Page 88 of Fatality on the Field

LUCAS

By the time the sun considers rising, our house is already awake and operating at DEFCON 1. I’m not sure if the sheer volume of caffeine being consumed in the kitchen would register as a controlled substance, but if so, the combined efforts of our family would have the entire university narc squad battering down the door.

We’re all so hyped up on adrenaline and coffee that it’s even got Kaspar a bit jittery.

I woke to a strong scent of espresso, baked cinnamon something, and the sharp tang of some cosmetic products that were applied with some kind of sprayer. There’s a spiky undercurrent of nerves, like the time I played the world junior finals and puked twice before lacing up my skates. I don’t get that way for games anymore, but apparently I do for anything involving national television, four realms’ worth of VIPs, and my mate being the centerpiece of a likely sabotaged main event.

Everyone else on the premises is either mid-shower, tying a tie, or mainlining that tasty morning fuel while simultaneously looking up the latest gossip online about today’s game. Kaspar is pacing with thudding, deliberate steps as he moves through the halls in a suit that looks like it could armor a small rhino. My new… boyfriend… is rapid-fire muttering what I believe are spells as he finishes his to-do list for the day. Our resident morning chef siren is humming in a low and constant melody that I suspect is designed to calm us as he works in the kitchen. And my other mate is standing in front of the counter, frowning as he cinches his tie around his neck with a tension that tells me he’s concerned about what his dad will say if he sees him.

We’re all shaped by our childhood traumas and victories, even if we’re ancient like him.

I’m in black with State U’s blood red trim on my stupid tie, a nod to both the Bowl and Morgana’s Fae-chosen aesthetic. My suit fits better than anything I’ve ever owned; Slade spent last night pinning and adjusting for all five of us before sending the measurements to the Fae designer, so it’s no surprise I look like I was drafted to be the face of the football team’s media day. I can’t complain, though, because it means we get to match our girl without giving away anything we’re not ready for yet.

It suddenly occurs to me that this has become ground zero for all morning chaos. There are three suit jackets draped over the backs of chairs, four travel mugs lined up at the edge of the counter, and a five-by-seven index card with the day’s schedule written in Channing’s blocky script magnetized to the fridge.

Slade floats between us and the stove giving last minute pep talks and refilling plates. His suit is a shiny black that shifts in undertone every time he moves. He’s made three pots of coffee before Morgana even appears in the doorframe. But that’s okay, because when she does, it’s an entrance.

Our mate is in a two-piece skirt suit in the university red with a jacket so fitted it looks like it might be a second skin. It’s trimmed in white piping that cuts clean lines over her frame and emphasizes her broad shoulders in a way that says, yes, she’s going to throw a car if you piss her off. Her skirt is pencil-tight, with a flared retro sweep at the knee that moves with her. There’s a matching fascinator perched on her head, the white birdcage veil skimming her brows . Mind, I wouldn’t even know that term if Slade hadn’t told me about it last night when he was ogling her outfit when it arrived at two a.m.

Morgana’s eyes look almost feral as she grins. Her heels are white, red-soled, and high enough to require a fucking oxygen mask. Pearls the size of small grapes wrap twice at her throat and decorate her ears. I know they’re not ordinary because the shimmer on them doesn’t match anything I’ve seen in the wild. That must be from one of the others, likely our prince, and I’m surprised she gave in by wearing them.

Our woman isn’t one for flashy shows of wealth and she’s already allowing way more than she wants to.

Her makeup job is smoky, like an old noire style, which makes sense given the style of her suit. While her ensemble says ‘don’t make me bite you’, the smirk on her dark lips says you’d enjoy the hell out of it. Des is triple-wrapped around her left ear, hissing low as she stares at us all like she’s daring us to fail in our protection duties. I arch a brow at the manifestation of Morgana’s internal fury, but the snake doesn’t even flinch at the attention.

