Chapter 27
The relentless flash of cameras blurs into a single pulsing glow as we shuffle from one sterile conference room to another. I can feel the weight of expectation heavy on my shoulders, the need to be everywhere at once, to smile, to charm, to play the part of the prince they all expect.
I love it and I hate it at the same time, especially since I found my mate and her coven.
“Revelin,” Khorinea’s voice cuts through the murmur of the crowd like a serrated blade, “tell us about your latest charitable endeavor. Is it true you’re merely doing it for the optics?”
Her smirk is as sharp as her words, and I curse the fact that I didn’t kick that bitch out of the entourage when she got into a fight with Fiadh in Briarvale—both times.
This appearance has Amethyst written all over it, as the earth Fae never mentioned being a blogger until now.
Beside me, Fiadh tenses, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
I catch her eye, offering a silent plea for patience.
She nods stiffly, but the glint in her eyes promises retribution.
The day drags on, each moment stretching out into eternity.
Amethyst and her audience plants are relentless, their questions more barbed than the last. They masquerade as social media influencers, but their intent is clear—to provoke, to prod at our defenses until they find a crack.
The lass bears the brunt of their vitriol, her temper making her an easy target.
The invasive queries about her furry sister, disguised as innocent curiosity, leave her seething.
And I can’t do a damn thing about it with this many eyes on us.
“Lass,” I murmur under my breath as we finally make our way back to the bus, “don’t let them get to you.”
She shoots me a withering look, too exhausted to muster her usual fire. “Easier said than done when they’re not insulting your sister or questioning why someone like you is allowed to tag along with royalty,” she replies, her voice laced with fatigue.
Once we’re back on the bus, the tension seeps out of us like air from a punctured tire.
We collapse onto the worn seats, our collective energy spent.
Khol offers to run back to town to grab food, and Tiernan volunteers to help.
Fi gives them appreciative looks, but heads for the fridge to grab two huge cupcakes from their visit to the dragon bakery.
She’s halfway through wolfing them down when I bring her a small glass of the Fae liquor to help soothe her jangling nerves.
“Thank you,” she whispers and I smile softly, reaching out to get the remnants of the icing on her face.
“You were a trooper,” I reply. “You deserve a little pampering tonight. I’m sorry my people are torturing you as thoroughly as yours did. That wasn’t my intent.”
She snorts. “Rev, if bitches want stitches, they can keep up their shit. My goodwill to you only extends so far. Eventually, they’re going to answer to me.”
If that isn’t terrifying, I don’t know what is.
Tier and Khol come back with enough greasy, insanely unhealthy food that my heart thumps a bit in my chest just looking at their haul.
Fiadh, however, looks like she’s going to gorge herself into a coma, and we all share a pleased expression.
Working as a team, we get the table set up, filling it with tasty food and the materials we need to continue plotting our course through my lands.
Without another word, we begin our work, pouring over ancient texts and scribbled notes for any clue that might lead us to the feystag’s artifacts.
I watch as Fiadh’s hand moves over the parchment, penning missives with a fervor that speaks of her desire to make up for the day’s earlier impotence.
Sitting beside her, my research a scattered mess of possibilities and dead ends, I pause to pick up a cheesy potato treat and she chomps it from my fingers with a grin.
At least I can make sure she’s taking care of herself if I can’t keep the women from coming after her.
Hours slip by, marked only by the scratching of pens and the occasional sigh of frustration. When my eyes grow heavy and my thoughts muddled with exhaustion, I know it’s time. “Guys, we need to pack it in. Tomorrow is going to be a bitch and a half.”
The mess is cleared quickly, and our mate growls loudly when Khol picks her up, carrying her to the bedroom. It only takes a few minutes to get everyone settled in the warm pile of pillows, especially since we’re damn near exhausted to the bone.
“Tomorrow will be better,” I whisper into the darkness, more a hope than a conviction. Beside me, Fiadh’s breathing evens out, the rhythms of rest claiming her at last.
With that, the rest of us surrender to the night, letting the promise of dreams soothe our weary souls.
The next morning, we shuffle into the Holy Grail, the clinking of dishes and sizzle from the kitchen offering a comforting backdrop to our banter.
The air is rich with the aroma of frying bacon and fresh bread.
Our laughter weaves through the steam rising from hot plates as we slide onto the worn benches.
“Revolution by breakfast, rebellion by lunch,” the tavern owner’s wife proclaims, slamming down a tray laden with eggs and sausages.
Her eyes sparkle with mischief, her voice laced with a challenge to the world outside her doors.
We chuckle, her fervor injecting a dose of levity into the gravity of our quest.
I can’t believe I’m actually growing fond of this old troublemaker.
Our mugs clink in a toast to simpler times, but before the first swig of mead touches my lips, a glint of green catches my eye. Rowena, all six inches of punk rock pixie attitude, materializes atop our bottle, striking a pose that demands attention.
“Morning, dears, with your heads full of dreams, I bring news that’s not quite what it seems,” she rhymes with a mischievous twinkle.
Fi groans, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “Oh, it is way too early for this shit.”
“Why the surprise visit, Rowena?” I ask, one eyebrow arching in curiosity.
“Questions arise from a fluffy butt dear, about a mark on a phoenix, oh so austere,” she teases, her tiny hand gesturing towards Dezi and I.
I glance at Fiadh, whose smile is happy but concerned. “Feray marked the phoenix and something is wrong with it?”
Ro nods, glitter falling on me as she sighs, “The pulsing of such, worries fluffy much. She doesn’t know why, nor do old ones who fly.”
We all turn to look at the vampire, who shakes his head. “Significance uncertain,” Dezi mutters, his brow furrowed as he studies our girl’s worried expression. “But I doubt it’s harmful—otherwise, the bird would have known it could happen.”
