Page 24

EZRA

M y borrowed suit is a little too tight, verging on uncomfortable, but damn it looks classy.

When Syril came up from the basement with it I cringed, but now I can’t deny the dark velvet has flair.

The tails of the jacket hang to the backs of my knees and the pants are obscenely molded to my ass.

Crystals are sewn into the lapels like stars.

The shirt is crisp and white with a stiff collar that digs into my neck, and the vest is embroidered in an intricate pattern in subtle midnight blue that shimmers when I turn.

There’s no tie, but it looks purposeful, not careless.

When I look in the mirror, a stranger stares back at me.

I frown at my reflection. Something’s not quite right. I flick the top two buttons of the shirt open and run a hand through my hair, leaving it tousled instead of slicked back.

Better.

I still look like an ass, but now at least I’m an ass who’s not taking himself so seriously.

My nerves ramp up as I drive up the mountain, partly because I recognize the locale — houses in the area are the size of your average celebrity mansion and cost more than my entire life’s salary to date — and partly because this is important to Lysander and I’m scared to mess it up.

Historically, I’m not great with important moments.

I freeze up in the spotlight. I stammer on the stand. Hell, I skipped my own graduation.

Being around Lysander seems to put magic in my words, because no matter what I say, he always gives me the same look — like he believes me. It’s tough to accept that I might be someone deserving of that.

The chalet is visible through the trees as I turn up the long driveway, its glowing windows peeking through the canopy.

It’s only when I get to the gravel roundabout, which circles a massive, ornate fountain, that the immensity of the property smacks me in the face.

This is not the kind of party people normally invite me to.

No wonder Orion told me to borrow this getup from Syril instead of renting a suit.

The chalet is the size of a castle, seated on a vast green that sprawls out until it meets the forest. Mountains roll across the backdrop like they’ve been painted in.

Staggeringly tall white columns frame a freaking red carpet leading up the stairs to the chalet’s entrance.

Broad bay windows look down on concentric rows of perfectly manicured shrubs.

I pull up short of the entrance and idle.

Is it too late to take the roundabout back down the mountain?

Before I can peel off, I’m flagged down by a minotaur in a tux. I start to roll my window down but he opens my door without hesitation.

“Your keys, sir,” he says, holding out a hand.

A valet service? For my ancient Chevy?

“I can park it,” I hedge. “It’s manual.”

He sniffs. “Manual is no trouble. Sir.”

Great, I’ve insulted him.

Reluctantly, I climb out of the truck and drop the keys into his palm. There’s no one else around, so I guess I’m late. I climb the marble steps, unable to dispel the niggling worry that someone’s gonna take one look at me and shut the door in my face.

Don’t mess it up. Don’t mess it up.

No one stops me at the door. In fact, no one even checks that I’m on the guest list. I just waltz right in.

Inside, I’m greeted by a ballroom packed with monsters — more than I’ve ever seen at one time, dressed in formal wear of all colors and styles.

A quartet of blue-skinned, four-armed nymphs are playing jazzy music that drifts over the crowd, and more nymphs circulate the room bearing four trays each of tiny unidentifiable snacks or flutes of champagne.

It’s all extremely posh and extremely not me .

I just need to find Lysander.

“Ez! You’re late.” A familiar arm slings over my shoulder and I grunt in relief.

“Had to figure out all these buttons,” I joke. Orion is in a sharp white suit that looks so tidy it’s like someone cut it out of a single sheet of paper. His shadows spill over it dizzyingly.

He lets out a chuckle that smells like woodsmoke. “Your poor prince will have to unbutton them all later — you could’ve had mercy on him.”

I elbow him, but he ducks away. “Not the suit! I can’t afford to pay for a single crease.”

“Okay, okay.” I tug the bottom of my jacket. “Where is he, anyway? How does the whole King’s Oath work? Is he busy?”

Orion’s glowing smirk splits his face. “Relax. I bet he’s had almost everyone pledge by now — there aren’t that many wildlings in the city.

I’ll show you there.” He snags a glass of champagne off a passing nymph and takes a healthy sip.

I leave the stuff alone — besides being a teetotaller these days, I don’t want to go into this fuzzy-headed. “This way.”

The problem is Orion seems to know everyone at the party.

Every few steps we’re stopped by someone who wants to chat, and, of course, they’re curious about the human with him.

