Chapter 25
Iweave through the throng of perfumed gowns and tailored suits, Revelin’s declaration still hanging like an overripe fruit in the tension-thick air.
“These are all my very special friends,” he’d said with a flourish that only a prince could manage, his voice a melodic lilt over the buzz of conversation.
The rich ladies flutter around him, their laughter as delicate as their lace fans, but their eyes are like raptors’—sharp and hungry.
“Special friends, my ass,” Fiadh mutters under her breath, her eyes narrow to slits as she scans the crowd.
She’s a coiled spring, this one, always ready to snap.
I can’t help but sigh at the thought. Rev’s impromptu emphasis on her was a shield, but it feels more like a spotlight—illuminating her for every critic and suitor alike.
All he did with that is put a bigger target on our mate’s head.
“Wouldn’t mind stabbing a couple of them,” Fiadh continues, more to herself than anyone else, but Khol is quick to catch her words, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Only a couple?” Khol prods, almost too quietly for the rest to hear. His amusement is clear, though. He’s always enjoyed stoking the fire, especially if it’s in Knuckles’ hands.
“Quiet,” I say, though there’s no real bite to it.
It’s more of a habit than anything, trying to keep our motley crew from causing a scene—or worse, an incident.
Dezi floats nearby, the picture of nonchalance, but I know better.
He’s watching everything, taking charge only when the situation calls for it—or when he stands to gain something from it.
I’ve seen him switch from aloof to commander in the blink of an eye, but usually, he reserves that for more. .. intimate settings.
Something I expected from him, but the acceptance of it across the board was shocking.
“Let’s just keep moving,” I suggest, steering the group with subtle nudges and pointed looks, trying to make our passage through the crowd look effortless. It’s a dance I’ve mastered over the years: the art of moving unseen and untouched.
We’re like a ship parting the waves, mostly undisturbed.
Revelin, despite the attention, moves with practiced grace, his charm never faltering even as it thins.
Our mate stays close, her irritation a storm cloud above her head, and Khol’s smirk never quite fades.
Dezi remains a shadow among shadows, his presence reassuring in its own way.
“Almost through,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
We’re nearly at the heart of this gilded cage, the receiving room just a few steps away.
I can’t help but feel the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders like a mantle.
If not an attack, then the tempests of temper from my companions may be just as dangerous tonight.
And I’m the adult in the room, so I have to make sure no one gets arrested—again—or harmed.
We finally elbow our way into the sprawling entryway, a veritable forest of fans and simpering Fae reaching for Revelin as though he’s their salvation.
I catch his eye—a silent promise to debrief later about Amethyst’s lack of interference.
Revelin offers them smiles that don’t quite reach his eyes—his patience becoming a thinning thread.
“Not now,” he murmurs without looking at me, his voice strained with forced politeness. His gaze never leaves the throng as another set of eager parents thrusts their offspring in his path. “I’m aware.”
“Just making mental notes,” I reply under my breath.
But my thoughts are heavy with disapproval, the scenes unfolding before me ink for the report bound for royal scrutiny.
His mother and father definitely need to know that their contracted manager isn’t managing shit, and it’s allowing small townies to be disrespectful of binding agreements.
That kind of insult will echo to larger venues and, eventually, it will make them all look like fools.
The receiving room looms ahead, its opulence bordering on offensive.
Mayor Knobbleton is a peacock among pigeons, his welcome as warm as it is condescending. “Prince Revelin, it’s an honor to meet you,” he booms, while his sneer toward Fiadh is so subtle it’s almost imperceptible.
“Likewise, Mayor,” Revelin replies, his tone smooth as silk and twice as slippery. He arches a brow, waiting for the man to acknowledge any of us, and when he doesn’t, I feel the anger flit through the bond with our coven.
Knuckles bristles beside me, a caged storm ready to break free. Dezi’s hand finds her arm, light but insistent.
