Bryce

Bryce had barely settled in to work at her desk when her phone
rang. She saw who was calling and grimaced.
"Cormac. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I need you to attend a luncheon with me."
"Here in the real world, we say, Let's do lunch."
A pause, and Bryce smiled. The Avallen Prince said tightly,
"It's a formal luncheon at Lord Hawthorne's house. I've just been
informed that you must attend with me."
Bryce straightened. "Informed by whom?"
"My father."
It was her turn to pause. "What did my father have to say
about it?»
"Nothing. He's not invited." A small mercy. "The Hawthornes
and the Donnalls go back generations. This is between our families
only. And since you are supposedly about to become part of mine.
She could hear the sneer in his voice. "You are expected to be there."
She debated objecting, but... she surveyed her desk, her tiny
office. So at odds with the stirring forces around them. With her
entire life. She'd take anv distraction that was offered, even if i
meant mingling with the Fae. "Do I need to look fancy?"
Thirty minutes later, Bryce found herself beside Cormac as they
entered the opulent villa in the heart of FiRo. A mere two blocks
from her father's house, and nearly identical: pale marble, olive
and orange trees, beds of lavender swaying beneath them, aqua-
marine fountains sparkling in the sunlight … . everything screamed
money.
It was hard to believe Flynn had grown up here. A stiff-backed
butler ushered them through the shining halls, as immaculate
and impersonal as a museum. No TVs hung on the walls, no
sound systems, nothing beyond the occasional firstlight to indicate
that this place existed in the current century.
But Cormac's brows were high. Impressed
As the butler strode ahead, Bryce muttered to the prince, "I
should have known this would be up your alley. Anti-tech living at
its finest." She gestured to a closed wooden door as they passed.
"Dungeon's down there. If you go now, you can probably beat the
crowd for the two o'clock peasant flogging."
Cormac gave her a sidelong, withering look and said with equal
quiet, "I suggest you curb that irreverent humor before we enter the
dining room. You are here as a representative of your bloodline-
and our people."
Bryce lifted her eyes to the ornately carved cornices, silently
beseeching Cthona for strength.
Soft voices flitted down the hallway before the butler passed
through the open doors of the dining room
Bryce tensed for a heartbeat at the voices. Not just Fae awaited
her in that room. They were Fae nobility.
She glanced down at her lacy white dress and golden sandals.
Clean. No wrinkles or dirt. She'd changed, grateful she'd left the
outfit in her office closet in case of an important meeting.
"You look fine," Cormac murmured without shifting his gaze
to her.
"I don't give a shit," she hissed back. But .
these were her
father's people. Who had never known she was her father's daughter
before last spring, but ... she'd seen their stares in the streets since
then. Would never forget that they locked down their villas- this-

Villa when the demons attacked, shutting out anyone fleeing in

The streets. How many had died on the sidewalk just beyond these
gates, begging for mercy?
As the butler announced their arrival to the crowd in the din-
ing room, listing all ten of Cormac's royal names and titles, Brice
extracted her phone from her purse and pulled up Hunt's contact
info.
Or it had said Hunt this morning. Now his contact was listed
under: Hunt, Whose Bones I Want to Jump Immediately.
She swallowed her laugh. When had he changed that? Though,
after that kiss in the alley yesterday, she couldn't disagree. She
quickly typed out a message.
You'll never guess where I am. Nice contact name, btw. Totally accurate.
"Put that away," Cormac ordered under his breath as the butler
finished the grand announcement. "It's rude."
Bruce checked her phone one more time-_Hunt had answered,
In a meeting. Call you in an hour.
She sent him an answering Ok! before silencing her phone and
slipping it into her bag with a glare at Cormac.
The butler stepped aside, bowing low and motioning for them
to come forward. Bryce took a steeling breath and stepped into the
long, bright space that opened into the rear garden. Cormac put a
hand on her lower back, guiding her in, and she debated shoving
that hand off her.
A room full of people stared. No one smiled at her.
Fine. She didn't bother to smile back.
Cormac nudged her along, approaching a tall, handsome
Fae male who was the spitting image of Flynn. A little older; but
nearly identical, from the brown hair to the green eyes. Lord Haw-
thorne. She couldn't help but admire his slim-fitting charcoal
suit, though she loathed herself for it. A slim, blond Fae female in
a white sheath dress stood beside him, narrow-faced and cold-eyed.
Lady Hawthorne.
Flynn, gods bless him, loitered by the floor-to-ceiling windows
that overlooked the beds of lavender, knocking back a glass of
champagne. She'd never seen him in a suit, but….. Well, should it

surprise her, given how many crazy things seemed to be happen.

