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“What speech?” I reply, shooting him a grin when he finally looks up at me.

Margot makes a sound before shoving her things back into that stupid little purse. “They’re already down there. Gwyn just didn’t bring her phone.”

“Well, shit,” I say, and before she has a chance to heckle me about it, “You were right. The tie is fine though, right? Gwyn said the blue makes my…”

I trail off, but it’s too fucking late when I find Margot’s giant dopey face, smiling wide, about an inch away from mine.

“The blue makes your eyes pop?” Margot finishes the sentence, obnoxious as usual.

“Is it fine?” I ask, exasperated as she reaches over to adjust it.

“I don’t think anyone will actually care about the tie,” she says, giving me a knowing look. “Now, we are really going to be late. I’m pretty sure it’s bad luck for you to show up after her.”

“You just made that up,” Nico says, unfolding his long body from the couch and adjusting his own tie before leading the way out the door. “I’m sure your speech is adequate,” he mocks, trying to make me nervous.

Jokes on him though, because I’ve never been more fucking sure of anything.

A few minutes later, when we’re stepping out of the rear elevator—far from all the guests—all I want is to see Gwyn. I think I catch a glimpse of her, but the people surrounding her block my view.

Hale is wearing a bright blue suit, and I’m sure Gwyn will be pleased that it matches my tie. Sasha walks up to them, holding a drink. She’s wearing a matching blue dress, and I refuse to make eye contact when she looks over. Half of our genetic makeup is the same, and that’s all it is. I don’t want to talk about it, even though she seems keen to.

Gwyn says it’s not what I think, that I should just talk to her. But I can’t. I’ve only ever been a brother to one person, and now he’s gone. I’m nobody’s brother.

Hale steps aside when he sees me, interrupting Agnarr and Gwyn’s conversation with a gentle nudge to her arm.

Her long, recently dyed, black hair has a slight curl to it, sleek and shiny and hanging loosely down her back. The tulle dress she wears is a rich, creamy color, with puffy, off the shoulder sleeves. It’s a similar design to the dress she wore when she ate my father’s heart, although that dress had been blue, and I wonder if she suggested we all wear blue today on purpose. This gown is floor length, billowing out and dragging on the ground behind her as she moves. I don’t know what kind of makeup Hale did for her, but she’s glowing. Or maybe that’s just her. Her lips are painted a bright red that reminds me of apples, and I breathe deep just to catch her scent.

“Gwyn,” I say in greeting, offering her my arm.

“Elskan mín,” she replies, greeting me with a kiss to the cheek. Threading her arm through mine, I lead her away from the others. With members of Ketill’s former coven here to visit, it’s going to take everyone a while to find their seats. Judging by the noise inside, we’ve got plenty of time, so I guide her slowly toward the doors we’ll enter from.

“That was good,” I say. “You’re a natural.”

“Don’t lie,” she says, pinching the area between my thumb and forefinger. “You’ll have to speak for us if we ever go to Iceland.”

“I’m not much better,” I admit, leaning against a pillar while we wait. “Your tutor has put us on pretty even footing.”

“Yeah.” Her perfect lips form a perfect pout. “Do you…do you think this is weird?”

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s so fucking weird,” I answer immediately.

“It’s what he wants,” she says leaning against me. “Is it whatIwant though?”

Gently, I brush her hair off her face. “I’m pretty sure you said—just yesterday, in fact—that you can’t wait to ‘permanently cosplay as Akasha, Queen of the Damned, Aaliyah’s version, obviously,’” I say, forming air quotes with my fingers.

“May she rest in peace,” she laughs as she stands on tiptoes to nip at my lips. “Shut up. I clearly only meant the rose petal bathtub scene.” She blushes, thinking about exactly what I did to her on the edge of said bathtub.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t love calling ourselves royalty, but, I mean, what else is there? This isn’t a democracy.” She sighs, hanging her head. “You know, Agnarr would have probably been a decent leader. This feels like a waste.”

“You’ll be better, ma petite cafarde,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple, and she jolts away from me almost immediately.

“You said you’d tell me today if I remembered! As a gift!” she shouts, grinning because she didn’t forget.

“It’s silly,” I say, feeling the tips of my ears turning red. “Something my mom used to say.”

“Well, out with it,” Gwyn demands, tugging at my tie, scarlet lips arched in a pretty smile. She’s been so fucking playful the last few weeks. Sure, she still has moments of melancholy that she seems afraid won’t pass, but she’s finally in therapy that she says is actually working. We found a therapist who happens to be a witch as well, so she can share her world without fear.