“Not worth it,” he whispers, loud enough for only our ears. She exhales sharply, her glare softening under his influence. “Your home is... uniquely adorned,” Dezi continues, his voice dripping with faux admiration as he surveys the garish decor.
The mayor preens, oblivious to the sarcasm, droning on for a few moments about the architecture and design crafted by his talented wife.
“Quite remarkable,” Khol interjects, his own mockery veiled behind a grin. He knows how to play this game—we all do, in our own ways.
But he’s a lot less veiled than the rest of us in his contempt and anyone less oblivious than this idiot would catch it.
Revelin catches Fiadh’s hand, drawing her closer. His casual embrace is protective, an unspoken reassurance that doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone, least of all the fuming Mayor Knobbleton, whose face darkens further at the sight.
“Allow me to introduce my daughters,” the mayor says, his voice tight as he gestures to the trio of Fae ladies, each more eager than the last. They simper and curtsy, batting their lashes and curves at the Prince.
“Delighted,” Revelin lies effortlessly, even as his arm remains firmly around Fiadh. “These are my special friends, Fiadh Morgenstern, Tiernan Puck, Dezi Ruby, and Khol Bedia of Briarvale.”
Their faces reflect just how much they don’t give a fuck to the point of being hostile.
The tension is thick; the air charged with unspoken challenges and forced civility.
I step in when needed, deflecting attention from Fiadh during the following small talk with practiced ease.
Revelin leans down, whispering something to her that elicits a begrudging laugh, and I’m grateful for any lightness he can bring to this farce.
Then, as if the gods themselves have heard our silent pleas, the bell chimes, signaling our reprieve. It’s a call to the grand ballroom, and none too soon.
“Saved by the bell,” I quip, guiding our group away from the mayor’s clutches.
“Or damned by it,” Dezi mutters, the edge in his voice sharper than any knife. We slip through the doors just as his patience reaches its end, the threshold a line between duty and desire to give the mayor what for.
“We should make the most of this escape,” I say, leading the charge into the vast expanse of the ballroom. The evening is far from over, but for now, we’re free from the clutches of Arrowwood’s finest—or worst, depending on how you look at it.
The gala sweeps into motion, a whirlwind of gossamer and garish gold that makes me want to blend into the shadows.
But there’s no such reprieve for us—not tonight.
I scan the crowd, my gaze darting from one glittering guest to another, as we navigate through the throngs of admirers encircling Revelin.
Fiadh, like a thorn among roses, keeps close to Rev, her eyes sharp and searching.
“Can you believe this?” Knuckles mutters, nodding towards the head table where Mayor Knobbleton holds court, his family conspicuously absent. “They’re just props to these people.”
“Charming decor to brag about is accurate,” Rev replies with a sardonic tilt of his lips, his arm slipping from around her shoulders only to capture her hand. “Shall we?”
Oh, this is a terrible idea.
The call for a reel slices through Fiadh’s retort, her face a canvas of panic as Rev tugs her towards the dance floor. I suppress a grin; our girl’s not one for the spotlight unless it’s on her terms.
“Go easy on her,” I chuckle under my breath, knowing Rev’s hearing won’t miss it.
“Always,” he promises, just before they’re swallowed by the sea of dancers.
Dezi takes that opportunity to slip away, a shadow amongst shadows, his charm as potent as any spell.
This is his element—gathering whispers, secrets coaxed from loose tongues and careless hearts.
We’ll need every scrap of information he can glean about the council’s machinations and the sinister undercurrents of this murder.
Fucking vamps are so dramatic about it, though.
The music picks up pace, a lively tune that sets feet tapping and skirts twirling. I keep one eye on the revelry and another on the periphery, where danger might lurk.
“Mind if I cut in?” Khol asks, appearing beside the dancing pair with an impish smirk.
“Dick,” Revelin exhales, irritation painting his features for a split second before composure returns. He passes Fiadh’s hand to Khol with a mock bow and retreats to our table, now a sanctuary amid the chaos.