ing lately?
She and Cormac halted before their hosts. Lord and Lady
Hawthorne bowed their heads.
Bryce tried not to blink. Right. She was
.. a princess. Or at
least an unofficial one, engaged to a real prince.
Solas roast her alive.
Lord Hawthorne assessed Bryce, distaste filling his gaze, but
he said nothing. The crowd still stared. She didn't look to confirm
how many were smirking at her cold reception.
"I believe the term you're looking for is Your Highness," the
younger Flynn drawled, swaggering toward them, handing his empty
champagne flute to a waiting server. The words and motion set the
crowd of about two dozen people chatting and mingling again,
and though they appeared to be distracted, Bryce knew all eyes and
ears remained fixed on them.
Flynn didn't seem to give a shit as he came up to Bryce's other
side and kissed her cheek. "Hey, B."
His mother's nostrils flared. Either at the brazen show of affec-
tion or at her precious son deigning to touch a piece of trash.
Perhaps Flynn had done so for both reasons. It wasn't every
day that her heart softened a bit toward her brother's friend, but
she couldn't help the rush of gratitude she felt.
Cormac, however, made a good show of exposing his teeth.
"Lord Tristan." The greeting was a warning. Back the fuck off.
Flynn did no such thing. They were allies in this room full of
snakes.
So Bryce said to Flynn's parents, offering them a close-lipped
smile, "Good to see you."
Flynn's mother merely looked Bryce over with that cool dis-
dain. His father frowned deeply.
Cormac cut into the stiff silence. "Thank you for hosting this
luncheon. I'm honored."
"Of course." Flynn's mother shifted from icy aloofness to all
smiles as she faced the prince. "It was our lovely Sathia's idea. She

is so thoughtful " flynn snorted at the mention of his younger sir

her, earning a warning glare from his father.
They might have looked alike in body and face; but the two males
could not have been more different- Rumor had it the house spec:
Scular gardens were the result of the elder Lord Hawthorne.
carth magie, but how a male so hard-hearted could produce such
lovely things was beyond Bryce.
Cormac inclined his head, scanning the room until he found
the petite, dark-haired Fae female holding court amid a cluster of
tall Fae males. And enjoying every second of it, from the coy smile
on her pretty, heart-shaped face.
"Sathia never turns down a chance to trawl for suitors," Flynn
said cheerfully, and his mother glared again, bristling. "Maybe
she'll get lucky this time and actually snare some poor bastard."
"You are to be on your best behavior, boy." his father growled.
Bryce had picked up enough over the years to know that while
Lord Hawthorne had never been in the Aux, he was a highly trained
warrior. From his broad shoulders and the menace in that growl,
Bryce didn't doubt it.
Bryce threw Flynn a sympathetic look.
But it was Cormac who replied with bland politeness, "I shall
go make my greetings to her. It's been too long since we last saw
each other."
Flynn's mother smiled broadly, practically foaming at the
mouth, but when she caught Bryce smirking, cold reproach shone
in her eyes. All right, then.
Bryce looped her arm through Flynn's and announced to Cor-
mac, "You go say hi. I have some things to discuss with Flynn."
Cormac gave her a warning look that told her she was here
to further their ruse, not be antisocial, but she'd already made a
quick retreat with Flynn toward the windows.
Flynn swiped two flutes of champagne off a passing server;
handing one of them to Bryce. She sipped from it. Damn, they'd
brought out the good stuff for this.
Bryce halted at the foor-to-ceiling windows and surveyed the
room before saying to Flynn, "Your mom's a real charmer, huh;"
The other guests eyed them from across the room, but kept away,
Bryce ignored them all.
Flynn swigged from his glass. "She's pissy that you snatched
Cormac before my sister could get her claws in him. She's always
thought Sathia would be a princess. So has Sathia.'
"What about Ruhn?"
Flynn gave her a glare that nearly matched his mother's.
"Friends don't let friends marry assholes."
Bryce laughed. "Your sister's that bad, huh?"
"I've made sure Ruhn is well aware of what Sathia wants."
Flynn shrugged. "To be honest, Sathia's fine. She survives in what-
ever way she can, I guess. And I can't fault her ambition. At least
she knows what she wants from life.
Bryce decided against asking Flynn if he knew what he wanted
from his own. "Why does Sathia even want to be a princess? She
has plenty of power and money." Adding a title would be a step up,
yes--but it would also come with far more work and responsibilities.
"I don't know. I never asked. Maybe she likes the sparkly
crowns." Flynn drank again. "I'm surprised you allowed the Prince
of Assholes to drag you here."
"Part of the deal. Keeping up appearances and whatnot."
Flvnn snorted. "Yeah, same." Flynn might act the playboy,
but there were some duties even he couldn't shirk. She watched
his carefully neutral face, the boredom he plastered there. Who was
the male beneath all that? Beneath the partying and irreverence?
She arched a brow. "You really hate all this, don't vou?"
His brows lifted. "Why are you so surprised?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like I owe you an apology
for not realizing it earlier."
He winked. But his amusement faded as he said a shade qui-
etly, "That's why Ruhn and I became friends, you know. Because
we both hate this crap. We have ever since we were kids."
"What about Dec?"
"His family's rich, but they're not nobility. They don't run in
these circles. And Dee got to have a normal childhood because of

it." A soft laugh.

"Why do you think he's the most well-adjusted of
all of us? His parents actually give a shit about him:
Ir was as personal as they'd ever gotten. Flynn continued, "So
guln and L-and Dec. we made our own family," Another wink
And now you're in it.
"I'm touched. Really."
He leaned in to whisper in her ear, champagne on his breath,
-You ever want to know how the Fae measure up to the angels, come
find me, B. I don't bite. Unless you ask real nice."
She yanked back. "Take your self-destructive bullshit elsewhere."
He laughed--but the mirth didn't reach his eyes. She knew he
hadn't meant a word of it. Knew he was feeling trapped and pissed
at having to be here and was acting out in any way he could.
Indeed, his mother was beckoning him over to where she spoke
to a pale, meek-looking Fae female. Flynn groaned under his breath.
"Duty calls." He drained his champagne and didn't say goodbye
before sauntering to his mother's side. The Fae girl blushed at
whatever he said with that charming, boyish smile of his, ducking
her head and mumbling an answer.
Bryce snorted. Good luck to her. And to Flynn.
"Rough day, huh?" Hunt asked her two hours later as he slid onto
the barstool beside her at the gastropub off Archer Street.
Bryce held up a shot of espresso in one hand and a shot of
whiskey in the other. "I couldn't decide what I needed more: stuff
to numb my soul, or stuff to wake me up from that funeral of a
luncheon."
Hunt laughed, wing brushing over her bare arm in a casual,
warming touch. She couldn't help the shiver that went down her
skin in answer. "It was that bad?"
She knocked back the espresso as Hunt signaled the bartender
for a coffee of his own. "Spending time in a room full of people
who hate me isn't exactly my idea of fun."
He rested his arms on the black marble bar. "Yeah, I know the
feeling," he said.

