53. Playing Nice

Playing Nice

I sighed and sagged back against my chair. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He let out a slow, shaky breath. "Not really," Cass said, his voice rough.

My mouth quirked up into a smile. I watched him for a moment, then said, "Okay," keeping my voice soft.

Cass' brows snapped together. "What do you mean, 'okay'? Don't you care?"

"Of course I care." I breathed a laugh, tilting my head back and letting my eyes close. "Family can be tough. You don't have to bare all if you don't want to. I get it."

Slowly, he sat back down. The tension eased out of my brows as he relaxed. "You do?" he asked. He sounded trembly, like he might cry.

"Yeah," I said again. I took a deep breath and heaved it out, then dropped my elbows on the table and my head in one hand, giving him a rueful smile. "My mom never wanted a kid," I told him quietly, watching his expression. "She got pregnant at twenty, and married the guy who knocked her up for the sake of security. He was a good guy. A good dad." I tried to smile again and failed. "He died when I was nine. Aneurysm. Just… dropped dead."

"Quyen," Cass said, the words laden with soft horror.

I shrugged one shoulder, because even now, dwelling on what I'd lost tore me up. Somewhere inside me was a nine-year-old girl, waiting and waiting outside of school to get picked up by her daddy, not knowing that she would never see him again.

"I wish I could say she tried." I wet my lips. "I spent a lot of time alone, or with Bà, because my mom would leave me with her for babysitting when she couldn't get away with leaving me at home, or if she wanted me out of the house. Then one day she didn't come back." I shook my head, remembering Auntie's quiet rage, and Bà's bone-deep disappointment in her daughter. "She just left, no notes, nothing. I never heard from her again. I was eleven."

"Ruekh's mercy, Quyen." He set his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. "That's so much worse."

"Is it?" I countered. "Like, don't get me wrong, it sucked, big time. I never had reason to hope, though, and it wasn't like I wasn't loved. My dad adored me, and Auntie and Bà took me in, no hesitation. Auntie…" I trailed off, all my memories of her winnowing down to the way she'd shake her head and cluck at me when I was lashing out—the way she'd never, not once, given up on me. "She had my back," I said at last. "She knew she couldn't replace my parents, and she didn't try. She was the best goddamn aunt it was possible to be, and she and Bà are the reason I am who I am." I wrinkled my nose. "Whether that's good or bad is up to the observer, I guess."

Cass breathed a laugh, picking up his head enough to rest his chin on his knuckles, giving me a wry smile. "If you'd like compliments, I'm pleased to give them."

"Nah, I'm not fishing," I said, smiling back. "Are you going to be able to handle eating dessert with them, or should I give the in-souls your regrets?" I paused, the sound of that hitting my ears, then gave Cass a weary expression. "That sounds ridiculous. Is that really what I have to call them?"

"I'd prefer if we called them 'the princesses.' I'm not that fond of the reminder that we're blood-related, but it's better than considering them family," Cass admitted. He blew a strand of hair out of his face and sighed. "I suppose we're stuck with them."

I hesitated, then ventured, "What did you mean, when you said she had Mercy's protection? You didn't want to actually hurt her, right?"

He winced. "No," he said softly. "When Ayre ended up the King of Windswept Court at the end of the Annihilation War, I gladly took the opportunity to sever my ties with her, and all of Raven Court, but I don't want to harm her. Moot, now, of course."

"Oh?" I asked, raising a brow.

"Courts don't allow their bloodlines to physically attack each other," he said with a shrug. "Any direct assassination attempts between anyone in the royal bloodline, including asking someone to kill for you, is met with lethal retaliation by the Court in question. She's my blood kin, so Mercy protects her. That's all I meant." Cass sighed and pushed himself back up to his feet, looking weary. "I suppose we should go have dessert with them."

"You could go flying or something instead," I offered. "You've already taken enough hits. I don't mind dealing with them alone." I hesitated, then added silently, You did incredibly well back there. I'm really proud of you.

His expression softened, warmth coming back into his eyes. Thank you , he murmured to my soul. "But it's a bad idea, lioness," Cass added aloud, with a lopsided smile. "Kettekh and Pelleas aren't our friends, and it would look better for me to appear conciliatory."