I had no idea so many monsters knew me. Or knew of me.

I guess word’s gotten around, and I don’t know how that makes me feel.

“I recognize you from the competition,” a harpy in a blue suit says eagerly, fidgeting with his bow tie. “You’re Syril’s human!”

“Uh.” He says it like someone would say ‘so-and-so’s dog’, but I can’t be offended. I guess I am kind of Syril’s pet human. Their human experiment. I hold out my hand. “The name’s Ezra.”

“Archimedes.” The harpy shakes my hand vigorously. “You can call me Archie. So pleased to meet you. I’m a lawyer for stoneskins, mostly, but we get the occasional human customer stumbling in. They’re so mundane, it’s charming!”

“That’s us — mundane,” I agree, fumbling for something normal to say. I don’t have the greatest track record with lawyers.

“It’s not a bad thing, not at all,” Archie goes on.

He seems to realize he’s still grasping my hand and lets go abruptly, cheek feathers puffing up.

“I’m a big fan of humans myself. So very literal-minded.

Bit of a thrill to go incognito among them, you know?

Just a few generations ago it wouldn’t have been possible.

Now even my grandad has one of these amulet thingies. ”

“Anyway!” Orion interjects brightly, taking my elbow. “We should get a move on. Nice seeing you, Archie.”

“Yes, yes. Find me later,” Archie says, waving us off.

Orion steers me away. “Sorry about that. Some people are weird about humans, like I told you before.”

“It’s fine. Not like some humans wouldn’t be weird about monsters, if they met them,” I say with a shrug.

“Yes, well, speaking of monsters to be weird about.”

Finally.

Orion brings me to the back of the room, next to the orchestra pit, where a curtain hides an entrance to another room.

“Your liege is through here,” he says with a flourish.

Instead of rushing through, I hesitate.

Orion lowers his arm. “Well, don’t run or anything.”

“I’m just… it’s nerves, I guess.”

Orion squeezes my elbow and his four flaming eyes flickering in a way that manages to be sympathetic.

“Listen. Syril made it out to be a big thing, but really, the King’s Oath is a symbolic gesture for most of us.

All the frills are there for the king to put on a show and prove he’s dedicated.

In the old days, if he didn’t, someone more popular would depose him.

But most of us have got with the times and we don’t worry about that anymore.

Sure, there are practical reasons it’s important, but the pledge of loyalty isn’t life or death. ”

I sigh. “I get that. I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this ambassador stuff, and with Lysander? He’s so…”

Princely? Sure, but he’s also a bit of an anxious mess.

Ethereal? Until he falls apart under my hands.

It’s just that every time I catch a glimpse of some new angle of him, it reminds me of how different our worlds are.

How can I be what he needs when I’m just a boring human with big old problems of my own?

“Trust me, dude. You’ve got it.” Orion gives me one last squeeze. “Do what feels natural. That’ll get you at least eighty percent of the way there.”

What about the other twenty? I want to ask, but strangely, Orion’s pep talk helps.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not that complicated.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I duck through the curtain.

There’s a short hall and another curtain ahead. It’s quiet, the music and the ballroom chatter dampened. I open the second curtain.

The room is dark, running lights lighting a path to the far end.

Strategic curtains block off shadowy enclaves to either side, where empty champagne glasses sit on low tables and monsters I don’t recognize holding murmured conversations.

Wings rustle and bodies lean toward each other.

The air is thick with familiar tension. I know what goes on in these kinds of rooms, and the low chuckles and brief gasps confirm it.

He’s made them fertile. The crazy thought drops into my core like a hot stone.

Then I see him, my breath catches.

Perched on a raised platform at the end of the room, the light makes him practically glow. Long, white-gold hair pours like water over his shoulders. A sky blue robe is draped over him, hiding almost all of his lithe form except his calves, which are crossed delicately. All he’s missing is a crown.

He clutches the arms of his chair like a lifeline. Syril stands behind him wearing a dress that looks straight out of Gothic Brides. They certainly don’t do things by halves. When Lysander sees me, Syril slides off the dais and disappears into the shadows.

I have no clue how I get to the edge of the dais — my legs must carry me there. I have the weird urge to kneel. But I’m not his subject — I’m his equal, and I’m not gonna do this their way. If they want a human ambassador, I’ll do it my way.

“Hey, babe.” I lean over the dais and drop my voice. “You come here often?”