by May Dawson
“Probably not.” I suddenly connect the dots. My suddenly loose lips, the music that overtakes me, the faint bubbly headache. “Hence the blunt and blunter.”
“At least you’re a cute drunk.”
“Really? I thought I’d insulted you a few times.”
“I’ve heard far worse.” Then he adds, after a second, “and that was just while I was waiting at the bar.”
I frown up at him. “I want to ask you a question, but I know you’ll probably lie to me.”
“I see.” He pushes up his jacket to tuck his hands into his pockets.
I thought that line was going to come out a bit more amusing than it did. I might be an honest drunk, not a clever one. But still, I forge ahead.
“Are you good or evil?”
His eyebrows arch. “Really, Tera Donovan?”
“What?”
“What a ridiculous question.”
He leans in toward me, and my breath catches in my chest, unexpectedly. His lips graze my hair. He’s been drinking something stronger than champagne tonight too; I smell scotch along with the fine, warm scent of his cologne.
“Good,” he whispers into my ear. “But don’t tell anyone.”
When he straightens up, he winks at me. His posture, his face, changes in a second. “Everyone thinks they’re one of the good guys. That’s what’s gone so far wrong in this world and in yours. I’m sure you’re good, too. Whatever that means.”
“Primus isn’t my world,” I say sharply. I don’t want to go back there.
“Of course,” he says easily. “Sorry.”
That smirking mask is up again.
Movement beyond his shoulder catches my attention. Airren is walking toward us, his movements artificially casual.
“Thank you for the dance,” I tell Devlin stiffly.
“Thank you for the conversation.” He touches his crown again, tilting it askew again. “And for fixing my crown.”
“It turned out to be a lost cause.” I can’t fix the crown again, not in front of someone else. Not in front of Airren, knowing that Airren hates him. But I don’t think Devlin would want me to, anyway.
For the first time, I realize that he’s tilted it on purpose. He’s trying to look drunk, smug, ridiculous, foolish. But I don’t think Devlin is a fool at all.
He offers me another little bow. By the time Airren reaches us, he’s already turning away from me. He claps Airren on the shoulder as he goes past. “I know, I know. The prince’s date. Not for the likes of us.”
Airren’s eyes narrow at him, but he says nothing.
Devlin takes a few steps toward the party, then turns as if he’d forgotten something. His eyes meet mine.
“It wasn’t really a lost cause,” he says. “At least for a minute, I could pretend I had my head on straight.”
For the first time, he flashes a real smile my way. It’s dizzying, magnetic. He lifts his hand in a quick goodbye, and then turns and saunters into the crowd.
Chapter 19
The Man from Avalon
It took me a while to come up with how I could make Tera Donovan and her secrets useful to me. Her father took my Kella; now she can repay his debt, first with money and then with her life. Somehow she’s managed to get close to the prince, to get access to not just the castle but to him. I’m sure she could talk her way into him showing her the Books of the Damned, the Jewels of the Lost. No matter how noble, young men do love to show off to a pretty girl.
When I remember her tear-soaked, frantic face as she struggled against me, it’s hard to believe that this same girl could be clever enough to have found her way to the prince’s side. But I have to remember she might be smarter than she looks.
I’ve spent every last penny I have on this disguise. It’s the kind of grand magic one can’t do alone. But the gamble will just make the end sweeter. Tera will make me rich before I choke her slender throat until she collapses at my feet.
I’ve got nothing to lose here. I can’t disappear into Vasilik without a whole lot more funds than I have now, and if the Crown finds me first, I’m dead anyway. Tera’s not just my revenge. Her secret is my shot at a new life.
The biggest problem with Tera is that she’s never alone.
Once I break the bond between her and those Crown men, though, all bets are off.
“Incinero,” I say to the body of the waiter.
The sudden rise of magical fire pulses hot against my face. Well, it’s not my face anymore. I wear his face now.
