Chapter 41 #2
Fuck. She’s right. I down the glass of champagne and hold it out to her in a silent request for more. Marik swoops in behind me and snags the glass. “She’s done. No more for the night.”
Now I’m the one frowning.
His voice brushes against my mind. Trust me. Please.
I huff a sigh and turn toward the crowd.
Couples dance on the floor, but their heads keep turning to the witches that are spread throughout the crowd and the guards lining the walls.
Koa dances with his sister, one arm wrapped protectively around her as a witch passes by.
I don’t contain my eye roll. I haven’t forgotten the way he stood there in silence as his father called for the executions of innocent civilians.
Marik mutters something about checking on a guest that I don’t care about, and my breath catches in my throat as another figure walks toward me. Eliza Rainey.
Asmo.
I force myself to keep my relaxed posture, to keep my nerves settled, my pulse slow and drunken and lazy. Marik can’t know who stands before me.
“Hello, Eliza,” I say warmly. My eyes threaten to betray me, to bounce around the room to find Marik or Cora, to make sure they’re not watching.
“Your Highness,” she says with a smile. “What a lovely ball.”
“Yes, yes, thank you. I didn’t plan much of it. My husband and his…partner are mostly responsible for everything you see tonight,” I say cheerfully.
A twitch of a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “Well, I just wanted to come and say hello, let you know I was here. My partner is with me, and we’d love to see you after the ball, if that could be arranged.”
I nod slowly, combing through the words, the alcohol buzzing in my head making it more difficult. Partner? Is Mae here? Or is that just small talk?
“My friends are also here. I’d love to introduce you to them.
I’ve just gifted them necklaces,” she says with a chuckle as she fiddles with a delicate gold necklace around her neck.
It’s identical to the one the waitress was wearing.
“And please, do your best to avoid the wine. I’ve heard there was a bad batch from Pernrith recently. ”
“Thank you for the heads up,” I say as my mind reels.
Asmo is here. Maybe Mae, too. With help.
The waiters are their friends. Is this a rescue mission?
Are they attacking? A sob threatens to burst, but I shove it down.
Eliza—Asmo—gives me a final smile and turns away, stepping from the throne platform and back to the festivities below.
A male waiter approaches. He adjusts his neckline, a glimpse of gold flashing underneath. “Appetizer, Your Highness?”
“Please.” I grab a bite of the salmon and a skewer of blackened shrimp and shove them both in my mouth, fighting a laugh as I remember how Mae used to worry about her manners as High Queen. I really need to sober up. I grab another helping.
Marik returns, eyeing me with something like disgust as I lick my fingers. He lowers himself into the throne next to me. “The announcements will be made soon.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I survey the crowd carefully.
Waiters float through the crowd, champagne and red wine sloshing on thin slabs of wooden trays.
One approaches a group of five witches, all of them in floor-length gowns in shades of scarlet, charcoal, or black.
The waiter offers them wine. A hybrid reaches for the last remaining glass, but the waiter ignores the request and darts back through the crowd.
They poisoned the wine.
“Let’s get this over with,” Marik mutters. I’m going to speak through you to make the announcement, his voice says in my mind.
Since when do you give me a warning? I shoot back, but it’s only met with silence.
My legs betray me, forcing me to rise, and my lips curl upward into a mockery of a smile. The crowd hushes as Marik and I stand in tandem. All eyes turn to us.
“People of the Woodland Kingdom, thank you for gathering here today,” Mae’s voice bellows from my mouth.
“It is an honor to host the woodland hybrids, the humans, and the witches.” The words taste like rot.
“It is also my honor to present my aunt, Willa Ryley, the lost High Fae Princess of the fallen Fae Kingdom.” My hand gestures to Cora as she approaches and joins me.
Her black aura is gone, eyes now back to the crystal blue of Mae’s aunt. She smiles at me dotingly. I don’t have to control my snarl; Marik does it for me.
“Thank you, Mae.” Cora’s voice is warm. “Many years ago, the Fae Kingdom fell at the hands of the witches. However,” she says, grin spreading, “over the last year, I have had the opportunity to extend the olive branch. There have been many discussions of wrongdoings and reparations. With Mae’s help, we have entered into an agreement with the witches, allowing them to assimilate into our kingdom, into our home.
In a formal act of forgiveness, Mae and I are pleased to announce the joining of the witches as an official High House and to recognize them as citizens of the Woodland Kingdom. ”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, hybrids shooting uneasy glances toward the witches. Hesitant smiles and half-ass applause are scattered throughout.
Cora’s smile doesn’t falter. “I understand this may come as a shock to many. The witches have been a painful subject for this kingdom for many years. It is my sincerest hope and belief that the citizens of Woodland can rise above the challenging history and begin to forgive the wrongdoings of the past.”
Despite the snort I can feel forming, my mouth spreads into a grin instead, then says, “A blood oath will be completed with the delegate for the witches to make the joining official.”