He did. If anyone got it, it was Hunt. Bryce leaned into his
shoulder, sighing deeply. "Am I pathetic for still letting them get
to me?"
Hunt pulled back to survey her. She didn't balk from the
searching expression on his face. "You're talking to the guy who
recently got tossed in the Comitium dungeon for beating up some-
one who still gets to me after centuries of telling myself to ignore
him. So if you're pathetic, I'm a sad fucking loser."
She huffed a laugh, leaning back into him. "You're my favor.
ite person.
*Likewise, Quinlan." He slid an arm around her, and Bryce
savored the unfailing strength of him. Not a strength to overpower
her, but a strength that complemented her own--that bolstered it
and helped it thrive. It was hard not to thank Urd every single day
for sending Hunt her way.
They sat like that until the bartender brought over Hunt's cof-
fee, and Hunt removed his arm to sip from the hot drink. Bryce
watched him, noting the slight tension in his shoulders, his wings.
She asked carefully, "What sort of meeting were you in?"
Yeah, his wings shifted at that. "Sad fucking loser, remember?"
"Pollux, then?"
"Yeah." A muscle ticked in Hunt's cheek. "Staff meeting with
Celestina. Pollux was ... being Pollux. Trying to rile me. And Isa-
iah and Naomi. But mostly me."
"No wonder you flew over here so fast when I asked you to
meet me."
Hunt threw her a half grin. "Oh, not at all. I was just hoping
you were down for a bathroom hookup."
Bryce laughed. "I'd be game for that, too, Athalar."
Heat sparked in his dark eyes. "Yeah?" He set down his coffee.
Something low in her belly tightened in answer. She traced
her finger over the countertop. "After that lunch, I need to do a
little ... venting."
He tracked the sweep of her finger over the marble, his voice
dropping an octave as he said, "I've only got ten minutes before I
need to head back to the Comitium."

I'm sure we can find something to keep us occupied," she

purred, basking in the raw desire of his gaze.
"Then head to the bathroom, Quinlan," he said in that low.
growly voice that raked lingers down her skin. "T'Ilbe right behind
jou."
She hopped off her stool, already sickening between her
highs, and whispered in Hunt's ear, "That's exactly where I want
you, Achalar."
A soft snarl of pure need answered her, but Bryce was already
aiming for the bathroom at the back of the pub. Knowing his gaze
was on her, she might have swished her hips a bit. She could have
sworn lightning skimmed over her body in answer-_and a sensual
promise.
The single-stall bathroom had a working lock, which was all
she needed, Bryce decided as she shut the door behind her, heart
racing.
She washed her hands to give herself something to do, glanc-
ing in the mirror to see her eyes dark with desire, cheeks flushed.
A woman ready to get what she needed.
The door opened and shut, and the sound of rustling wings
filled the room. Bryce watched in the mirror as Hunt slowly slid
the lock into place, eyes on her ass as he said, "That dress should
be illegal."
She looked over a shoulder, hands braced on the sink. "Why
don't you come confiscate it?"
A dark smile graced his lips, and he prowled closer. She didn't
fail to note the hardness pushing against the front of his battle-suit.
Just the sight of it had her slickening further.
Hunt stopped just behind her, mouth dropping to her neck.
"Ready so soon?" he murmured against her skin, sniffing deli-
cately. Scenting her arousal.
Bryce pushed her ass into his front, drawing a hiss from him as
she said, "I could ask the same of you."
"Hmmm," he said, kissing just below her ear. "I think I need
some confirmation." His hands slid down her thighs. "Shall I?"
Bryce widened her stance. "Confirm away."

