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Layala rolled her eyes. “Need I remind you, you’re an elf now. A powerful one but not immortal.”

“Best keep talk of gods to a minimum,” Presco said quietly. “I don’t think anyone will recognize either of you given the length of time passed, but the blood of the gods is very present in your veins. Many will believe you to be descendants. Don’t give them any reason to ask further questions.”

Layala pressed her lips together. “Why do they hate the gods so much?”

“Us dragons were attacked in a brutal war and then abandoned. Most don’t know why the way was shut.”

Layala stared at a lady with fuchsia hair in a matching dress strolling past and another with vibrant blue locks, and the closer she inspected under those hats or umbrellas the more she noticed bright hair colors. There were few who didn’t look to enhance the color even if it was a shiner brown or a brighter red. “You weren’t joking when you said your hair potions were a lucrative business.”

Presco nodded to a passing couple who waved at him and said “Hello,” after they passed, he peeked back once more. “Well, I don’t like to brag but Presco’s Potions has become a staple in the lives of many ladies.”

“Congratulations on your success, Presco,” Hel said.

“Thank you,” he said grinning with pride and turned back around.

Hel reached up and twirled the white lock of Layala’s hair around his finger. “Perhaps this can be turned back?” He stared at her a moment contemplatively. “On second thought, I think I like it. It’s unique, as are you.”

Layala lowered her voice to say, “You don’t have to start pretending to be a good husband. No one is watching.”

He leaned in close, until his lips brushed her ear. “Oh, yes they are. And it’s not an act. I meant it.”

The line between hate and love was becoming increasingly thin.

Presco turned into his shop “Presco’s Potions” and they paused for a moment outside then turned in. The crowded lobby was filled with shelves and shelves of different colored potions with labels she couldn’t decipher, and ladies drinking tiny tubes full of bubbly liquid with handheld mirrors, watching their reflection for their hair to instantly change color, or grow longer. One lady’s hair went from straight blonde cut at her shoulders to bright red curly hair down to her hips in a matter of seconds.

Layala looked up at the sign on the wall with the prices and nearly gasped. A thousand silver for one bottle, two for one thousand five hundred, and the ladies in here were testing out different colors and styles like they were free.

“Presco, dear, you’re back,” a female crooned, sliding her gloved hand along his bicep. Her long nose curved slightly to the side as if it had been broken once and never repaired. Her sleek white-blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. With crows’ feet around her eyes and smile lines, she appeared older, but Layala could never guess her exact age given how long the dragon shifters lived. “We’re running low on stock.” She smiled at Layala and Hel. “May I help you two find something? I love the white streak in your hair. It’s quite tasteful and modern.”

Layala realized she understood every word the lady said but she wasn’t speaking the language from Adalon.

“Ayva, this is Layala and Zar, the Blacks. Diamond Dealers from the east. I met them on the way in. They’re looking for something particular. Perhaps we can show them the private stock in the back?”

“But we don’t—”

“The private stock upstairs,” he prodded, eyes flashing.

Her brows tugged in; his introduction seemed to confuse her. She blinked a few times and then recognition flashed across her face. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Of course… our private stock.”

Many of the patrons glanced their way too often not to be eavesdropping. “This way, please,” Presco said and started through the busy room, stepping around crowds of ladies and toward a dark wooden door in the back corner.

Hel gestured ahead of himself. “After you, love.”

The burning jealousy in the reptilian eyes of the lady shifters as they passed was unnerving. Many whispered about why they weren’t invited to see the private stock of Presco’s Potions. “Elves.”

“New money.”

“What does Presco keep in the back?”

“Blood of the gods,” one whispered, watching Hel with narrowed eyes.

Layala pushed through the door, walking in on an apparent argument. “You brought them here to our home.” His wife’s eyes darted around nervously as if she were hiding something illegal. “Dragons’ breath, I wasn’t expecting—when you said you needed to check on the manor I never expected them to be there. This isthem.”

“I didn’t either, my dear.” He patted her back gently. “Say hello, please. She speaks Murelien best.”

Once Hel closed the door behind them, shutting out the chatter and noise from the storefront, Ayva began to pace.

“I understand the language you’re speaking now,” Layala said. “Hello.”