35. It’s Party Time

thirty-five

It’s Party Time

Rainer

I t takes too long to get to Ryalle. By the time we arrive, I am thoroughly annoyed with my brother and my best friend. Their mouths moved faster than our legs, exhausting me early on.

The thought of attending this damn party tonight only drains me further. I stifle an annoyed sigh, working to keep a neutral expression on my face.

My free hand runs the length of my fitted breeches. They’re a little more snug than I would’ve opted for and a brighter red than I prefer. My tailored doublet matches, the color drawing more attention than black would. The gold buttons down the front are ridiculously ostentatious, and the collar is too high around the throat. At least the undershirt is black, and the material is delightfully lightweight and breathable. My movements aren’t as restricted as I feared they might be.

Tynan wears a similar outfit in burnt orange and Ken in yellow. They look decidedly less comfortable than I am as they squirm and fidget with their detailing. Like mine, the waist of their doublets are cinched, making their chests and biceps appear even larger than they usually do.

Crowds of various colors move through the port’s streets before us like a swarm of bright-colored ants. Apparently, the peninsula’s southern cities enjoy flashy garb .

Eyes trail us as we pass. Many of the men and women here are of diverse statures—some frames are thick and curvy, some are lean and lithe—yet none of the nobles possess the frames of warriors as we do.

Then again, we are fae . And we are trained in combat. The human nobles have Tradelings to do their fighting—rather pathetic, really, considering it’s coerced.

Tynan scratches at a loose thread on his hem while Ken tugs the neck of his top.

“Stop fiddling,” I mutter to them.

Like two scolded faelings, they drop their hands in unison. I shake my head, unable to keep from chuckling at the ridiculousness.

My greedy eyes latch back onto Alessia—the only thing keeping me grounded today. She stands regal and thoughtful as she takes in the various docks to our left, and the city to our right.

Her dress is more like a slip than a gown, the purest of white, with a seductively low neckline and a high slit up her right leg.

I watch her quietly as we walk side by side, grinning as she takes everything in with those wide, grey eyes. The dress only makes the whites appear brighter and the greys stormier than ever—a symbol of both her purity and shadows.

It’s easy to forget how sheltered she’s been her whole life, but moments like these remind me. There’s a childlike curiosity to her. And instead of bringing me sorrow or anger like they initially did, I feel relief. There’s comfort in knowing she will have moments of wide-eyed wonder over and over again for the rest of her life. She will never be imprisoned or stifled again. I pledge my life to that promise. Instead, I will take her gently by the hand and lead her to experiences beyond her wild imagination.

“I will always provide you with intrigue,” I whisper the promise more to myself than her.

She turns to me, a soft gasp escaping her when she catches me staring. She blushes, and it’s so cute, almost innocent, contrasted with her boldness around me. The thought of her taking me to my knees with her shadows sends a bolt of heat straight to my cock.

I cough, adjusting myself discreetly.

“Do you see this, Rainer?” She squeals, turning back to the horizon off the shore to the west.

I continue to take in her profile, scanning the bare skin on her cheek where her thin tattoo usually is. As much as I hate the mark, it feels strange to see her without it. It’s almost as odd as my ears feel.

My fingers caress the tops, catching on smooth, rounded skin rather than my natural points. It’s a great thing Tynan fed when he did since he’s working hard to keep our true appearances masked. Instead of posing as traveling soldiers like in Wyrville, we now pose as nobles visiting for the celebration. He’s not only working his power to hide my ears but to hide Alessia’s Tradeling mark as well.

Alessia catches me staring again and grins, gesturing animatedly toward the water. “You’re not even looking!”

“I’m looking at something decidedly more beautiful than any water or trees could ever be, mo róisín,” I mutter.

I push my hair off my forehead and turn my attention to the view before us. The thick air is broken up with a light breeze carrying the scent of salt, brine, and jasmine. The city is perched on the edge of a lush, green peninsula framed by turquoise waters. The sun melts into the water off the coast, the water glimmering like a thousand diamonds around it.

