Chapter 14 – Billie
Fourteen
BILLIE
The History of Fae-Human Relations turns out to be exactly the propaganda fest I expected.
Professor Ivenfaire, a Fae with purple hair and the kind of smile that makes you want to count your teeth afterward, spends ninety minutes explaining how the Fae "rescued" humanity from our own barbarism.
Apparently, we were just banging rocks together until they showed up with their magic.
I take notes like a good little omega, but anyone who takes a glance at my notebook might get the unfortunate impression that I'm being sarcastic, and that would be just terrible.
Fae = saviors.
Humans = grateful.
The brunette from the stairs (I've affectionately named her Bbr, AKA Baby Blue Ruffles) happens to be seated in the next row, and keeps shooting me looks from across the room. Probably planning her next attempt to make me eat shit on campus architecture.
By the time I escape to my third class, Courtly Etiquette and Protocol, my brain feels like it's been put through a blender set to liquefy.
The instructor, Madame Renardier is human, surprisingly enough, but acts more Fae than the actual Fae. She spends an hour teaching us the "proper" way to curtsy to various ranks of nobility. Apparently, the depth of your curtsy directly correlates to how much ass you're expected to kiss.
"Miss Moreau," she calls out when I execute what I thought was a perfectly acceptable curtsy. "That was adequate for addressing a minor lord, but what if you encounter a prince?"
I'd probably try to stab him, I think, but what comes out is, "I apologize, Madame. Could you demonstrate again?"
She preens like I've just offered her a lifetime supply of boot polish. "Of course, dear. Watch carefully."
She demonstrates a curtsy so deep I'm genuinely concerned she might not be able to get back up.
The other omegas watch with rapt attention, like this is the most fascinating thing they've ever seen.
I'd rather watch paint dry. Hell, I'd rather watch paint dry while someone reads me the entire Fae tax code.
Lunch is a whole other circle of hell. The cafeteria—oh, sorry, the "Grand Dining Hall"—looks like someone decided to combine Versailles with a Vegas buffet.
Crystal chandeliers hang from a ceiling painted with scenes of Fae nobility doing noble things, like standing around looking superior.
The food is displayed on platters made of actual fucking gold.
I grab what looks like the least pretentious option, some kind of sandwich that thankfully doesn't glow or change colors, and scan for somewhere to sit. The omega section is clearly marked by the sea of gentle colors and the cloud of perfume. Hard pass.
I spot an empty table in the corner and make a beeline for it, but I'm barely three steps in when a familiar voice stops me.
"Oh look, the hunter's trying to eat with civilized people."
Baby Blue Ruffles and her crew have materialized like a bad rash. They're all holding their lunch trays like weapons, which would be funny if I didn't know they'd absolutely use them as such.
"Just trying to eat, period," I say, attempting to sidestep them.
They move to block me. Of course they do.
"I don't think you understand how things work here," Bbr says, her voice dripping with that fake sweetness that makes my teeth hurt. "There's a hierarchy. And you? You're at the bottom."
"Fascinating," I deadpan. "Is there a chart I can reference? Maybe a PowerPoint presentation?"
Her face goes red. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Just because Isabella scared us off earlier doesn't mean—"
"Ladies." A new voice cuts through the brewing catfight. Male, smooth as aged whiskey, with an undertone that makes every fine hair on my body stand at attention.
We all turn, and I have to physically stop my jaw from dropping.
He's tall, even more so than the average Fae, with black hair that falls into his eyes in a rakish style.
But it's his eyes that make my brain short-circuit.
Red. Not reddish-brown or amber or any color that eyes should be.
Actual fucking red, like someone dipped rubies in blood and decided to use them for irises.
He's beautiful, but not just in the way all Fae are beautiful. There's something terrifying about the perfect symmetry of his face. It's like looking at a perfectly crafted blade and knowing it could slit your throat before you even saw it move.
He's wearing the university uniform, but on him it looks like haute couture. Every line tailored to perfection, every button gleaming like it's been personally polished by angels. Or demons. Jury's still out on which side of that fence he falls on.
"Is there a problem here?" he asks.
"No problem at all, Your Highness," Bbr squeaks, and—wait, did she just say Your Highness?
They scatter before I can process that, leaving me standing there with my sad sandwich and a Your Highness who's looking at me like I'm the most interesting thing he's seen all day.
