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She grinned at him. “How do you know you didn’t just do exactly what I wanted?”
“Enough,” Brand growled. “I’ve reached my end.”
Magnus, Fern, and Araxis all said, “Same,” at once, glaring at each other.
“You two, go,” he said. “Araxis, please—take me to my mate.”
“May I see your invitation?”
Fern gave the Sorcerit at the door a once over, her skin crawling with embarrassment. “Unfortunately, I left it at home,” she lied, moving to enter anyway.
He blocked her path and produced a long scroll. “A name, then, so I may check it against our list of invitees.”
What an arsehole.
Especially because the request twisted something deep inside her. She was fairly certain Fern wasn’t anywhere on that blimmin’ list, and she didn’t know another one to give him. Damn it.
A wall of heat appeared behind her.
“She’s with me,” Magnus rumbled, his gigantic palm landing at the small of her very exposed back.
Fern was not at all proud of the way her breath shuddered out.
The Sorcerit bowed, popped up, and bowed again, suddenly wearing a wide-eyed look of awe on his face. “Of course, Your Highness. Welcome t-to Nachthelliae and this most blessed of celebrations. We are honored you’ve come to join us. Please”—he flourished one arm and pointed, as if they couldn’t see the fucking party going on—“this way.”
This was what she got for running ahead of Magnus. She took one look at him in that rosy velvet robe, with its copper stitching and beaded leaves, the open vee deep enough to show the top half of his impressive, tattooed abdomen, and nearly passed out. Sprinting away seemed like her next best option.
He was too big, too fine. Even worse when Araxis snapped his fingers and cleaned them both up, pinning her lavender curls, and smoothing the Wolflord’s wheaten waves and beard. And who the fuck gave him the idea to line Magnus’s amber eyes with emerald paint and black powder? He was infuriating enough as it was—he didn’t need to look absolutely beautiful on top of it.
Magnus applied a tad more pressure to her back before his touch disappeared, leaving the spot cold. “After you, lass.”
Fern lifted her chin and swept onto the so-called Observation Deck ahead of him, hoping the show of confidence diverted attention from her mangled wing and the fact that she couldn’t quite tame the flutters in her stomach.
She needn’t have bothered. Every stuffy Sorcerit in the whole place was completely wrapped up in themselves, no care for a random Fae in their midst. It was nice, actually, to be invisible. Comfortable. Though it did beg the question of exactly how they were going to succeed in their game of mass distraction.
The yawning space glittered around them, black stone and summoned starlight heaped perfectly together to create the illusion of floating in the night sky as they entered the throng. Above was wide open, the lack of a ceiling making way for galaxies and nebulas to blend down and meet the spires of Starkeep, adding to the effect.
Nachthellians nibbled on tiny foods and sipped from silver goblets. They danced, slow and sedate, to subdued strings and flutes. Even their flowing garments—beautifully made and clearly the best from their wardrobes—seemed somber. The jewels were dark, the metals were dark, and the fabric beneath them was darker. In fact, if she squinted her eyes just right, they mostly looked like a sea of floating heads.
Fern ran clammy palms down her thighs, smoothing the rich green silk, and suspected Araxis gave her such a brightly colored dress on purpose. She stuck out like a sore thumb.
And honestly? Thank the Sisters for that, because—sweet fucking shit—the rest of them were so boring.
“I see you both finally made it.”
Fern refused to jolt at the unexpected sound of Vann’s voice beside her, especially since the grassy taste of his power should’ve alerted her to his presence. “Just in time, eh? Someone needs to remind them this isn’t a fucking funeral,” she grumbled.
“Indeed.” Vann chuckled, tucking a wayward sheet of his platinum hair behind a pointed ear, then leaned in. “Much needed, if I understood our youngest brother correctly.”
He was dressed somewhere between her and the Nachthellians. His usual overcoat had been replaced with a sweeping, deep bronze robe, left open to show off embroidered forest trousers and what was barely an ivory shirt, his body on full display beneath the gauzy scrap. Not nearly as drab as they were, but quiet enough that she was still the outlier.
Well, she and Magnus.
“Aye,” Magnus said. “Though I wish he told us beforehand and we weren’t forced to make it up on the spot.”
“Oh, are we back to assuming he’s not a complete bastard?” Fern asked, false innocence dripping from her tone. “I’m so sorry, I must’ve missed that over the sound of my bones crunching together. I was still under the impression he only thinks about himself and damn the rest of us.”
Who cared that Araxis gave her a tonic, or that she was floating on a fluffy cloud of numb bliss? She wouldn’t have needed the damned thing in the first place if he didn’t fucking mangle her.
