Page 17 of The Path of Blood and Betrayals

I never wore them outside of that event, three years go, but here, they fit. Wearing the purple now, I look as if I belong. Something I’ve always wanted since I was a child.

A guard escorts me to the ballroom, stopping at Tay’s side.

He smiles easily, dressed in another purple dress shirt, copper waistcoat, and a pair of darker slacks, copper whorls lining his collar and cuffs. His long white dreads are pulled back with a leather strap, a copper ring poking through his nose.

He looks like a leader, someone people can aspire to be like. I’m proud to stand beside him.

After being announced, we enter the ballroom, my eyes widening with awe at the opulence even as my magic stretches. Heartbeats, thundering drums slip into my ears, a roar that hurts and my magic sizzles with hunger.

There are so many people that my power is reaching, begging for them, and it’s terrifying.

I can’t let my control slip—I shove more strength into my mental shields, breathing deeply and focus.

Various groups of people all converge on the entrance way. Most of them are male and Human, wearing different shades of blue to represent their connection to Griffin’s court.

From past experience, Tay directs me to the back of the room, away from the crowd so as not to tempt my power and I sigh, relieved.

A few people whisper behind us, piquing my interest. “Taylay of theBlackwoodsCoven,” a female whispers. Tay’sshoulders tense and my nails dig into my palms to keep from turning. Hopefully, this isn’t the beginning of mass hysteria.

“I hear he’s second in command. Behind his sister.”

“A woman leads them?” A male scoffs. “Pity. Women aren’t meant to lead. That’s a man’s job.”

“No wonder the Covens are few and weak. Powerless. Like their rulers,” a second male says.

My blood boils at the insinuation.

Women are capable of so much more than these simple men could fathom.

“I don’t know,” the female cautions. I give up trying to hold still and look over my shoulder to three heads bent together. My glare burns into their cheeks but they ignore me. “They say Nafre is astrong ruler. She’s grown the Coven past what her mother did. That her brother is powerful. A healer with amagicaltouch.”

“Magicaltouch?” A dismissive snort. “That’s a myth. Magic doesn’t flow in our world.”

“They say hundreds of years ago, it once did,” the second male reminds him. “Remember the tales? Magic was plentiful. Species could control the elements, cast spells. Even heal.”

The male snorts. “If that’s the case, we have not seen an actual healer in?—”

“Hundreds of years,”Taycuts them off, his silver eyes narrowing on the gossiping group. I smirk at his interruption. “My great-grandfather was said to be the last healer.” His body turns, his massive frame large like an unyielding boulder. “Though it’s a myth, it is a rare power, to be sure. And though I do not lead, I can heal.” He raises his large palm, dark fingers humming with magic as a light blue sheen hovers over his skin.

His power—his magic, it wafts into the air, cool and comforting like water.

Terrified and amazed, the people step away, unsure of this display. Magic is unheard of but to come face to face with it? It makes them nervous.

“So much for staying hidden,” he mutters, earning a quick snort from my lips. Grabbing his hand, I squeeze it once, a show of pride from words I can’t say.

The amazement isn’t enough to deter other conversations from breaking out, as the ballroom doors open once more.

A guard steps forward, announcing: “The DarkFaeKingdom, represented by heir, Kaden Moorgate, and his siblings Lady Serafina and Lord Reid.”

Three figures step forward and the whispers top, silence reigning.

Kaden is in the center, his presence like the cold reach of death, silent and assessing. His long black locks are knotted on top of his skull, his pale skin glinting against the flickering torches overhead. Gone are his riding leathers, he now wears a suit of silk, a red cloth hanging over his shoulder like afaux cape.

Those bright eyes scan the crowd, lingering on me for a moment too long, and I shift, uncomfortable. Whatever he sees, causes his eyes to flash behind that cool mask and he grins. Charm and arrogance ooze from his pores, transforming him into a prince before my eyes.

A Fae of masks. He knows how to play to certain groups.He’s dangerous.

Serafina is tight to his side. She’s delicate and thin compared to his broad strength. Fiery locks are long and silken against her shoulders, the black gown thin, wispy like shadows, a trail along her feet.