Chapter 43
Forty-Three
Clan Bismyth arrived at the queen’s castle in force.
That was the way it felt, as if we were untouchable when Fieran and I walked at the front of this formation of warriors in their fine gowns and tunics, all of them perfect and untouchable. Dairen had winked at me as he took his place.
Asrael leaned in and whispered, “This is where I struggle the most. I’d rather face something toothy.”
The confession had been so surprising coming from always-cool Asrael. I whispered back, “Steady heart.”
Somehow I didn’t feel as nervous about the Trials knowing Az hated Fae Court functions too.
I would have felt overwhelmed when we entered the towering gates of the castle if not for them. But even though they were not my clan, it felt as if I were walking at the front of a pack of wolves.
The ballroom was carved from crystal, its domed ceiling open to the stars and the shimmering colors that moved across the sky.
Low Fae moved through the room, including several satyrs moving with startling grace on goats’ legs as they carried trays.
I jerked my gaze away, feeling like an ignorant peasant for staring; low Fae stayed away from the mortal villages for reasons they left out of our history books.
Shifters from other clans in their colors stood in groups, drinking Fae wine; the room was already full of black-clad unclaimed shifters. Would Fear have let me wear that purple dress knowing it would’ve broken a rule I hadn’t known—wearing his colors before I had any right to do so?
Fieran took my hand, his fingers twining with mine. I cast a quick glance at him. “Last time you held my hand, the night ended badly.”
“I loved our night together,” he disagreed.
“You were stabbed.”
“I always know I’m risking a stabbing when I touch you. It’s worth it.”
I scoffed.
One figure wore their black cloak, the hood of which looked strangely misshapen. Then he turned, and Ensmeth’s dark glare met my gaze. The effect was somewhat muted by the humor when he was dressed for a snowstorm in the midst of a ball.
I stared at him brazenly, trying to figure out why. His face was shadowed by the cloak—no, bruised.
Ensmeth had been beaten to shit. Then I caught a glint of gold gleaming under the hood, and I pulled my hand from Fieran’s to cross to Ensmeth.
“What happened to you?” I demanded.
Ensmeth stared at me sullenly. “Nothing.”
His cheek and eye were bruised and swollen, his lip split. I reached up to grab his hood and yanked it down. His eyes blazed, but then his attention flickered to someone behind me, and he folded his hands in front of him, his muscles rippling with the effort of restraint.
He wore a crown. He didn’t wear it, exactly; it was enmeshed with his head, a golden circle growing out of one temple like a horn and wrapping rakishly around the top of his head. The gold wound in and out of his hair, as if it had melded into his being.
Fieran sauntered after me. I knew he was there even before I turned and raised my eyebrows at him.
Fieran spread his hands in an innocent expression. “Magic can do strange things. I’m sure it will come off eventually…when he’s learned not to be the king of the assholes.”
I cast a sharp glance at him. Ensmeth was tugging his hood back up, giving me a blistering glare, but now that I knew what I was looking for, I caught a glimpse of the script in his crown spelled out by jewels.
I took Fear’s arm and then the goblet he handed me. Ensmeth scuttled away as soon as I turned to Fear.
“No wonder ‘Fear’ is the fondest nickname anyone calls you.”
“Am I supposed to pretend I’m something other than what I am? Of course I hurt him. I had to watch him be a dick to you from a distance.”
“You’re a dick to me.”
“That’s entirely different.” He tugged me close, pressing a lying, fond kiss to my temple.
I turned to look at who was behind us, falling into a habit of watching our backs no matter that the dangers here were different. Standing intimately close with Fear like this felt natural, with his body towering over mine and the two of us twined together as a team.
But it shouldn’t.
A cheer went up across the room. When a few people cleared away, Kiegan was at the center; he gave a grumpy look around and didn’t acknowledge it. I grinned.
“You like that he’s being appreciated,” Fear noted.
“I like that he’s suffering.”
“Liar,” he said, his lips curling.
“Shush and dance with me.” I wanted a few bright, sparkling moments before whatever dark test the queen would concoct for me.
“I hope your marriage proposal one day is as sweet as all your other requests.” He took my flagon out of my hand, frowned at the still-full contents, and held it to my lips. I drank from his hand as he tilted it smoothly into my mouth; it was too deliciously easy to swallow down.
“Never.”
“That’s my line.”
An attentive satyr raised the tray to receive Fear’s flagons.
