Chapter 10 #2
I read it over and over, so many times that my insides turn to mush. Should I wear it? Will it give him the wrong idea? Will it even matter? I hate political skirmishes. I always read too much into nothing, or not enough, and end up looking like a fool.
Even so, I follow my stupid heart and slip into the dress. The fabric hugs my body like a second skin, and the first time I see myself in the mirror, I’m certain I look royal.
I make my way to the ballroom.
The banquet of smells hits me the moment I enter. I approach the long table with determination, intent on trying absolutely everything.
Jestin hasn’t spared any expense.
Santorili’s cooks must be enhancing the food with Faerie dust. Jestin has never admitted it, but it’s the only explanation for how good the food is here.
“At least you’re very easy to please. A pack of chocolate and you’re ecstatic,” Aidon says, leaning back in his chair and swirling the wine in his glass.
“A pack of chocolates?” Jestin smirks from his left, one brow arched. He traces the rim of his fork along the plate. “You’ll spend your life’s fortune and it won’t be enough to satisfy Seleste.”
“I will buy plenty,” Aidon smiles, clinking his glass lightly.
I raise a brow. Is he noble? I don’t smell any familiar blood. “What’s your full name again?”
Aidon bows slightly. “I am Aidon Draconis.”
I startle, my fork hovering midair. Jestin shifts in his seat, eyes flicking between us. Aidon leans back, a half-smile tugging at his lips, and I feel the weight of his name settle across the table.
“Does your dad let you leave your borders?” Jestin finally asks, leaning back just enough to study Aidon’s reaction.
“Nah, I ran away,” he chuckles and makes a hushing gesture.
I laugh, while Jestin shakes his head in disbelief and raises to address the table. He is wearing a heavy red cloak, reaching all the way to his knuckles.
Why don’t I look as royal as he does?
“Fellow brothers and sisters, let’s show Gorok how fearless our hearts are.
As the last day of the summer solstice, I want each of you to reflect on what you plan to do for the rest of the year.
” Jestin’s gaze flicks over me, and it presses against me like a weight.
“Think, dream, prepare! But for now? Let’s celebrate, friends—the final night! ”
The Fae erupt with cheers, glasses clinking across the table. Laughter ripples through the hall as the musicians strike up a lively tune, filling the air with music and energy.
I relax, letting the music wash over me, noting that Aidon has left the table and forcing myself not to sulk. But Jestin’s voice cuts through the haze. “I have something special for you.”
He leans towards me, close enough that my pulse spikes at the memory of our night. He raises a bottle to my nose, and I inhale a strong, otherworldly aroma of the ghoul wine.
Rare and forbidden.
“What kind of deal?” I lower my tone, judging how immoral it is.
“Nothing bad.” He shrugs, a dance of a smile on his lips. “Protection for his mate. He was let out without killing.”
Okay, it was fair.
Farming ghouls is considered cannibalistic. They’re an intelligent race.
Worse, if King Marcelo found out we’d made wine from his subject, war would be guaranteed.
“Maybe we should leave the bottle for the actual winning?”
“My Lady, we definitely won a battle today.” I turn to find the General standing behind my chair, hovering like my personal guard.
His expression says it all: the first battle was with me, and we won.
But that is not the only thing it says, not when his eyes linger a little too long on how the dress clings to my body.
“Okay,” I sass. “Let’s drink.”
Aidon! I scream in my mind as I see him approaching.
I grow on you, he replies.
Like a fungus.
Jestin pours four glasses and I down mine before he toasts “To Seleste!”
“You can try to enjoy it.” Jestin chuckles, and I feel a pinch of shame before it disappears - courtesy of the wine clouding my senses.
It’s the best feeling. I love when my brain shuts off and I can just live without thinking.
Aidon leans in, his hands resting just beneath my breasts, brushing close enough that I can feel the weight of his touch through the thin fabric. His breath warms my skin as he murmurs, low and intent, “You are closing in on your days.”
I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze, my pulse quickening. “Oh, I know,” I whisper, the music and heat of the room fading around us.
He chuckles, pressing near my throat, breathing me in and I lunge at him, but he shapeshifts into a dark raven and soars upwards, leaving the ballroom through the open window in the ceiling.
Frustrated, I admire and envy his art.
Fuck you, you dry teaser! I shoot it through our mental connection, but it goes unanswered.
With a sigh, I focus on the music; today’s theme is drums. The hypnotic bass vibrates through my body, and I move, trance-like.
I have everything I once thought I needed, music and a mind clouded by wine, but it isn’t enough anymore.
The last time I was in Santorili, I drifted from party to party, never sober, never caring who entered my body.
Now I can’t summon the delight I used to feel.
◆◆◆
I left the celebration early, relief washing over me as I stepped into the chill night. I couldn’t fully enjoy the evening, weighed down by the disappointment of my companions’ absence. I’ve tossed my shoes onto the dancefloor, and now my bare feet sink into the cold stones.
The chill deepens as I venture down an empty corridor. This isn’t an ordinary cold. I glance over my shoulder, searching for its source.
A scream dies in my throat as I spot a levitating energy hovering at the far end. The veil may weaken on holidays, but ghosts aren’t supposed to roam freely.
Except during Samhain.
I bolt for my room, completely clueless about what to do, and having no ghost education whatsoever.
The only sounds around me are my feet hitting the marble and my panting, yet the chill doesn’t disappear.
Worse, it’s closing in on me, yet I am smart or cowardly enough not to check.
Slamming into my door, I almost piss myself from the relief that the chill doesn’t follow me in.
“Weird.” I let out a shaky breath, leaning against my door as I take in my room. Plush velvet drapes frame the tall windows, and golden filigree lines the edges of my canopy bed.
Freaking Aidon is lying in the middle, reading a book. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he smirks, raising his brow.
I move closer and instantly recognise the spine. “Access to my mind isn’t enough for you? Do you need to read my diary as well?”
“I didn’t know what you were rambling about before I met you. It’s a fairly good summary.”
“Of course, that’s your motive.” I shake my head. “Leave my room!”
“I would, but I came to collect.” Again?
At least he doesn’t bleed me dry each day, not like it won’t be in my favour. The power he drew from me actually helped me maintain control over my magic.
He smiles, then gestures for me to sit. I obey, and his hand closes around my wrist. I brace myself, expecting him to go for the throat.
“I figured you’d like that, didn’t you, dirty darling?”
“I will not offer up my throat to you!” I snap, speaking out of embarrassment, not truth.
“Of course, of course.” He smirks, aware of my lie, but before I can respond, he bites into my skin.
Rush of sharp pain. Then the draining. Relief. The overwhelming ease of the pressure of magic being taken away.
He takes plenty, but my well is still more than full. He stops drinking and licks the wound, amplifying the healing magic with his saliva.
“Now I don’t know who should thank whom,” he says, after lifting his head, his scarlet eyes feral.
Of course that’s what he says.
“You took what you wanted, now leave!”
“No, today I want cuddles.” He pulls me close so I can lie as a little spoon. I comply, of course, only because of the combination of blood loss and ghoul wine.
I hear a small chuckle in my mind, but when my head meets the pillow, I instantly doze off.