“Wooooo-wee, you guys are looking sharp at this ungodly hour,” she says as Slade hands her a coffee cup. “Thanks, babe. I need this big time.”

“You deserve it after sitting still for all the makeup and hair things,” Slade replies with a small grin. “I know you weren’t happy about it, but the garment bag had specific instructions and materials with pictures included. I didn’t want to offend that woman when she did such an excellent job.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten it right without you, to be honest. It was past my skill level and you did an amazing job. Your sisters, I assume?” Our mate arches a brow with a smirk, as the rest of us chuckle.

Slade shakes his head. “Nope, cross-training from all the theater folks. The less wealthy arts majors often trade one another training to pay for the time needed to learn things. I might give voice or piano lessons to them in trade for costuming or makeup or hairstyling lessons that make me more valuable when productions hire me. More skills means better pay, just like anywhere else. Sometimes we trade that stuff with other majors as well, like people needing legal help with copyrights whereas law students need some help with persuasive oratory or whatever.”

I blink. “Hells bells, Slade! I can pay for shit and I didn’t even know about this system. You think I can get some of those folks to help with stats and my stupid ass geology class?”

Iggy looks up, his expression incredulous. “Lucas, are you actually taking Rocks for Jocks? Seriously?! I thought it was an urban legend.”

Rolling my eyes at the professor, I grumble, “I’m fine with science but maybe not at this level and it’s what the coaches tell us to take. However, I’m finding it more challenging than advertised because I don’t fucking cheat, okay? Give me a break, man.”

Morgana looks both thrilled and disgusted at my statement, but she shakes her head and waves her hands at us. “That is a discussion for later. I want us out the door in five. The press conference is going to be a multi-hour shitshow, and I would like to arrive early enough to get a feel for the venue.” She takes a measured sip of coffee, then fixes her gaze on Liam for a moment.

“Li, you alright?” she asks in concern. “You’re quiet and broody, which is the dragon’s job.”

The prince lifts his chin and smiles wanly. “I’m fairly certain my father sent envoys last night,” he says in a low voice. “However, they did not check in with Kaspar or me, which makes me nervous. I don’t know what Fae he chose, why he chose them, or what their intent is. Since we have traitors in my realm, too, this makes me even more nervous about all the exposure today.”

Morgana nods as she walks over to put her free hand on his chest. “If it was meant to spook you, it’s working. I know your family—much like everyone else’s—sends you over the deep end, but we can’t look like it does. You’ll need to get your game face on; pun intended.”

“Luckily, I have experience in that arena going back centuries, Maschula,” Liam says wryly. “However, Kaspar is handling it about as well as I am, so you may have to give him that advice as well.”

The dragon emerges from the hallway right on time in a suit so dark it’s almost absorbing the light. His dark hair is combed in a perfect line back from his face, every inch of him telegraphing ‘do not approach without clearance’. He grunts as he picks up a plate from the counter and eyes the rest of us. “I don’t believe the king would send the Knaves if he was not looking to kill Liam. Since I also have not heard whispers or shouts about Alwyn being angry enough to do that, I have decided that he must have sent regular soldiers or diplomats. The order to keep us in the dark until now is puzzling, but may not be as concerning as Li thinks.”

Morgana nods. “We trust you to do a threat assessment, but I’m going to have Channing alert Jax’s people as well. At least then we know that more than just our family is looking for them.”

“Fine. Let’s go then. I want to inspect the area again before outsiders are allowed into the press junket space,” the dragon says in an annoyed tone. “I don’t trust those Society fucks, either, and certainly not campus security. They’re all lucky to find their asses with both hands, a GPS, and a map.”

It’s meant as a joke, but everyone in the room knows it’s not entirely a joke.

Slade comes over, adjusting the lapel of my jacket as he says, “Hey, you look ready to chew glass. Don’t get so tense or people will know they’re getting to us, just like Lady M said. We have plenty of failsafes in place, Lucas.”