Then Fieran swept me into his arms, and he was every bit as perfect a dancer as I had feared.
I felt light and breathless in his arms. He guided me through the dance steps with such easy, commanding grace that it seemed as if I were floating, spinning among the crowd. His arm flexed against my palm as he steered me through the dance.
Ander was dancing with Nixi. The two of them looked beautiful and perfect, but they stumbled over each other’s feet, laughing as their dance dissolved; I’d never seen Ander smile like that, in a bright flash.
“He knows how to dance,” Fieran murmured. His thumb brushed the small of my back in a lazy circle that sent heat licking up my spine.
But he couldn’t distract me. He and Ander knew each other so well and hated each other so well, which meant one of them must be twisted. “What happened between the two of you?”
“You would like to know why the friend I considered to be a brother despises me more than even Ensmeth does at the moment?” He sounded so light and amused by that hatred.
“You know, you don’t always have to lie and manipulate. You could tell me to wear the black dress. You could tell me the truth that might hurt your pride but doesn’t hurt your plans. I accept your other secrets.”
His lush lips parted in surprise. His hand on my hip was firm and sure, and he never missed a step. “Do you?”
“I accept the reasoning for keeping your plans from me, even though I despise it.”
He angled me closer, his breath brushing my cheek like a secret. “You know the answer, my Never-Wife.”
“Keep your secrets, if that’s the cost,” I told him, and he threw his head back and laughed, the sound unguarded and genuine.
When he laughed, I wanted to make him laugh again.
“Dance with Ander,” he told me. “Bully him for a while.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me?” I demanded.
“How else will the two of you scheme about me?” Fear’s grip slid from my waist to my wrist, guiding me through a turn that felt dangerously intimate as he reeled me back in.
“You’re not that interesting.” I was breathless from the pace of the music—wild, uncontrolled Fae music, like being caught in a storm—and not from him. “We don’t talk about you behind your back.”
“Lies all around.” He might be trying to pawn me off onto another man, but as the music softened, his body told another story; he wrapped his arm around my waist, drawing me closer. I let my hands slip up his biceps to rest on his shoulders, and our dancing slowed.
My fingers curled in his shirt, by instinct more than thought. His gaze softened the second before his lips brushed mine in a soft, claiming sweep. I pressed myself to his heat, even though I knew better.
Slowly, it came to me that I was a mortal kissing the kingdom’s dragon prince in front of the entire Fae court, and that might be taking the ruse about three steps too far.
I pulled away, ready to question him—because he knew what he was doing—but he caught my lips with steady insistence. With need.
“May I have this dance?” Ander’s voice was icy.
I pulled away from Fear with effort. This time, he let me go, his lips quirking at my rattled tone as I blurted out, “Certainly. He doesn’t deserve me.”
Ander stood with a hand outstretched to me, tall and fierce in his uniform. His jaw flexed as his gaze tracked Fear’s hand still lingering on my arm.
“Finally, you tell one truth to go with your two lies.” Fieran looked amused, and I raised my eyebrows at him, wondering if he had kissed me to draw Ander.
Ander held his arms out to me, and I stepped into them.
He kept me at a distance, with his hand on my hip and enough space for Nixi to fit between us.
I needed the opportunity to cool my mind down after Fear’s fever-hot touch, so I appreciated the space and the calm, competent way he guided us through the dance.
Ander’s gaze slid over my shoulder, and I knew who he was watching.
“Were you and Fear lovers?” I asked casually.
He turned to me with full attention. “No.”
“You seemed as if you might be jealous.”
“Gods,” he muttered. “If you’re going to insult me so freely, I’m going to admit I’m dancing with you because I despise Fieran.”
I laughed. “I know. But I still like dancing with you.”
Still, I wasn’t entirely sure that was the only reason Ander was dancing with me. There was something protective but wary in his gaze when he looked at me. As if he were judging the cost of interfering in the dark plans being spun for me.
He shook his head. “Maybe you can be what Fear deserves.”
That seemed as if it would be painful for both of us.
“And what does Fear deserve?”
“Not your kiss.” His answer was swift and arch.
“I know that.”
“Do you?” He spun me out, and I twirled under his arm—too easily, given how much smaller I was than all the Fae. “Then why are you kissing him? His lips don’t seem like they should be too hard to avoid if that was your intent.”
“I needed a distraction from what else is coming.”
“Because tonight, you’re the most famous mortal in the capital?”