“Enough riddles for now,” I say, turning back to Rowena. “I’ll send another pixie to consult with my youngest sister. She’s well-versed in the lore of shifters and mythicals. We might find an answer there by the next time you drop in.”
Khol clears his throat, giving me a look as if I’m an idiot. “You didn’t think she might know what the fuck the creature the demons called is? Dude, we should ask her and Feray’s old guys.”
“Smart sneaky snek has raised a bell,” Rowena nods approvingly. “A drawing you should send. For visuals do tell.”
“Consider it done,” I agree, already picturing the beast in question.
I grab a napkin, and Dezi pulls a fancy silver pen out of his jacket, making me roll my eyes.
Of course, that asshole has one tucked away.
I don’t give him shit, though, because I want to get this drawing done so I can send it along with Ro.
The pixie’s face darkens as she leans in closer to look at my work. “Feray’s pack was attacked, shadows lurk near and far. They hunt you, they hunt them. This threat raises the bar.”
“Attacked?” Fiadh’s voice cracks like a whip, her fists clenching in anger. “Who dares—”
Oh, fuck.
“Calm down, Knuckles,” Tiernan interjects smoothly as he lays a hand on her arm. “Remember, Feray stands guarded by ancients and shifters who love her. She’s coming into her own as a wolf, and they can defend her much like we’ve all worked together to stay safe.”
Fiadh’s shoulders drop, tension ebbing away as she nods, accepting Tiernan’s words. “True,” she whispers. “Feray’s no helpless fawn, but I can’t help worrying.”
“Of course you do, lass, but you can’t do anything from here, and if you get distracted with worrying, it won’t help us find the artifacts or stay alive.
” I turn to the pixie, giving her my drawing.
“Take this to the others and make sure they know we’re working on an answer about the phoenix’s mark. ”
“This I can do, but more to show you,” she replies.
Rowena’s tiny fingers dance in the air, trailing sparks of silver and blue.
Images flicker to life above our half-eaten plates, each one a captured moment from Feray’s pack.
I squint at the moving pictures, recognizing faces, some marred with the signs of battle, others wearing determined scowls.
Once we view the things her sister wanted her to see, our mate pulls out her phone to show my pixie her own images. “Show her this one, and that one,” Fi points at images where laughter softens hardened features. “They’ll let her know we’re okay, not just being pelted with bullshit.”
“Stored they are, in heart and cloud,” Rowena chirps, her voice melodic as her magic weaves through the visuals, tucking them away into an unseen vault.
“Tell her we’re with her, always,” the witch’s voice cracks, but she masks it with a fierce smile.
Rowena nods, her glow brightening for an instant before she winks out of existence, her departure as abrupt as her arrival.
The last remnants of magic fade, and a collective sigh ripples through us.
We return to our breakfast, the food now somewhat tasteless compared to the rich spectacle of Rowena’s display.
“Ugh, I can’t believe I have to wear that corset again,” Fiadh groans, pushing her plate away. Her face scrunches in distaste at the thought of the concert attire. “Why do we have to dress like Barbie dolls?”
“Because,” Tiernan starts with a teasing glint in his eye, “the masses expect a spectacle, and you, my mate, are quite the sight in silks and ribbons.”
“Mockery will earn you no favors,” she retorts, but a reluctant grin tugs at her lips. “But I guess it was a compliment, too, so I’ll allow it.”
“How are we going to get through this without Sassy killing someone?” Khol asks as he leans his chair back on two legs. “Cause your manager is just begging for her to gut someone.”
“Preparation is key to something this big,” I add, trying to steer the conversation back to practicality. “We synchronize with the stage crew, check the sound systems, and run through the set list… then they’ll dress us. If we keep busy and focused, they won’t screw with her.”
“My people will be here by noon,” Tiernan reminds us, checking the time. “Let’s make sure everything personal or sensitive is ready to go back to Briarvale. We don’t want anything important left behind.”
“Right.” Fiadh pushes back from the table, determination setting in. “The sooner we finish that, the sooner we can focus on tonight’s performance.”
Just like that, our brief respite is over.
We stand, stretching our limbs and leaving a generous tip for our cranky socialist waitress.
Together, we march out of the Holy Grail, the chill morning air nipping at our skin—a reminder that despite the warmth of camaraderie, the world outside awaits with its own icy embrace.
The cobblestone path to where the bus is parked appears longer than usual, a fitting metaphor for the day stretched out before us.
“Alright, everyone, keep your heads on a swivel,” Tiernan announces as we approach the sleek vehicle that’s more a beast of modern magic than mere transportation. “Staff will swarm in soon, and we need to be ready for them.”
Dezi throws me a supportive nod, his eyes scanning the area like a hawk’s. He’s been quiet, and it makes me wonder what’s going through his head.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Fiadh mutters, but her stride is purposeful, her spine straight as if she’s bracing herself against the weight of the world—or at least the weight of expectations.
I can’t help but admire their resilience.
We pile onto the tour bus, each taking a moment to gather the things we want to send home to our contacts. Once everything is put together, Tiernan puts it all in a pack with instructions handwritten on top.
“As much as I hate to say this, it’s not just about the music tonight,” I remind them as the bus moves, the landscape outside blurring into a mosaic of greens and grays. “Finishing up here is another step toward finding the feystag’s trinkets.”
“But it keeps Revelin in the spotlight where he belongs,” Tiernan adds with a half-smile, though the glint in his eye is all business. “That’s also important.”
I change my mind; my friends are dicks.
“They’d better keep me out of it,” Fiadh says, a hint of steel in her voice. “I want nothing to do with fame or rock star bullshit. I’m only here as moral support—and maybe protection.”
The bus rumbles forward, carrying us toward the event location and whatever surprises await.
It’s out of our control now, so we just have to be ready,