Chapter 3
Santorili has never failed to steal my breath away.
Rising from the desert, it is a green oasis sustained by magic, with gardens and fountains spilling life into sun-baked streets.
Stalls crowd every corner, selling rare spices, enchanted trinkets, and forbidden goods.
Temples to the gods soar above the city, their towers almost touching the sky, etched with glowing runes.
Despite the desert beyond, the city pulses with energy, a haven for pleasure-seekers and the bold.
While Hanovel is all neat and proper, and Tricity hosts artists and scholars, Santorili is the headquarters of the largest black market in Rhodria.
Neither Navatians nor Beriganders meddle in the market’s affairs, believing it’s better to have it here, under supervision, than let the black market completely out of control somewhere else.
The city caters not only to the traders and buyers. Navatians, the resident Fae elites, invest heavily in the sprawling network of brothels, turning sex work into a true art form.
Hence, it is called the City of Sex and Trade.
Cheesy, but accurate.
I am a fan of both: spending my gold on things I do not necessarily need and taking pleasure from strangers who take my coins but leave my heart intact.
To my utter dismay, Hermitage Warriors escort us through the main street, parting the crowd and making a spectacle out of me.
As if that weren’t enough, Jestin laughed at the idea of glamouring us upon entering the city.
Probably hot under the collar, he didn’t consider the consequence: I’m met with countless stares, ranging from respect to fear or disgust, each carrying a thin slice of judgment.
At least that’s how it feels to me.
First, I tried facing the problem head-on, making eye contact with passersby, offering awkward waves and forced smiles. When that grew tiresome and pointless, I faked being unfazed, lifting my chin in fake confidence. Now I’m just trying not to let the murmurs get to me.
And to think we could have arrived unnoticed through the secret tunnels, but Jestin didn’t trust the Simon with that knowledge, especially where the hidden paths lead within Santorili.
I also know what you two were doing in them.
Aidon’s voice invades my head, making me turn in his direction.
In sunlight, he’s even more striking. Black, tousled hair, high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, lips tempting like secrets I am dying to tell and those piercing scarlet depths, begging to dive into.
A lopsided grin forms on his lips, and he says out loud, “Why, thank you. Glad you find me sophisticated.”
Jestin shoots him a glare, which I know for a fact intimidates most Fae, but Aidon only sustains his smirk and continues. “I was ready to change whatever you found lacking, but clearly I don’t need to.”
And now I’m blushing, which isn’t helping my case with Jestin, who notes my embarrassment once again and shakes his head.
I shrug, aiming to cut into the tension with a bit of humour. “I like pretty things, who can blame me?”
“Don’t lie to her, as if you could look like…” Jestin motions up and down at Aidon, “that, without shapeshifting.”
Aidon lifts a brow in sharp mockery. “My predecessors had millennia to refine hereditary flaws in our bloodline. Each shapeshifter in my line improved themselves to the best of their ability. I am the result of their relentless perfection.”
He mocks Jestin’s gesture at his own body. “Perfect father candidate.”
I choke, stumbling into the Hermitage Warrior in front of me. He catches me on instinct, mutters an apology, and bolts like I’m cursed, and honestly, it isn’t far from the truth.
“Unbelievable,” Jestin abandons the nonchalant act and turns to me, slowing his pace. I aimlessly adjust to his tempo. His eyes drill into mine with a calculating intensity as if he intends to intrude on my mind, but lacks the ability to do so.
He resents that I can, Aidon says.
I raise an eyebrow. Is there a limit to your mind intrusion?
I haven’t found one. He grins, then he tilts his head. Maybe distance?
“How did you even find him?” Jestin shakes his head, glaring at me.
Unease prickles at the back of my neck, urging me to lower my head, but I keep it high. I’ll never rid myself of the ‘weak’ label if I’m caught bowing to a lesser Fae.
Jestin looks away, letting me know he acknowledges my heritage, but not my dominance.
Diplomatic as always.
“Fate brought us together, of course,” Aidon smirks. “I can admit it’s getting a little crowded, but I am a family male.”
A hint of a smile appears on Jestin’s face a second later. “You need to break the bond.”
“Too high a price,” I mumble. As a Berigander, I should be able to ask Gorok for a favour and he would grant it, but knowing full well he is displeased with me, I don’t think I should risk angering him further.