A witch delegate. Because Cora and Willa can’t be in the same room together.
A stunning raven-haired witch walks to the stage, her golden eyes alight, her blood-red gown floating on a subtle wind behind her. She forms a shallow curtsy. I want to shove her.
“Your Majesty.” Her voice is dripping in seduction, luring me in like a siren.
“Levana,” I say warmly. She smiles, but her eyes are cold. Dead. “You have been given the responsibility and the honor to speak on behalf of the witches.”
She holds one arm out and presses a razor-sharp nail to alabaster skin, inky blood sprouting from the wound.
“Repeat after me,” Mae’s voice says as Marik speaks through me.
“With this oath, I swear on the blood of my people that we will uphold the rules and values of the Woodland Kingdom, that we will do no harm to its citizens. I swear that we will collectively work together with the Woodland folk to create a better kingdom, one in which we all thrive.”
Her blood evaporates in the air as she repeats the words, and the magic takes hold.
“Should this oath be broken by a witch, they will be prosecuted by the High Crown, just as any of the Woodland citizens would be,” my voice says.
I want to chew them and spit them at Marik.
Cora comes from behind me and offers a hug to Levana, who wraps her arms stiffly around her in response. She pulls away and turns to the crowd. “Your newest High House!” she beams. “Please, enjoy the rest of the ball. Eat, drink, and be merry. This is the beginning of a new era!”
The words clang through me. Cora laid her trap, and we all fell into it. She disappears into the crowd, and I feel like I can relax as Marik’s control slips. He watches me, a sad smile on his face. I lower myself back into the High Throne and motion for a glass of champagne. He doesn’t stop me.
The members of the newly appointed House of Witches begin dancing and calling for more wine, their shrill cackles ringing through the grand room.
Levana approaches the throne. Her mouth opens, but Marik stands and offers me a hand. “Darling, a word, please?” His control is nonexistent right now, so I could tell him to kindly fuck off, but I don’t. It’s easier not to. “Excuse us,” he says kindly to Levana, but she glares at him.
Interesting.
Marik leads me from the throne, one hand on the small of my back as we descend the stairs and step onto the dance floor. Groups part to allow us to walk through. I make eye contact with two separate waitstaff, peeks of gold flashing underneath their white-collared shirts.
Marik comes to a stop in the back, right beside the band, who’s currently strumming a celebratory melody. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me to him.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Is the question…Why are we dancing? Or why do I think you’d want to dance with me?” he asks, bending his head to mine.
I look away. I don’t answer, just let him lead me in a dance that I don’t care for in a room that I’ve grown to hate.
I need you to listen to me and I need you to trust me, his voice whispers into my mind.
I tense.
Promise me you will do those two things, he says.
I grunt—in agreement or disagreement, I have no clue.
I am going to get you out of here, but I need you to follow my lead.
Every word is laced with the truth, but warning bells ring in my head. What game is he playing? What is the ulterior motive for this? Why, why, why?
Liar, I fire down whatever bond links us.
He shakes his head, then smiles as he tries to recover the slip-up. I know you know that I’m telling you the truth. Follow my lead, or you’re going to get us both killed.
He stops suddenly and cups my cheek, his cold hands sending shivers down my spine. Look at me, he growls.
I scowl up at him.
Well? he asks.
Fine, I say. Even if it’s another trick, another betrayal, I have nothing to lose. I slip away more and more every day.
He dips his head and pauses, his lips inches from mine. My pulse skyrockets, and I’d be surprised if his Fae hearing couldn’t pick up on the way my heart slams against my chest.
Please don’t bite me, he sends down the bond.
You would be so lucky, I manage to fire back.
He closes the distance between us, and my heart riots.
His lips are soft, and I don’t know how, when everything else about him is sharp edges and fangs and the relentless ferocity of wrath and its cruelty.
The kiss is achingly gentle, and some part of me stirs.
Something I refuse to acknowledge. Something I will never allow myself to examine.
He pulls away, and my heart begins to calm. The champagne is not helping.
Wrap your arms around me and make this convincing. Please.
Internally, I sigh, but I do as he says. I resist the urge to run my finger along the slope of his neck as I remember the blood that coated it just hours ago. I liked you better as I watched your blood spill, I whisper down the bond.
One corner of his lips twists in a flash of an almost-smile. One more time, he says in warning, then dips his head again.
My body reacts before I can stop it, and this time I close the distance between us, pressing my lips against his. I jolt as his tongue probes at the space between my lips. But again, my body reacts, and I part my lips, grazing my tongue with his.
I tell myself that the feeling coursing through me is hatred, that my blood is on fire because I’m kissing a monster. Too soon, not soon enough, he wrenches himself away from me and pulls me from the throne room. We leave the celebration behind, my hand clasped in his.
I follow him, flames of self-loathing threatening to burn me from the inside out.