I back away, pulling on his jacket, but keep a watchful eye on the flames. Hotter than any true fire, his bones are already beginning to char.
By the time I’ve buttoned the last button on the high white jacket collar, there’s nothing but ashes scattered across the floor of his bedroom.
“Daddy?”
Curses. For a second, I pause, trying to control my rage. I plaster a smile on my face before I turn.
The little boy wears train pajamas and clutches a train against his chest, and he’s sucking his thumb with his other hand. His hazel eyes are wide. How much did he just see?
“I’ve got to go to work. I’ll see you later, son,” I tell him. I hold out my arms to hug him goodbye. If he comes to me, I’ll know he’s bought my lie.
Or maybe I’ll snap his neck, just to be on the safe side.
He stares at me for a second. Then he turns and flees.
Killing him will mean killing the mother, too, and the more bodies pile up, the more likely it is that someone will get suspicious. The waiter probably wouldn’t go into work with his wife and child missing, and I don’t have time—or money—to stalk another palace server, to form another disguise. A simple face-changing spell will never get past the castle’s security.
It doesn’t matter. No one’s going to believe a little thumb-sucker.
As I pass through the house to the stairs, I glance through the doorways into the darkened bedrooms. Is he hiding under that bed, or in that laundry hamper? Or did he run to his mother? Is he babbling to her right now?
I go down the stairs into their small living room. She’s in the kitchen, humming. There’s a sizzle at the stove. Garlic and chopped onions meet browned butter, from the scent of it. I glance at the door, and then at the clock at the mantle. I chose this server because he works the night shift, meeting the 3am demands of nobles for whom the kitchen never closes. There’s time before his shift. She must be preparing dinner before he leaves.
I open the door and step out onto the porch. I expect to hear her voice behind me, but there’s blessed quiet. I close the door behind me.
It’s begun to rain, the kind of misting rain that seems to hang in the air, as I turn up the collar on my jacket and head down the cobblestone street.
Through the mist, I can see the castle on the hill above the village.
The servant’s leather bag swings over my shoulder. He eats in the palace kitchen, so I’m lucky that he carries a bag. I’m not breaking his usual routine at all. Safe inside is the little bottle of Despise.
The bonds between humans are easy to break.
Death isn’t even required.
Chapter 20
Tera
“What was that all about?” Airren asks once Devlin has gone.
“I don’t know. Nobles are all a bit a strange.”
“You’ve noticed that, have you?”
As Airren slings his arm over my shoulders, I loop my arm around his lean waist, which is warm and hard and comforting even through his tux. He turns his face into my hair, holding me close as he begins to sway with the distant music. I let my eyes drift shut, comforted by his body.
“I hate when you dance with anyone else,” he admits.
His confession surprises me. I might have seen those flashes of possessiveness, but it’s unlike Airren to name his feelings openly.
I know he feels he has good reason to push me toward Rian, that he wants to protect me. But it’s exasperating, too. “Then why are you torturing
yourself?”
His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Maybe I deserve it.”
“Sins from a past life?”
“Mm. Must be.”
I think of the day I kissed Mycroft and Cax, twined in their arms, and Airren stopped us. “Is it just with Rian you feel… irritated?”
His lips turn up at my wording. He knows exactly what I mean, but I don’t want to accuse him of being jealous.
“I always feel irritated by the Crown,” he says. “Whether the prince is dancing with you or not.”
“And with Croft and Cax? When we’re…dancing?”
He gazes down at me, his lips pursing as if he doesn’t want to answer me. When he glances away, I think he isn’t going to answer. Then he says, “I was friends with Croft first—I thought we were close as brothers—but now there’s something between Cax and Croft that’s deeper and bigger. That friendship meant a lot to me.”
My heart twists for him.