Aidon raises an eyebrow, and they engage in yet another stare down.
Fucking males.
I want to bolt. Or bury my head in the sand. But what’s the point? Jestin would just snap his fingers, and the sand would scatter before it ever had the chance to suffocate me.
I don’t understand this weird-ass tension between them.
“Long live the High Queen!” someone yells. My stomach knots and I keep walking.
No one says a word.
The street narrows, stalls fading one by one, until only the sound of my footsteps remains, hammering inside my head.
We are approaching the palace, where I don’t have any allies. Not with Jestin’s cold shoulder, and leaving my best girl-mate on her big day.
I can’t wait to have this day behind me, when I can finally immerse my senses with wine.
Or drown them.
You are nothing like I imagined. Aidon’s voice fills my head, but his calm tone gives nothing away. I don’t know whether he’s taunting me or not. He doesn’t even bother to look at me, only tilting his head up, bathing in the sun.
Oh really? Because I’m supposed to be a big, bad villain and villains don’t have insecurities? I shoot back through our mental connection, hoping he fucking looks at me.
Yeah, exactly.
Jestin places a hand on my waist and I flinch, so caught up in the Simon that his touch startles me. I open my mouth to explain that it wasn’t his touch that made me flinch, but the damage is already done.
Jestin shakes his head, then gestures towards The Inn, its velvet-draped balconies and carved archways still steeped in the dim, sultry glow that refuses to fade with morning.
“Should I arrange a room for you two?” Jestin’s grin twists in a way that is anything but pleasant.
“Don’t be an ass,” I murmur and at the same time Aidon says, “That would be much appreciated, dear lord.”
I can only shake my head. My cheeks burn as my gaze catches on the painted sign near the entrance: The incredible experience will carve itself into your soul, forever changing your perspective.
“Aw, did the brothel of all places give you a spiritual awakening? Poor, enlightened soul.” Aidon’s grin widens. “How devastating. Forced to broaden your horizons one climax at a time.”
I snap my head to Jestin, but by a strange streak of luck, he is busy with a messenger and thankfully misses his comment.
Something happened.
“Why are you determined to make it worse?” I hiss at the Simon.
“Am I making it worse, or are you just not used to having someone verify what you’re thinking?”
“Blast you! Where did you even come from? Wait… do you belong to the brothel?” I’d left a small fortune in that place. That’s where I first encountered his kind.
He bursts out laughing. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have the privilege to be paid for my exceptional skills. Our moments will be the first time I will get something for it.”
I stare at him in outrage at the insinuation. What did I get myself into?
If he has half the skill of the Simon I tasted in the brothel, I am in for a hell of a ride.
Mortified, I study his face. There’s no mockery on his face, so maybe he hasn’t heard me.
Nothing like that, darling; I didn’t want to ruin your delight with my interruptions. I’ve stored your particular tastes for later. A sweet smile moulds his sensual lips.
My cheeks are on fucking fire. Squeezing my fists, I try to battle the embarrassment because I can’t stop my mind from considering if Aidon has similar abilities.
“You’re making it so hard for me not to make fun of you,” he states accusingly.
One of his black locks falls onto his face. He scowls and waves his hand, changing his hair into a messy undercut.
Freaking cool.
I don’t bother with replying. What can one answer to such a slip-up?
We walk in silence for a few heartbeats, following the Hermitage. Jestin bolted ahead of us a while ago. Judging by what I overheard, some kind of emergency occurred in the lower city.
When the inferno on my cheeks finally cools and I feel out of the woods, Aidon says, “But we can find a quiet corner for you to find out.” He winks, then his brow furrows in concentration; he tips his head to the side, before a large, goofy grin spreads across his face.
“Or a busy corner?” He suggests, making me as red as a beetroot.
Again.
Freaking mind intruder.
“Oh, I can’t wait to pound that attitude out of you.”
“If you make it good,” I tease, finding myself smiling.
“I will deliver what you yearn for.” He lightly knocks on his head. “I know what you crave.”
We share a stare full of promise and tension, before I burst out laughing. “Right,” I shake my head with newfound determination to face what is ahead.
“Green doesn’t suit you, precious Lord,” Aidon smirks, and I follow his eyes. Jestin doesn’t look cool and composed anymore. He is fuming.