His teeth grazed her earlobe, tugging lightly before he slid a

hand under the hem of her dress.
Yes, fuck yes. His fingers skimmed over her bare thighs, work-
ing upward, and she arched slightly against him, breath tight.
He nibbled on her car, biting down again just as his fingers
reached the front of her underwear. He hissed again at the wet-
ness he found. "Solas, Quinlan.
Bruce could only manage a breathy moan. Hunt obliged her
by gently pressing down, tracing over the shape of her sex. She
bit her lip, halting just short of pleading with him to rip aside the
lace thong.
"I'm going to need more than ten minutes," Hunt said darkly,
fingers tracing and circling. "I'm gonna need fucking days to
explore you." He kissed her neck again. "Weeks." Another kiss.
"Months."
She moaned again at that, and he pressed down right on her
clit. Even like this, even over her underwear, he had her mere
strokes from coming. The bastard knew it, too, and said against
the hot skin of her neck, "Wound a little tight?"
She pushed back against him once more, grinding into his
considerable hardness. His answering groan sent her closer to the
edge.
He toyed with the band of her underwear, a cat playing with its
dinner. He likely wouldn't go any further until she told him, begged
him, and-
The door rattled.
Bryce froze, processing the heady desire coursing through her
and what that rattling door meant. Someone was trying to get in.
Someone who might very well take photos and report that she
and Hunt had walked out of a bathroom together. When she was
supposed to be engaged to Cormac-when she had just been at a
luncheon with Cormac as his fiancée.
"Shit," Hunt murmured, hands sliding off her.
Bryce just called out, "Occupied!"
Hunt grunted in amusement.
Of course there were no windows in here for one of them to
dimb out of. "What do we do?" Bryce paced a few steps.
"Watch and learn, Quinlan.
He opened a small pocket in his battle-suit and pulled out a
length of bandage. "Arm," he said, and she extended her hand
toward him.
He wrapped her forearm with the bandage, pinning it in place.
Then opened a packet of antiseptic ointment and a small healing
potion. He dumped both down the sink, their sweet and sterile
smells filling the air. Then he threw the remnants into the trash
atop the array of paper towels.
By the time Hunt opened the door, Bryce was playing along,
cradling her "injured" arm to her chest.
*Just don't remove the bandage for at least an hour," Hunt was
telling her as he stepped into the hall and nodded to the satyr
male waiting for the bathroom. "The potion should have healed
the cut by then."
Bryce met the satyr's stare and offered a glum smile. "Clumsy
me. I'm never going to hear the end of this from him."
The satyr just smiled weakly back before walking into the bath-
room, his inhaling sniff informing her that he'd scented the strong
odors of the antiseptic ointment and healing potion. Which were
not only "proof" of the medical emergency, but had also wiped
away any lingering scents of their arousal.
When the satyr had locked the door, Bryce glanced up at Hunt
to find him watching her, desire stll a dark flame in his eyes. "TIl
see you at home tonight," he said quietly. Then he leaned in to
whisper in her ear, "Maybe I'll play medwitch and tend to your
injury."
She bit her lower lip. But before she could reply, Hunt had
stalked out of the pub, people giving him a wide berth before he
leapt into the skies.
It was only when she was walking up the steps of the archives
that she realized she was still smiling. That all thoughts of the lun-
cheon had faded away.
Hunt had done that for her. She'd never stop being grateful for
it-for him. Bryce's heart tightened and something brighter than
starlight filled her veins.
It remained, shimmering and secret, glowing inside her for the
rest of the day.

Ruhn
It was early as fuck when someone started pounding on the front
door to Ruhn's house, ringing the doorbell over and over.
Sprawled naked on his bed, Ruhn cracked open an eye and
hollered, "Somebody fucking get that."
Dec hollered back from his room across the hall, "Somebody
fucking kill that person."
Flynn made no reply from his own room. The asshole was
likely sleeping right through the commotion.
Another round of banging on the door and doorbell ringing.
"All right, all right," Ruhn groaned as he slithered from the bed,
fumbling for his black jeans. He didn't bother with underwear as
he slid them on, forgoing a shirt and trudging down the stairs.
If the press had arrived to ask about Cormac's arrival, they
were in for a rude fucking awakening. Perhaps he shouldn't have
left the Starsword on the floor of his bedroom.
Ruhn yanked open the door, wincing as blinding sunlight
blasted him.
The petite, delicate female standing on the porch still had her
fist raised to the door.
It was worse than the press.
The female was immaculate in a white dress, her silken black
hair unbound, her tan face tight with displeasure. She wore little
as was appropriate for all well-bred Fae females, but solid
sapphire studs gleamed at the lobes of her pointed ears. A hint of
the obscene wealth her family possessed. From all appearances,
she was beautiful-_-the ideal of a Fae female.
Too bad she possessed the rotted soul of a Reaper.
Ruhn didn't bother greeting her before he turned to bellow
over his shoulder, "Flynn, your sister's here."
"Do you know what time it is, Sathia?" Flynn hissed from where he
perched on the grand staircase, nursing a cup of coffee.
Ruhn leaned against the banister at the bottom, his own coffee
already half-consumed. Dec sat at the top of the steps, glowering
at the female surveying them all.
"It's nine o'clock," Flynn's sister said primly. "Most people have
been up for hours already."
"Only people who go to bed at eight like good little sheep,"
Flynn shot back.
Sathia, Flynn's younger sister by a decade, smiled coldly. "Bet-
ter than the losers who drink and smoke all night and make a habit
of spitting on their ancestors' graves."
Ruhn snickered. The female turned her disapproving gaze on
him. "I include you in that group, Prince."
Ruhn sketched a bow. "Proud to be in it."
Sathia's dark eyes blazed.
Flynn cut in, "Why are you here, sister? Playing messenger for
Mommy and Daddy?"
"No. They have no idea I'm here. I came to speak to you. All
three of you."
"Lucky us," Dec muttered.
Sathia ignored him, and said to Ruhn, "I have it on good
authority that Prince Cormac of Avallen arrived here last night
and declared your sister his bride."
"This makes so much sense now," Flynn murmured to himsell.
Then he laughed. "Planning on hunting Cormac down and drag
ging him to the altar?"
Sathia planted her heels before Flynn could throw her down
the front steps. She yanked her arm from his grip and snarled with
impressive menace, "You're an embarrassment to the Hawthorne
mac
"Good," Flynn said, and slammed the door shut in her face. The
lord leaned back against it and rubbed his neck. "Gods. She's
the fucking worst.
"I bet her Ordeal will be something involving not being able
to get her manicure done on time," Dec said, coming down the
stairs.
Ruhn chuckled. "Or the agony of suspecting that the maid
stole her jewelry."
"Again," Flynn said. He eyed Ruhn. "You're so lucky you didn't
have to marry her."
"That was never an option," Ruhn said, but it was a half-lie.
Had his father ordered it, he would have had to marry Sathia. But
his father had bigger ambitions.
He never thought he'd be grateful for that.
Declan said, "Someone like Darragh Donnall would be a good
match for her. They'd make each other miserable
"You forget," Flynn said, "that I'd have to call that shithead my
brother.'
"True." Declan said.
"She'd be happier," Flynn continued, "with some weak-spined
male she can boss around."
"Plenty of those around here,"
Ruhn muttered. Fae nobility
were, for the most part, pathetic worms- as evidenced by their
behavior this past spring, shutting out desperate people from
their estates during the attack
Disgust roiled in Ruhn's gut.
Had the Starsword only chosen him, had Urd made him Star-
born, because there were no other decent rovals out there to cat
the burden? The thought of the title and sword falling into the
hands of some of the other Fae nobles, especially Cormac, sent d
chill down his spine.