“And then you’re here, and they both care for you very much and you care for them…” he trails off, as if he doesn’t want to finish the sentence, to finish his fear. But he’s Airren; he soldiers on. He always does. “I don’t mind seeing you with them. I’m happy to share. But…I know I’m not an easy man to be close to. The three of you could move into a new life together, and I could be left behind.”
“You’re not going to be left behind.” I slip my palm up his cheek, turning his face to meet my gaze. His lips twist ruefully, as if he’s embarrassed by his confession. “Airren. I want you. I will always want you.”
His fingers stroke my forehead gently as he brushes my hair back from my face. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me, T. I just wanted to be honest for once. I am indeed jealous, but it’s because of my own fears. It doesn’t bother me to see you with Cax and Croft. I’m glad that you have two more good men on your side in this wicked world of ours.”
“I didn’t think you were capable of jealousy.”
His lips turn up. “It turns out that when it comes to you, Tera Kate, I’m capable of plenty of emotions I haven’t felt in a long, long time.”
“That must be unsettling.”
“Yes.” His lips brush the top of my hair as he squeezes me gently against his side. “But it’s worth it.”
Something gives inside me. Things are so hard with Airren at times, with the way he holds me at arm’s distance, no matter how charming he can be. But his words right now have the ring of truth. They make me want to tell him all my secrets, and then take him to bed.
“Are you drunk right now?” I tease.
“Working on it.”
When I tilt my head up to him, he kisses me.
Then he says, “Would you please go charm the prince of Avalon now? He’s also watched you dance with increasing jealousy.”
I glance across the room, where the prince sits surrounded by women. “How can you tell?”
“I know him, remember?” Airren’s lips turn up. “A bit too well.”
“It seems I’ve already charmed him. For better or worse.” I tend to imagine worse. More time with me risks disappointing him—either because I’m not as charming as he seems to think, or because my heart already belongs rather hopelessly to these three impossible oafs.
And maybe, my heart also belongs to the Fox. I don’t know him well yet, but there’s something about the Fox, from his charm and mystique to his fearless work to save the world, one Vasilik noble at a time.
“You do seem to make an impression.”
And usually, it’s a bad one. “It’s strange being here.”
“Why’s that?”
“People don’t seem to hate me. That’s unsettling for me.” It’s as weird as Airren’s emotions are for him. I’m used to being hated. It’s awful, but it’s a known quality at this point. But being treated like I could belong somewhere gives me a sense of rising hope.
The problem with hope is that it opens the door to a whole new world of pain.
Airren glances over his shoulder at Rian. Then he holds his hand out to me. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
He’s been so intent on me spending time with Rian that the unexpected break in his usual duty-bound, pragmatic routine surprises me. It takes me a second, with him watching my face expectantly, before I take his hand.
“You aren’t going to try to thrust me on Rian yet again?” I ask him teasingly. I hate it, to tell the truth; I know Airren is trying to protect me, but for him to try to protect me by using Rian is jarring. It’s pragmatic and brutal.
He is a spy, after all.
“I was thinking perhaps I’d be a little selfish,” he says. “I’ll risk the ire of the crown.”
“I’d like that.” My voice comes out husky. I don’t want him to be too pragmatic when it comes to me. Most of all, his confession has left me aching. I want to ease some of his fear, to show him that I want him and I always will.
Together, we slip out of the party and down the long, twisting halls. It feels like we’re sneaking, and it makes me want to giggle. Or maybe that’s all the champagne. Airren holds my hand confidently, his long, deft fingers warm and comforting against mine. It’s hard to believe I’d need any prince to protect me. When I’m with Airren, I feel safe from the world.
“Come try out this ridiculous bed with me,” I murmur.
As soon as the door closes behind us, his hands are on my hips, his lips against my throat. I tilt my face up to him, smiling, and wrap my arms around his big shoulders. The sparkling chandelier casts soft golden light, and with the depth of the night outside, the big windows at the end of the room reflect back our mirror images. I can see my fingers in Airren’s hair as I tug his head down toward me, the mischief curling my lips as I seek his. I barely recognize myself.