Further down the coast, closer to the city, the harbor bustles. Ships of all sizes with colorful sails bob gently in the calm waters. Grand oaks interspersed with palm trees and magnolia trees line the cobblestone streets, swaying gently in the breeze.

We stand and watch the water as fishermen and tradesmen rush past us. When Alessia grows restless, we move toward the city center, lingering at various street shops since the fête doesn’t begin until sundown.

I figure it’s an excellent way to pass the time, indulge Alessia, and give Tynan the thrill of traveling, so he shuts up long enough to give my poor, fake-human ears a break.

I chuckle to myself, shaking my head.

The deeper we get into the city, the more alive it becomes. String music and flutes reach my ears from a nearby square, where a small crowd gathers to watch live performers.

My gaze doesn’t linger for long, though, because I’m drawn to Alessia’s face, soaking up how her lips part and her eyes twinkle. She intertwines her fingers with mine, and I tug her closer.

A few nobles pass, dressed in elegant, lightweight garments that match ours. They offer me a nod. I return it with a forced smile, playing the game.

We turn a corner, and the buildings give, offering us a glimpse of the looming palace.

“Holy shite,” Alessia says breathlessly.

Perched where the grass meets the sand, the palace stands against the coastal backdrop. It’s four stories high and built like a massive, ornate square—a castle disguised as a house. The pale, weathered stone seems to glow softly in the evening sun. Tall, arched windows catch the light, and sloping roofs topped with dark slate add a sense of grandeur. The windows are framed with louvered shutters, a bright blue-green color that matches the sea behind it.

I eye the gardens curiously, taking in the azaleas, camellias, and honeysuckles that add a burst of color against the lush landscape. Towering oaks and willow trees—larger than I’ve ever seen—and pillars wrapped with trailing moss provide ample shade around the property.

We all stand silently, watching in awe as the sun sets in the distance behind the castle. Once the sun finally sinks into the sea, tiki torches blaze to life around the palace, lighting the paths lining the property.

Guards mill about. Most lean casually against trees, laughing and carrying on, occasionally waving at a passing noble.

Everything appears eerily perfect.

There’s an ominous, inexplicable edge in the air, a silent warning that if you do or say something wrong, the friendliness will dry up, leaving nothing but raw viciousness.

A few soldiers pass, offering an animated wave, but there’s a sharpness to their eyes as they take us in keenly. I do the same, sweeping my gaze over them from head to toe. My eyes catch on the blades tucked discreetly to their sides, and I relax. It would have the opposite effect on most, but I like knowing what to expect from my enemies. And despite the welcoming facade, these are my enemies.

Their casualness is a show. I would know. I might be the Prince of Fear, but I am the king of faking indifference.

Casually, we meander toward the palace’s entrance. Our group stays quiet and alert, following the path of the other nobles entering.

The double doors are propped open, and a man in a white jumpsuit and matching top hat stands at a podium. A scroll is laid before him, and he smiles widely at each person, checking their names off with a feather pen.

“Let’s wait a moment,” I mutter.

We pause, pretending to take in the sights again while the doorman checks in the group ahead of us. Once it’s clear, I scan the stone pathway, ensuring we have enough time to do what we need.

“Okay,” I say. “Tynan, you’re up.”

His wicked grin grows, and he strides up to the podium with all the swagger of a male with nowhere to be and nothing to lose. I practically roll my eyes at the display, knowing it’s not entirely fake—he possesses a genuine arrogance that would fit quite well with the human nobles.

“Well, hello there,” Tynan says, smirking. He leans in, holding the doorman’s eyes. “The four of us are all checked in,” he says in a deep, demanding tone.

A dopey look crosses the man’s face as he smiles wider and nods. “All checked in,” he repeats. “Thank you, sir.”

Tynan chuckles. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine.”

