, then Briony’s, radiating excitement as she congratulates them.
Daphne edges closer to me, the back of her hand brushing mine. I can almost feel the anxiety pulsing through her, so I step in close and link a finger around hers, our hands hidden between us behind the folds of her pink day dress—the same she wore to the carnival. Her shoulders drop as she squeezes my fingers, just in time to brace herself for Thorne and Briony’s attention.
Daphne, however, isn’t the only one who appears nervous. The fae child next to Briony stares at us with wide blue eyes, the whiskers beside her pink little nose twitching as she clings to Briony’s sleeve. I’m unacquainted with this child, but courtesy requires I introduce Daphne before I ask about the rabbit fae.
I clear my throat, my fingers still linked with Daphne’s. “Thorne, Briony, this is my friend, Daphne. Daph, meet Thorne Blackwood and Briony Rose. Soon to be Briony Blackwood.”
Daphne finally releases my fingers to dip into a brief curtsy.
“I had no idea,” Thorne says to me.
I frown. “That I was bringing a plus one? I sent a telegram?—”
“No, I had no idea you had friends.” He turns his gaze to Daphne. “Do you consider him a friend or is he paying you to pretend to tolerate him?”
She stiffens all over again, but this time I get the sense it isn’t out of anxiety but irritation. Could Daph be taking offense on my behalf?
I chuckle to convey that this sort of banter is how Thorne and I express our affection. Not entirely unlike how Daphne insults me.
Her eyes flash to my face and she relaxes. “I may consider him a friend,” she says, tone dry, “but I need not mention whether I tolerate him.”
Thorne and Briony chuckle, and another wave of sweet satisfaction washes over me. Just like that, Daphne has won over my best friend and his fiancée. I’m not sure why it’s so important to me that those I care about like Daphne…but it is.
Briony puts her arm around the fae child and hugs her close to her side. “I’d like to introduce our daughter, Tilly.”
Angela gives a delighted squeal. “I’m so happy to finally meet you, Tilly.”
Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve been punched in the heart. “Daughter?”
Thorne gives Tilly’s head an affectionate pet, eliciting a warm smile from the girl. “The adoption was made official last month. We’re thrilled we got to bring her home from the convent in time for the wedding.”
My heart volleys between pain and joy. Joy for obvious reasons. My best friend has a daughter now. They must have adopted her from the same convent Briony was raised in, the Celesta Convent School for Girls, located not too far from here. Yet the pain remains because…
Because my best friend has a daughter.
And I had no clue.
Did he not tell me because he thought I’d be uninterested? If that’s the case, I can hardly blame him. That’s part of the act I put on. The distance I create between us.
My sister was right when she told Daphne about the moody period I had where I lost all my friends. Thorne was the hardest to lose, yet he was the hardest to keep, which was why I pushed him the farthest away. I simply couldn’t bear his company. Not because I disliked it but rather because I liked it too well. He was my best friend. And if anyone could understand what I was going through, could understand the weight of the secret I’d recently uncovered, it would be Thorne.
Thorne, who had a secret lineage. Raised by two humans, one of whom was unrelated to him by blood.
Thorne, whose secret I uncovered all on my own, but never spoke about.
While I had to remain silent about my own. Never confessing that I was just like him.
Son of an aristocratic father.
And a mother who claimed me as her own despite the lack of any blood relation.
Both he and I are bastard born.
But while Thorne’s lineage wasn’t a secret of infidelity, merely complicated family history, mine was. Mine was a secret that could shatter the Phillips name. My family’s reputation. My father’s place in government. My sister’s prospects.
I couldn’t tell Thorne.
And I still can’t tell him. Can’t tell anyone.
My throat constricts, my lungs tight?—
“Pleasure to meet you.” Tilly’s small voice snaps me out of my thoughts, as do the fingers that squeeze mine. It takes me a moment to realize the latter belong to Daphne. Just like I did with her, she’s stepped in close, hiding our hands to link our fingers together.
Some of the pressure eases from my chest. I manage to speak with only the faintest tremble in my voice. “An honor to meet you as well, Tilly.”
Briony and Thorne exchange a look of shock at my kind greeting. Or maybe it’s the sheen I can’t seem to blink from my eyes.
Oh…fucking hell. I’m going to cry. I never would have guessed meeting my best friend’s daughter for the first time would move me so, but I’m on the verge of tears. It’s not like I’m ashamed of emotion, but this is a side of me I can’t show Thorne. I…I’m just not ready, I?—
Before a single tear can fall, two palms frame my face. Daphne wrenches my gaze to hers, locks our eyes, and slaps my cheeks.