«Bryce better be careful," Flynn said. "She'll have an army of

sefemales our for her blood now that she's engaged to Cormae
*Brce will enjoy the challenge." Ruhn said, frowning deeply,
*How'd it go with your father last night?" Dec asked.
same as always." It was all he needed to say. "The engagement
sands -
- don't trust that shithead Cormac for one second," Flynn
grumbled. "He must have some other reason for being here.
-Vaube, but he's as bad as Sathia when it comes to the whole
continuing the bloodline thing," Ruhn said.
*Speaking of which," Dec said, "any word from Hypaxia?"
Ruhn threw his friend a wry look. "No, asshole." He ignored
the glimmer of dread that rose in him. Not about his betrothed, the
beautiful and wise witch-queen, but about the fact that continuing
the bloodline wouldn't be possible for him, even if he wanted to.
Was it fair to Hypaxia, to hide that information? What did it
make him, to keep it from her?
It made him alive, for one thing. Since his father would surely
kill him if he knew.
His only value to his father lay in his breeding potential. And
without it ... no need for a thorn in his side.
Dec said. "Cormac is bad news, engagement or not. Id be care
ful if I were you, Ruhn."
"He's not going to jump me in my own city," Ruhn said
"He tried to kill you the last time you two saw each other," Dec
warned, and Flynn grunted his agreement.
That was before the Ordeal. He wouldn't dare now." Ruhn
"He holds a grudge," Dec insisted. "Not only did you get the
Starsword, you showed him up on his home turf."
"I showed him
up." Flynn corrected. "And if Cormac holds
a grudge, then we sure as Hel do, too."
* He patted Dec's stomach,
where the scar from Cormac's blade remained despite the male's
Vanir healing. Dec batted him away, "Let him see what happens if
he tnes to start round two.

Par a
moment, Ruhn was again in that mist-shrouded cave,
Dec's blood warm and sticky on his hands. But he shut out the
memory and said, "Just be on alert."
If they killed the prince, there would be all-out war between
the Valbaran and Avallen Fae.
Not that Cormac had shown any such concern all those years
180.
Ruhn entered the small yet beautiful villa through the back gate.
Of course. the two Fae guards posted outside noted his presence,
and definitely noted the Starsword strapped down his back, but at
least they would be the only witnesses.
He didn't mind people knowing that he visited his mother. But
he liked to at least pretend he could visit her without it making
the gossip rounds.
The garden at the rear of the villa was built for the arid climate,
unlike most of the lush, magic-fueled estate grounds around here.
White stones surrounded the olive trees; beds of swaying lavender
buzzed with honeybees. A tew orange trees by the northern wall
filled the place with their sweet scent-as familiar to him as the
reek of beer and mirthroot at his own house.
He entered the villa through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors
between two white pillars, stepping into the kitchen, which was
sunny yet cool. He unbuckled the Starsword and its sheath, tuck-
ing it into the umbrella stand next to the garden doors. The thunk
of the blade inside the ceramic holder was the only sound in the
prisone space.
No personal touches. No photos of him. Even while growing
up here, his artwork had never been hung on the stainless steel
fridge.
He hadn't even known parents did that stuff until he'd
gone over to Dee's house one day and spied his friend's shitty art-
work from school all over the place.
Ruhn let the memory fade as he strode through the white,
shining halls, aiming for the room where he knew he'd find his
mother at this hour of the morning.
Lorin was indeed sitting in the breakfast room, a book open
on the fruit-laden table before her, dressed immaculately in a
iaccolored gown. She was beautiful, as all Fae were, but there
was a gentleness to her lace. A sadness to her deep blue eves
Ruhns eyes.
She was always perfectly put together. Always pristine and
ready for a visit.
Not a visit from him, Ruhn had learned long ago.
But her gaze brightened upon seeing him, a smile of genuine
warmth gracing her face. "Ruhn," his mother said, rising from the
table.
"Hey, Mom." Ruhn motioned for her to sit. He pressed a kiss to
her silken dark hair before sliding into the chair beside her
Though she was two centuries older than him, they looked
the same age. He'd always
envied the fact that Bryce's parents
would remain looking like her parents- that is, years older than
her.
To what do I owe this pleasure?
his mother asked, piling
grapefruit and orange slices onto a plate for him.
Just wanted to say hi," he hedged, not ready to jump into con-
versation just yet. "See how you were doing. Did the handyman fix
that issue with the garden sprinklers?"
"Yes,
" his mother said. "Thank you for sending him!
Run refrained from saying that there was no
one eIse whe
would have sent for him. His mother had no idea who to even
call about issues in the home, and his father sure as shit wouldn't
bother to care. Lorin wouldn't have dared to bother the Autumn
King. anyway
Luna shoot him down. but Ruhn had come home
from his
Ordeal in Avallen to find that his mother had gone two weeks
in the height of summer with a
broken
When he'd asked her why she hadn't gotten it fixed, shed only
Mid she didn't want to inconvenience anyone
So Ruhn had made sure in the decades since then to visit at
least once a week to check on her- and the house
Kuhn picked at his fruit. then asked. " You see my father lately?"