This reflection is the Tera I want to be: confident, free, desired. This Tera belongs somewhere.
I’d love to feel this way when I’m not a little bit drunk.
But one step at a time.
I let all thoughts drop away as my lips press against Airren’s. His kisses are soft, measured, despite the liquor on his breath. My kisses are anything but measured. I kiss his full lower lip, the corner of his mouth where his smile beckons me, the dimple in his smooth-shaven cheek. There’s nothing about him that isn’t beautiful and magnetic to me. Every part of him stokes this desperate desire to know him more, to be closer to him.
He wraps his arms around my thighs and lifts me easily, pulling my body up and against his. I catch his shoulders with my hands, giggling as he carries me toward the bed. He almost stumbles against the step up onto the dais, and when he dumps me unceremoniously on the bed after the near-spill, he’s grinning himself.
“You have to wonder why anyone would put a bed up on a stage,” he says, shaking his head. “Nobles. They’re all depraved.”
“Even you.”
“Especially me.” His fingers skate over the curve of my breasts, just above the neckline of my gown. “I do love this dress on you.”
“I love the dress too,” I tell him, my voice soft, “but right now, I don’t love it on me.”
His lips curl up. His fingers skim down my décolletage, then trail across the shiny bodice to the skirt. As his hand crosses the dress, the fabric disintegrates in a soft golden shimmer of magic.
Airren’s gaze roams my body, and his breath gives. “You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you.” I push the lapels of his tuxedo jacket apart. He looks painfully good in a tux. But right now, it’s painful to see him still dressed.
Airren kisses the swell of my breast and then straightens. There’s a teasing look on his face as he removes his jacket, folds it at the end of the bed, then begins to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt. “Sorry. My clothes aren’t made of magic.”
“Let me at them.” I raise my finger to beckon him close.
“Tuxes are expensive,” he chides me.
“Charge it to the Crown.”
He grins as he pulls his shirt
out of his trousers, then begins to unbutton it. He’s wearing a t-shirt under it, damn him.
When he pulls the t-shirt off, it’s one smooth, graceful motion. I take in his body that I adore so much now: his powerful shoulders, the magical rune tattoos that mark his pecs and run down his corded arms, the chiseled, defined abs over the polished lines of the black trousers he still wears. Something makes me think of the first day I met him, with his sunglasses covering those deep blue eyes. When he’d smiled at me then, gorgeous as he was, I’d already guessed he was a hazard.
“I should have put on music for the show,” I tease him.
There’s a soft knock at the door. Airren frowns. “Were you expecting someone?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Cover up.” He’s already headed toward the door.
I slip to one side of the bed, drawing the blanket up and around my shoulders. I can’t duck under the covers. What if it’s an attack?
Airren checks the keyhole. “Yes?”
“Prince Rian noticed that Tera was missing dinner, and thought he’d send some to her in case she was unwell.”
“Subtle,” Airren mutters.
A servant stands in the hall, with a silver push cart laden with food.
“Stay there,” Airren tells him. He glances up and down the hall, ready for a fight, and then quickly checks over the cart. He nods and thanks the servant, then pulls the cart into the room.
When he’s closed the door, he says, “Rian always did have a reputation for intentionally poor timing.”
The gentlemen of Avalon have such a formal way of saying cock block.
“You think he’s trying to throw you off your game?” I ask.
“He should know by now, that can’t be done.” Airren abandons the cart full of food and bounds across the room before throwing himself on the bed beside me.
His energy makes me laugh. He grabs me around the waist, playfully tackling me and covering my face and neck in kisses. I breathe in the warm, spicy scent of his cologne.
When his lips meet mine, there’s a bite of alcohol, mixed with the sweetness of honey. My lips part against his, but he’s already moving on. He kisses the corner of my mouth, my cheek. As I tilt my head to the side, he devours me with his kisses.