The basilisk guides Fiadh expertly, steering her through the dancers with a predator’s grace.
They reach a spot with a clear view of the entire ballroom, and she lets out a reluctant laugh as they move closer to us.
I appreciate that as someone grabs the Prince to dance, and he cannot protest enough to keep them from insisting.
I have to watch them both, and they definitely need to be within earshot.
“Never thought those dreadful dance lessons would come in handy,” Fi admits, her movements fluid despite her protest.
“Look at that,” Khol teases, spinning her with ease. “They taught you something useful, after all.”
Their laughter mingles with the music, a shared moment of levity amidst the mounting tension. For a heartbeat, we’re just a group of friends at a party, the weight of what lies ahead momentarily forgotten.
Sighing as I watch both of my charges dance a few more rounds, I sip my drink slowly.
I’ll feel better when everyone is at the table, but I knew this would happen.
I don’t normally bring a lot of extra security in for Rev’s events unless it’s a concert, so my detail won’t arrive for two more days.
However, with all the bullshit, I may actually need to reconsider the bigger cities.
There are far too many villains in our story at the moment to take chances.
Knuckles, Khol, and the Prince finally return to the table a few minutes later.
The private seating is a momentary oasis in the swirling sea of opulence and intrigue—something I can tell everyone is grateful for.
I reach for a glass of water, my throat parched from too much small talk and not enough air.
Our witch slumps into her chair beside me, her eyes narrowed as she scans the crowd, her fingers tapping an irritated rhythm against the tabletop.
“Should’ve gotten my daggers out,” she mutters under her breath. “Could’ve used them to pin some of these pompous idiots’ tongues to the wall. You should hear what they say about Rev when they’re ignoring everyone around them.”
“Patience,” Khol murmurs, though his own smirk betrays a certain shared sentiment.
“Patience be damned, I—” Fiadh’s retort is cut short by a gaggle of nobles who saunter up to us, their laughter grating like sandpaper on my already frayed nerves.
“Tell me, Fiadh,” one noblewoman drawls, her voice dripping with condescension, “did you learn your grace at court or was it the stables?”
And like that, shots have been fired at the wrong fucking woman.
The insult hangs in the air, heavy and toxic.
Khol’s hand twitches on the handle of his fork, but Fiadh raises a hand to stop him.
Her eyes flash with a dangerous glint. I look at Revelin, whose eyes narrow at the idiotic mean girl Fae.
He will not stop whatever our mate has planned—and maybe that’s the right idea.
“Neither,” she responds coolly, her words sharp as shards of glass. “But I learned how to handle bullshit growing up around cows like you. It prepared me well for moments such as this.”
A ripple of shock spreads through the group. Whispers flutter like dark-winged moths, eager to feast on the drama. Revelin wraps an arm around Fiadh protectively, his smile serene but with an edge of warning.
“My lass is more than capable of defending herself,” he declares, loud enough for nearby heads to swivel in our direction. “But I’d advise against testing her patience further. She’s known for being stabby and has already gotten arrested once in this town since we arrived.”
The nobles bristle, but the sight of the Prince’s open affection silences them. They retreat, but not before shooting venomous looks that promise further gossip. I exhale slowly; that scene will definitely make tomorrow’s headlines.
Not to mention he just fucked up half of what Louie did earlier in the week.
“Smooth move,” I say to Revelin as he sits back down, a wry grin on his face. “You ever going to inform us when you decide to full-tilt boogie and pivot off all our plans or…?”
“It was damage control,” he replies with a shrug. “Starting a new fire to distract from the old one.”
Before we can ponder the implications of his rash decision, Dezi slips into a seat next to us, his expression somber. “Word on the floor confirms the beast might strike again tonight,” he whispers, his eyes scanning the room. “Stay alert.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Because what this party needed was actual bloodshed.”
I can’t take these fools anywhere; I swear to fuck.