His mother's eyes flicked down to her plate. "I have not had
that honor."
Ruhn clenched his jaw: "He's, ah, been busy."
The thought of his gentle, lovely mother with the Autumn
King.
The male had used her like a broodmare, sired Ruhn,
and then dropped her into this cushy villa to rot.
But at least mentioning the Autumn King offered Ruhn a good
opening into why he'd come. "We learned last night that he's
engaged Bryce to Cormac Donnall
His mother lifted her head at that, a smile gracing her beauti-
ful, delicate face.
"That is wonderful news.
Ruhn shrugged. "Bryce doesn't think so.
"She doesn't approve of the match?" Lorin frowned deeply.
" When you were ... chosen for the Autumn King," Ruhn man-
aged at last,
"did you get any say in it?"
His mother blinked at him. He'd never asked her about it-
only heard stories secondhand about the pairing that had resulted
in his birth.
"It was my duty and honor. I was happy to oblige
Ruhn took a long breath in through his nose. "You could have
said no, though. Right?"
"Why would I have ever said no?"
Ruhn suppressed his urge to groan at the ceiling. "Because you
didn't want to jump into his bed?"
"I was chosen to continue the royal bloodline. There is no rea-
son I should have not wished to do so."
The problem was that his mother had developed an affection
for his father in the process. One that the Autumn King was inca
pable of returning.
She asked, "What is this about, Ruhn?"
He couldn't risk telling her the truth--that he'd come here to
see if there was some way out of Bryce's engagement. Hoping that
his mother might remember some loophole either she or her laur
ily had tried to exploit.
It had been a fool's errand. Ruhn had grown up knowing hs
mother viewed her involvement with his father to be an honor-
even if it was little more than an arranged breeding. He didn't
know why he'd expected her to suddenly admit to having doubts
beforehand.
"Bryce is a smart girl-and a kind one," his mother said. "She
will see the wisdom and honor in this union with Prince Cormac.»
Lorin's mother had been a Donnall-it was through those
blood ties that Ruhn had been invited to Avallen all those years
ago. Blood ties were all that truly mattered among the Fae. Passing
on the noble heritage, ensuring that no one sullied it.
Had his father been a different sort of male, Ruhn would have
believed his relationship with Ember to be nothing short of defiant
of that tradition.
But whatever rules his father might have broken to be with
Ember Quinlan, he clearly didn't care to allow those transgres-
sions to his people. To his own daughter. Maybe that would change
when Ruhn took the throne. Maybe he'd be the first to break the
rules and traditions and put an end to the planned breeding and
arranged marriages.
Ruhn tucked away the thought and asked his mother,
"Any-
thing in the house you need me to look at?"
She smiled broadly, as if grateful for the shift in conversation.
Ruhn spent the next hour with her, until his phone buzzed
with a message from Flynn. Where are you? The meeting started five
minutes ago.
Shit-the meeting with the Aux captains. Ruhn typed back
Stall for me. Be there in ten.
He rose from the table and said to his mother, "I have to head
to a meeting, but let's plan on dinner sometime in the next week
or two, okay?" His mother beamed, and his heart tightened. Was
he any better than his father, stringing her along with occasional
visits and dinners?
The question lingered as Ruhn headed out into the lush quiet
of FiRo a few minutes later, strapping the Starsword down his back
Would he be any better than his father when it counted? When
he became king?
A small part of him wondered if the question even mattered.
With what the Oracle had told him about the bloodline ending with
him, he didn't even know if he'd live long enough to be king at all.
Picking up his pace, Ruhn kept to alleyways and side streets,
dodging the usual throngs of gawking tourists that would either
recognize him or the Starsword and start snapping photos.
I might not live long enough to be king.
The thought should have disturbed him. But all it left in its
wake was a strange calm, a hideous sort of relief. He waited for the
guilt, the self-loathing to set in. Braced for it as he entered the Aux
training facility, passing the Fae guards who saluted him.
But that strange calm and relief remained, steadying him for
the rest of the day. He didn't want to dwell too long on why that
might be.
Urd had decided his fate. He'd save his breath for fighting
things he could actually change.