"You must be the hunter," he says, and his smile is sharp enough to cut skin. "I've heard so much about you."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
But wait… this can't be Corvinus. Everyone says Corvinus has white hair and blue eyes. The classic Seelie color scheme. This guy looks like he crawled out of a nightmare. The kind incubi haunt.
"Caelyx," he says, apparently reading my confusion. "Corvinus's younger brother, in case you were wondering."
Of course he is. Of course the bastard I need to kill has a brother I've somehow never heard of who looks like sex incarnate.
"Charmed," I manage, proud that my voice doesn't crack.
"Are you?" He tilts his head, studying me with those impossible eyes. "How delightful. Most people are terrified."
"Most people probably have better self-preservation instincts. I was a hunter, remember? We aren't known for running from danger."
He laughs. "Oh, I like you already. Do you mind if I join you for lunch?"
Yes. Yes, I fucking mind. I mind so much I could write a dissertation on how much I mind.
"It's a free country," I say instead, because apparently my mouth has decided to go rogue. "Or realm."
"Is it now?" He falls into step beside me as I head for that corner table.
I bite back the dozen responses that spring to mind, most of which would probably get me executed for treason or sedition or whatever they call it when you tell a prince to go fuck himself. Instead, I focus on not tripping over my own feet, which have suddenly forgotten how to work properly.
We sit, and I become acutely aware that every eye in the cafeteria is on us.
The other omegas look like they're trying to set me on fire with their minds.
The Fae are watching with expressions ranging from curiosity to outright horror.
And the various other supernaturals, the shifters and what might be a vampire in the corner, are all staring.
They're nervous. And clearly, I should be too.
Where did this guy even come from? If Corvinus had a brother, surely I would have heard of him.
Is the Patriarch fucking with me? Or is Caelyx?
The latter would make more sense, and yet, Bbr and her crew would have to be in on it. There's also the fact that Fae supposedly can't tell lies.
"So," Caelyx says, leaning back in his chair, "a hunter and an omega. That must have been quite the surprise."
"You could say that." I take a bite of my sandwich to buy time. It tastes like cardboard, but that's probably courtesy of the adrenaline shooting through my veins rather than the chef's lack of skill. Everything in this place is gourmet.
"I imagine your family wasn't thrilled when they found out."
"Also an understatement."
"And yet here you are." He hasn't touched his food, some elaborate dish I didn't see in the line. "In the heart of enemy territory, surrounded by the very creatures you were trained to kill."
"Yeah, well." I shrug, aiming for nonchalant and probably landing a few hundred kilometers north. "Life's full of fun surprises."
"Indeed it is." His eyes haven't left my face once. "Tell me, Miss...?"
"Just Billie. No Miss."
"Billie." He tastes the name like wine. "Tell me, Billie, what do you think of your new life so far?"
A question so loaded it couldn't get past a metal detector. "It's very... gilded."
"How diplomatic." He leans forward, and I catch a whiff of his scent. It's like lightning and dark chocolate and all the dirty, filthy thoughts I've ever had wrapped up in one sinfully hot package. "But not very honest."
"I wasn't aware honesty was encouraged here. Not for omegas."
"It's not." His smile widens, showing teeth that are far too sharp to be comforting. Some of the Fae have sharp eye teeth, but his are fucking daggers. And four of them are sharp, not just two. "Which is what makes it so entertaining when someone attempts it."
The bell rings, saving me from having to respond. I've never been so grateful for the Fae's obsession with punctuality.
"What class do you have next?" he asks as I gather my things.
"Bonding Theory and Practice." Of all the classes I have to take, this one seems the most like rubbing salt in an open wound.
"What a coincidence." He stands, and I'm reminded again of how tall these fuckers are. Especially him. "So do I."
Of course he does. Because the universe hates me and wants me to suffer.
"I'll walk you," he says when I don't respond.
Of course he will.
I say nothing the entire way, hoping he'll get bored.
The walk to class is an exercise in torture. Everyone stares. Everyone whispers. Everyone wonders what the freak omega is doing with Prince Caelyx. I wonder the same thing.
The classroom is different from the others. Bigger, for one thing, with seats arranged in a circle rather than rows. But unlike my first class, they're actual seats. No fluffy pillows. The colors are muted earth tones rather than unicorn barf.