The force isn’t violent, but it’s just hard enough to distract me. I’m so shocked, so delighted by the momentary sting of her palms, that my eyes dry up. She holds my gaze a beat longer, then steps back, removing her hands.
I blink at her, unsure of what just happened. Though, come to think of it, I’ve caught her slapping her own cheeks a time or two, normally after I’ve flustered her. Did Daffy Dear just rescue me in her own strange way?
My heart, no longer strangled with pain, thuds with warmth.
But as she and I return our attention to our companions, we find only confused glances locked on us.
I open my mouth to utter some kind of explanation, but Daphne speaks first, taking another step away from me as she points an accusing thumb my way. “He touched my butt.”
All at once Thorne, Briony, and Angela shake their heads or roll their eyes, fully unsurprised by Daphne’s words.
I, however, am very surprised. Daphne can’t lie?—
Well, I suppose I have touched her butt, when I woke up with her in my arms at her apartment. It may not have been just now, but it’s technically true.
Yet that means Daphne was aware of it.
My pulse rackets.
“Really, Monty?” Briony says. “Can you not be lecherous for one weekend?”
Daphne puts her hands on her hips, nodding along with Briony’s words, a note of taunting in her eyes. She’s clearly enjoying this.
Thorne claps me on the shoulder. “I suppose this is a good time to take Monty away and allow you ladies some peace. He is my best man, after all, and I have a stag party for him to organize. It’s tonight, so you have…six hours.”
“Six hours?”
“If you wanted more time, then maybe you should have arrived earlier. Or, I don’t know…replied to my fucking—pardon.” He winces, giving an apologetic look at Tilly. “My darn letters.”
Good God, daddy Thorne is adorable.
“I suppose I can plan a party in six hours,” I say with a sigh. “I was once a tour manager, after all.”
“Don’t get too carried away,” Briony says. “I want him coherent tomorrow.”
“What about your hen party?” Angela asks. “Is that tonight as well?”
“It is.” Briony turns to Daphne. “You’re more than welcome to come. We’ll take a tour of the hotel, stopping for dinner, dessert, and drinks followed by?—”
“Please, no,” Daphne says in a rush, then grimaces at her own words. “I’m so sorry, that sounded rude, didn’t it? What I mean is…” She shifts from foot to foot.
“What Daffy Dear means,” I say, lifting a hand to the side of her face only to realize I haven’t a clue what the fuck I was about to do. Tuck her hair behind her ears? Touch her cheek? I correct course and give a playful tug to a lock of black hair, a gesture to which she responds by biting at my fingers. “—is that she prefers to settle in at the hotel by much quieter means tonight.”
“In that case,” Briony says, “I’ll take her to the ballroom.”
Daphne presses a hand to her chest. “I get to see the ballroom now?”
Briony gives her an indulgent grin. “Monty sent a telegram informing me of your desire to sketch it. So I arranged for you to have access anytime today, as it’s not in use.”
Excitement glitters in Daphne’s eyes, all traces of the anxiety she showed upon meeting Briony and Thorne gone. I suppose art and poking fun at me are two ways to soothe her nerves. She looks to me, either for reassurance or comfort or maybe just to share her joy.
I wink. “Have fun.”
“Lesson One,” she says with a nod, and I’m reminded that we’re supposed to use this weekend for my case study.
My stomach sinks.
“You, on the other hand, don’t have too much fun.” She pokes me in the chest with her forefinger. She does it again, grinning as if enjoying the firmness of my pectoral.
Before she can poke me a third time, I capture her finger and link it with my own. “Worried about me, Daffy Dear?”
She lifts her chin and slides her finger from mine. “More like worried you might be a bad influence on a soon-to-be married man.”
I give her a coy look. “When have I ever been a bad influence?”
Angela speaks up. “Didn’t you bring your two authors from The Heartbeats Tour to an orgy?”
“Why does everyone bring that up? I had nothing to do with the voyeurism room. I was high on the roof all night.”
“Nope.” Briony covers Tilly’s long bunny ears and speaks in a furious whisper. “No talk of getting high or going to orgies. You will drink, gamble, and talk shit like sensible gentlemen. Got that?”
“On my honor,” I say, giving Briony a somber bow. She rolls her eyes.
Thorne kisses Tilly on the head and Briony on the lips before his fiancée leads the ladies out of the flower shop. I watch Daphne until she’s out of sight. Then I heave a sigh.
“Interesting reaction there, Monty boy.” Thorne’s voice draws my attention to him. His gaze is locked on the hand I have pressed to my chest. The place where Daphne poked.
I force my hands to my sides. “What’s so interesting about it?”
Thorne shrugs. “It’s just interesting, that’s all.”
“I haven’t a clue what you fucking mean,” I mutter, stalking out of the shop before he can catch the heat in my cheeks.