Tharion

Fitzroy, huh," Tharion said, peering down at the river otter in the
bright yellow messenger's vest standing before him in the airlock
of the Blue Court. "Where'd that name come from?"
The otter's whiskers twitched, large, brown eyes blinking at
him. The creatures could understand their language, but they
didn't have the vocal cords to speak it, relying instead on writ-
ing. Animals, yet not. No power to speak of, beyond the occasional
drop of water magic.
The otter pulled out a tiny electronic tablet and typed, its little,
black fingers tapping the keys one by one. Tharion bent to take the
tablet when it was offered, and read: Fitzroy was my great-great-great-
grandsire's name, sir.
"Ah," Tharion said, smiling slightly as he handed back the tab-
let. "A family name."
More typing. My friends call me Fitz.
"Nice to meet you, Fitz," Tharion said as he reached into his
pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper."
"You up for delivering this
to the witches' embassy?"
A nod. Fitz extracted a metal cylinder from his messenger bag
and offered it to Tharion. Tharion slipped the note inside and
screwed on the watertight cap before handing it back to the otter.
"Give it to Queen Hypaxia--and Queen Hypaxia only.
nodded again, not an ounce of surprise or awe on his fuzzy
face. A true pro.
Tharion flipped the otter a gold mark. "Let's keep it between
us, Fitz.»
Fitz only winked and trotted for the small airlock built and
reserved for the otter messengers. With a hiss of compressed air,
the door sealed.
Tharion took his time heading back to his office. He had to
maintain the appearance of looking for Emile, but right now he
had a matter of his own to look into.
After locking the door to his office and powering up his com-
puter, Tharion typed in the name that had been haunting him
since last night.
Morganthia Dragas.
Hypaxia's second in command. The late Queen Hecuba's sec-
ond as well. If anyone were to lead a revolt or make an attempt on
Hypaxia's life, it would be her.
While the witches had been on his radar only in the vaguest
sense during his career; he'd looked into them after the Summit
this past spring. His friendship with their queen gave him cause to
be interested in who surrounded her. And after what he'd heard
about Pax's suspicions .
He skimmed through article after article about Morganthia.
Little info came up beyond her tie to Hecuba, who had been a
beloved, if enigmatic, ruler. Morganthia was the daughter of Moria,
who had been general and second to Hecuba's mother, Horae.
Moria's mother had been general and second to Horae's mother,
Queen Hestia, and so on throughout recorded history. A long line
of powerful witches who had always served the throne closely.
But now it seemed that Morganthia wasn't content to stand
beside the throne any longer. Did she want it for herself?
Tharion idly tapped a finger on his desk, leaning back in his
chair. The last photo he'd stopped on was one of Morganthia and
Hypaxia at the Summit. Morganthia stood beside her queen with
the gloom of a Reaper, all sharp angles and cold eyes. Pax hadn't

