Page 21

The celebration continues around us, having moved from the initial ritual at the fountain to a more festive atmosphere.

Tables laden with delicacies have appeared, and fae servants weave through the crowd with trays of blood-filled goblets.

Nobles and merchants dance and laugh, although they give Aerix and me a wide berth, their eyes flicking toward us with a mixture of fascination and fear.

I lean against a marble column, the cool stone grounding me as Aerix’s arm drapes around my waist. Despite the looks and whispers, I feel strangely at peace—elevated, even.

Powerful. The dagger at my hip and the taste of Aerix’s blood lingering on my tongue are constant reminders of what happened at the fountain.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Aerix asks as he hands me a glass of wine—one without blood in it. His wings are relaxed behind him, although I can feel the tension coiled beneath his skin.

“Very much so,” I say as I take the glass. “Although I’m pretty sure that half the court wants me dead right now but is too terrified to say it.”

His lips curl into that predatory smile I’ve come to love. The one that promises violence dressed as charm—toward everyone other than me, obviously.

“If the other half of them isn’t terrified to say it, then I must be losing my touch,” he says, and I laugh, the sound drawing more stares from nearby fae.

Before he can say more, the crowd before us parts, and a striking woman with gold-streaked wings approaches, her chin lifted in haughty disdain. The expensive silk of her gown rustles as she walks, and the fae around her defer to her with subtle bows and averted gazes.

“Prince Aerix,” she says when she reaches us, and while she shoots a glance my way, she doesn’t address me. “What an unusual display you treated us to tonight.”

Aerix’s wings rise slightly. Not enough to alarm, but enough to warn.

“Lady Reesia,” he acknowledges with a slight nod. “I trust you’re enjoying the celebration?”

She ignores his question, her gaze settling on me with detached curiosity. “The Night Court has rules for consorts, Your Highness,” she says to him, swirling the blood in her crystal goblet as she continues to stare me down.

Aerix tenses beside me, a cold breeze blowing around us.

“You forget yourself,” he begins, his voice dropping to that dangerous register I know precedes violence.

I place my hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “Let me,” I murmur—not because I doubt his fury, but because I want the satisfaction of tearing her down myself. If I want respect around here, I need to earn it. The night fae won’t accept anything less.

“It’s Lady Reesia, yes?” I ask, my voice steady despite the determination building inside me.

She preens slightly, her lips puckering in displeasure. “Indeed.”

“Aerix has never mentioned you.” I tilt my head, studying her, as if I’m trying and failing to place her.

Her wings stiffen, and nearby conversations halt as fae turn to watch.

“I understand your concern over what happened tonight,” I say, my tone conversational, but carrying just enough of an edge to hopefully make her wary.

“When you’ve spent centuries clinging to relevance, it must be terrifying to see change happen right before your eyes.

To witness something new and powerful that makes you question your own worth.

” I take another step closer. “Tell me, Lady Reesia—when was the last time a prince of the Night Court looked at you with anything but polite disinterest?”

Gasps ripple through the gathering crowd. Someone laughs—a sharp, surprised sound quickly stifled. Isla, watching from nearby, raises her glass in subtle approval. The queen’s eyes are narrowed, but surprisingly, her lips curve up into a slight smirk.

Lady Reesia’s face contorts with rage, her composure cracking.

“You insolent creature,” she hisses, flinging the contents of her goblet at me.

Blood splashes across my face and chest, soaking into the diamonds of my gown, dripping down my neck.

Then Aerix is behind Lady Reesia, his dagger buried to the hilt in her back, directly through her heart.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream, blood flowing out of it instead. Her wings convulse, like they’re giving one last attempt at keeping her alive, then go still.

“No one,” he growls as he twists the blade, “touches what’s mine.”

The moment he pulls out the dagger, she crumples to the ground, her blood pooling on the stone, mingling with the droplets that fell from my face.

Aerix stares down at her body, and then—chillingly—he smiles. It’s not his usual predatory grin. Instead, it’s something ancient. Something feral. A reminder of just how deadly he is .

He steps over her body, returning to my side as if nothing extraordinary has happened. However, his breathing is controlled and steady—unnaturally so, as if he’s barely holding on to control—his eyes dilated as he gazes down at me like I’m the only other person here with him.

“Red suits you,” he says softly, wiping a drop of blood from my cheek, savoring the feel of it between his fingers, “but I prefer it to be mine.”

I lean into his touch as a cool breeze caresses my skin, like an extension of him is checking for injuries. “Good,” I say quietly, meeting his steady gaze, never wanting to look away. “Because yours is the only kind I want.”

He leans down and gives me a soft kiss, one full of care and promises, his body tense as he pulls away to scan the crowd. “Does anyone else wish to question my consort’s place in this court?” he asks them. “Anyone at all?”

One noble flinches, his wings pulling tight against his back. Another lowers her eyes, refusing to meet his stare. But what’s most telling is the silence—complete and heavy with fear.

“No?” Aerix’s satisfaction ripples through the cold air. “I thought not.”

He steps over Lady Reesia’s body with elegant disdain, as if she’s nothing more than discarded rubbish. Then, to my shock, he raises his wrist to his mouth once more and bites, blood welling against his pale skin, dark as spilled ink.

I move forward to drink again, his blood calling to me like a siren song.

“No.” He catches me by the wrist, and then his fingers are at his mouth, dipped in blood, rising to my face.

“What are you?—”

I don’t have a chance to finish the question before he’s smearing his blood across my cheeks like war paint, the scent of him dizzying, his touch grounding me in place. Down my throat his fingers trail, following the line of my pulse—a devotion and a declaration all at once.

“You are my salvation,” he says softly, but not so softly that others can’t hear. “And I will drench this court in blood before I allow anyone to question your place beside me.”