The man reaches into a drawer tucked away in the podium and produces two skeleton keys with little bows tied around them. He hands one to Tynan and one to Alessia.

“You will be on the second floor,” he says .

Alessia smiles sweetly, nodding her head in genuine thanks. I know she’s dying to say the words, but she’s fighting it to break the habit. I chuckle. Her eyes swing toward me and I shrug a shoulder, and offer her my arm. She loops hers through mine.

“Two?” Tynan asks.

The man nods. “For each couple.”

Tynan scoffs. “We’re not a—”

“Come on, sweetlips.” Kenisius scoots closer to my brother, wrapping a thick arm around his neck. “How convenient it’ll be to share a room.

Tynan opens his mouth to say something, but Kenisius reaches out and pinches his arsecheek. “Perk up, sweetcheeks.”

“The feck!” Tynan’s previous swagger fades away as he shoves Kenisius away from him. “Don’t call me that.”

Kenisius’s chest shakes as he chuckles to himself. “Don’t ruin it.” He pulls him away, saluting the doorman as we enter the foyer.

A hideous glass and crystal chandelier tinkles overhead, illuminating the ivory flooring and glossy wooden staircase flaring out before us. The banisters curl at the side like pulled-back lips—a hungry mouth ready to devour us.

My nose scrunches at the floral runner. “Humans,” I mutter. All this wealth and no taste.

“Look,” Alessia says, holding up the old key. She tugs the white bow, and it unravels. It serves a dual purpose—not only adding a decorative flair but also securing a small piece of paper with a number. “202.”

“ We are 219,” Tynan says flatly, scowling at Kenisius.

“Up we go!” Kenisius leads the way toward the stairs .

At the top of the landing, a small sign perches on a stand. An arrow points to the left with the numbers 200-210, and another arrow points to the right with 211-219. A third arrow points upward, labeled with 300s.

I lock eyes with Kenisius. He tilts his head toward Alessia, then me, and I quickly nod in response. Then, he glances at Tynan and then back to me. I nod again. Confident in our unspoken agreement, we turn and diverge toward our assigned rooms.

He and Tynan will stick together, and Alessia and I will stick together, but we will split up in case anything goes awry.

Because, for some reason, things always go awry.

Alessia grips my hand tighter, and I lead her down the hall. We pass doors numbered 200 and 201, quickly locating 202. She inserts the key and turns it. A lock pops and the door creaks as it opens.

We push the door open and acquaint ourselves with the space. It’s a fair size, with a large bed, armoire, standing mirror, and large window with a seat beneath it. A flickering chandelier overhead illuminates the space, and I scrunch my nose in disdain at the blue and white florals everywhere.

It reeks of dust and mothballs as if the room has sat unused for quite some time.

Alessia throws herself on the bed with a chuckle, her arms wide. “It’s not nearly as comfortable as the beds in Avylon.” She sits up, eyes twinkling. “I suppose everything is better there, huh?”

“Tell me,” I say, stalking toward her. My gaze rakes up her exposed leg as the slit in her dress rises dangerously high. “What do you think?”

“I know the males there are better.” She gives me a coy smile .

My body jerks to a stop, and I narrow my eyes. “Males?”

She toys with the neckline of her dress, pulling it lower and lower to expose her bare skin, but not low enough to give me what I want.

“ Males ?” I repeat, not succumbing to her teasing until she amends the comment.

She’s trying to rile me up.

And fecking hell, it’s working. My vision darkens, flickering briefly.

“Perhaps one male in particular,” she says, lying back on her elbows and patting the bed beside her.

I open my mouth to retort, but a trumpet resounds through the hallway. Groaning, I reach down and adjust the crotch of my pants.

“What’s that?” she asks nervously, sitting up and swinging her legs over the bed.

The blaring of the instrument comes again, and I sigh, rubbing my brow and begging my erection to calm the feck down. “It’s party time.”