been smiling either, but the brightness in her eyes suggested kind-
ness and quiet joy.
It was that same brightness that had caught his attention when
he'd first encountered her, just two days before this photo was
taken.
For a moment, he let the memory tug him back to the muggy
warmth of the subterranean pools beneath the Summit center.
He'd been exhausted from the first day of meetings, and had
opted for a late-night swim in the massive, winding pools. They'd
been modeled to look like caves, with pillars and vaulted ceilings,
some of the pools a hundred feet deep and equipped with hous-
ing units for mer who wanted to sleep submerged. Since the River
Queen's daughter had wanted to stay in an underwater unit. he
had little choice but to sleep down here in his own pod, too. But
when sleep had been slow to embrace him, he'd found himself
craving the quiet and stillness of one of the shallower pools. He'd
assumed it would be empty so late at night.
At his desk, Tharion closed his eyes, letting the memory take
over.
Exhaustion weighed down his body, his tail, as he wended between
the pillars and grottos of the pools, reveling in the smoothness of
his movement.
A moment of peace after a day of handling massive egos. And
they were his job to handle, as the River Queen's daughter cer-
tainly hadn't stepped up to the plate.
He had no idea why her mother had sent her to the Summit
at all.
Well, there was the obvious reason, which was that the River
Queen didn't leave the Istros, but to send her daughter, untrained
and easily cowed ... He supposed that was why he had been sent
with her. He'd done the talking. Had listened to Micah and San-
driel and the Autumn King and Sabine and all those assholes jab-
ber away about war and trade, each trying to one-up the next.He
figured he'd let them talk for another few days, let them exhaust
each other, before making his points--and his queen's points-
known.
But just sitting there for hours had drained him. And though
he'd taken an early-morning swim to make sure the shift held, he
needed this. His love of all things Above didn't cancel out his love
for what it felt like to be in the water, to move in it, to listen to its
currents.
Another six days of this Hel.
At least he'd been able to sit. Athalar, the poor bastard, had been
forced to stand in the back all day. He'd been gifted to Sandriel-
Ogenas have mercy on the male.
There was nothing Tharion could do to help him. According to
rumors, Bryce Quinlan had offered not only gold but her very life
to Sandriel in Hunt's stead. Sandriel had turned her down.
And in the process, Sandriel had revealed Bryce's secret: Legs
was the Autumn King's daughter. While listening to the asshole
talk today, Tharion had been shocked to realize just how many fea-
tures and expressions the Autumn King and his daughter shared.
How had he--how had anyone- not realized it?
Tharion shook his head, swimming another loop around the
space, luxuriating in the powerful sweep of his tail, the answering
ripple of the water magic in his veins.
A faint splash sounded through the water. Like something had
been dropped.
He aimed for the surface, emerging slowly, making hardly a
ripple as he peered toward the source of the sound.
There, sitting at the pool's edge with her feet in the water, just
inside the glass doors to the hall, sat Queen Hypaxia.
He scanned the white-tiled space for any hint of her guard, but
the witch had come alone. She seemed content to just dabble her
feet in the serene pool and lean back against her hands. There was
no sign of her cloudberry crown or fine robes. Just a simple white
gown, as if she were one of Luna's temple virgins.
Had she come down here looking for someone, or just for
solitude?
Tharion kept to the shadows of one of the pillars, treading
water as silently as he could
He hadn't formally met Hypaxia, since the River Queen's
daughter had not formally met her, but he'd seen her during
the procession, the fancy meal afterward, and during the meet-
ing today. She'd been as quiet as he had been, listening to the
others rather than spewing vitriol. She'd even been taking notes
throughout.
Young, but wise.
She kicked her feet, splashing, tipping her face to the ceiling.
Young, but wise-_and beautiful
He knew better than to let that thought progress, but he couldn't
stop himself from swimming closer. From letting his tail make
enough of a splash that she looked his way, eyes wide with alarm.
He halted about ten feet away, where the water remained deep
enough to allow room for his tail to keep him vertical, and gave
her a crooked smile. "I'd be careful putting my feet in the water if
I were you," he said. "Something might bite off those little toes."
He winked.
She didn't smile, just asked sincerely, "What might bite them off?"
He chuckled. "I have to admit that I hadn't thought further
than the intro line."
She smiled slightly then. "I hope I'm not intruding."
He waved a hand at the massive chamber, sprawling into faded
gloom behind him. "Benefit to having a space as large as the entire
convention center: little chance for crowding.
She stared at him with those large, gorgeous eyes. "You are
Tharion Keto. The River Queen's Captain of Intelligence."
"A lot of people doubt that whole 'intelligence' thing where l'm
involved, but yeah. Hi." He bowed his head. "You're, ah……• Queen
Hypaxia.
A shallow nod, her face going a bit distant.
"I'm sorry about your mother," he added quietly.
"So am I," she said, but added, "Thank you."
She clearly wanted space and some time alone, but ... he didn't
miss the sorrow in her eyes. The way her shoulders had sagged at
the reference to her late mother. So he said, if only to get rid of
that sadness on her face, "How'd you think today went?"
She angled her head, as if surprised he'd opted to continue the
conversation rather than swim oft and let it politelv die
"I found it ... enlightening," she said carefully.
"So diplomatic,
he teased, and swam closer, leaning an arm
against the side of the pool. "I found it boring as Hel. A whole lot
of posturing and little substance.
Her lips twitched upward. "Is that your official report as Cap-
tain of Intelligence?"
"My official report is more like: windbag leaders blow a lot of
hot air while fighting over who has the biggest dick."
She laughed--softly, but with real humor. "I'm sure your queen
will appreciate your keen assessment.
He put a clawed hand over his heart in self-mockery.
"She
always does.
Hypaxia's gaze skimmed over the calm, empty water behind him
"I was advised to listen first. to evaluate my . . . companions
here, and then make my opinions known.
"Hence the noles
"You were watching?"
"Captain of Intelligence, remember? Unless you were doodling
love letters to your handsome fiancé."
She blushed at that. "Queens don't doodle. Or write love letters.
"Wrong and wrong." With a powerful movement of his tail, he
leapt beside her onto the edge of the pool, splashing her in the
Drocess.
"Sorry," he said as her white gown soaked up the water
streaming from him.
She waved him off. "A little water never harmed anyone.
He examined her face for a moment, then asked, "How long
have you and Ruhn known each other?"
"That's quite a personal question.
He grinned. "If you think that's personal, you're in deep trouble."
Her lips quirked again, as if she were fighting a full-on smile.
"Not long at all. We only know each other casually.
"He seems to have a good deal of interest in you." Tharion
"What happens when the dead come back? Are they . .. the
same?
"No. Iftheir body has been destroyed, they require a new one
Which is disorienting, to say the least. And some find that they do
not want to be ripped from the Eternal Lands. I haven't done a
true raising, though, so I can only tell you what I've learned from
mv tutors. We operate by a strict mor
al code, and they made sure
was well schooled in
"Thev re necmancers?"
"No. Thev re ghosts
Tharion
started. "Excuse me?"
"Very ancient ghosts. My mother thought it best that they be
the ones to teach me. Not just about necromancy, but about everv.
thing a queen needs to know.
His mind reeled. Necromancers weren't common, but they
weren't unheard of, either. For the witch-queen to be one, though-
that could have interesting implications. "Is this knowledge secret?"
"No. Some in my coven wish it were, but I am not ashamed. I
have no reason to hide the skill. It works hand in hand with my
healing abilities.
"Life and death.
"Exactly."
That companionable silence again fell, and Tharion swished
his tail in the water. She asked, "Do you prefer your mer form or
the humanoid one?"
"No one's ever asked me that.'
"Is it private?"
"No. I just.
" He considered. "I don't know the answer."
She studied him. Like she could see the part of him that some-
times only raced back to water because he had to, not because he
wanted to. He tried not to shift under that gaze, and turned the
focus back to her by asking, "Do you prefer being on land or flying
on your broom?"
She was having none of it. "That's not the same thing. But if
you must know, I prefer to fly." She gestured to a brooch shaped
like lush-bodied Cthona on her shoulder. "My broom is contained