I snorted and got to my feet. "You're not at all conciliatory."

"Not to my mother," he said, flashing me a wry smile. "I shouldn't have baited Pelleas, though. It was petty at best, and using Dani like that…" Cass looked away, throat working. "I shouldn't have done it, and I regretted it the moment you called me out on it."

"You have a temper, too, don't you?" I asked. When he made a face at me, I only laughed. "Let's go face the music, splendor."

"Isn't there something you'd like to say first?" he asked hopefully, ears lifted and cocked forward.

It took me a moment to place why—the bargain we'd made at the hot springs, only a couple hours ago. My cheeks warmed from being put on the spot, but that's exactly what I'd asked for from him, too. It was only fair.

"I really admire how fiercely you love," I told him, making myself look into his face, even with sweat making my palms prickle and my pulse thrumming under my skin. "When someone has your loyalty, it's absolute. Once you choose to love someone, you never change your mind." The corner of my mouth kicked up. "You'll hold your peace if you're the one taking the beating, but the second someone dares to fuck with your people, it's all over. I love that about you."

Cass stared at me, his ears dropped and mouth parted with his brows slanted towards yearning. "Quyen," he whispered.

I held out my hand. "Come on. Let's go pretend we're sorry."

We made our way to the Lilac Room hand-in-hand, Cass' fingers laced through mine and his wary hope fluttering in my chest. The foursome hadn't gotten into too much trouble in our absence, and the atmosphere had noticeably thawed; Tarra was sitting on Tech's lap and giggling while he coiled one of her ringlets through his fingers, and Pelleas and Yllana were deep in discussion over a piece of cloth-of-gold lying over his hands.

Pelleas was probably to thank for the shift in mood. He seemed eminently capable both of controlling how he presented himself, and of navigating the tensions of political interactions. I made a mental note to express my appreciation later, flashing him a smile for the time being.

"No need to stand. I prefer informality," Cass said as people made to do exactly that. He took a careful seat on a backless couch and tugged me down onto his lap in an ostentatious display of affection.

My eyebrows shot up, but I didn't challenge him on his choice of my seating locale. Presenting a united front was worth the indignity of being perched on his heavy thigh like a doll.

Still okay? Cass asked in our bond, with a touch of worry. He had to be feeling my discomfort. I didn't think to ask, or about how it would look. I just wanted to keep touching you.

I'd prefer a chair, I admitted.

It wasn't him. It wasn't even the other people in the room. But I'd bartended at the strip club for too long to feel comfortable with getting tugged onto someone 's lap. The men who frequented those places tended to see the girls, me included, as objects first. Even though I knew Cass was nothing like that, the similarity of the situation was enough to make dislike the position.

Kiss me first? he asked the same way, sounding hesitant.

I looked up as the servers came out with desserts to see Cass watching me with a hopeful smile. I smiled back and kissed him softly on the mouth, touching the underside of his jaw with my fingertips.

Cass melted into the contact. He nuzzled me when our lips parted, his breathing heavier than it had been before I'd touched him.

"I'm going to sit at an actual table for dessert," I told him, finding a better excuse than discomfort with getting perched on a man's lap for our observers. "I like this dress too much to get crumbs on it."

"Of course, lioness," he said, one of his ears turning to monitor our guests and the servers.

Pelleas flashed me a winning smile when I stood. He closed his hands over the cloth-of-gold, which broke apart into glittering shards that rained down to the floor and vanished, like sparks off a Fourth-of-July sparkler. "A lovely idea," he said, getting up and sauntering over to take a seat across from me at the small table I'd selected. "Tables are rather more convenient for plates than laps, wouldn't you say, your majesty?"

A server set down two desserts in front of us, fancy spun-sugar sculptures of crowns with candied fruit for gemstones.

I picked up my fork and gave him my best smile. "Especially mine, your highness. There's not much room for anything, plates or otherwise."

"You could try spreading your legs," Pelleas said with a sharp smile.

Cass' feathers slicked down in ire so fast they clanged. I raised a brow at the Raven Prince. "Evening the score?"

"Well, I am fae," he said, as if demurring a compliment. His fork crunched through the sugar. "I do appreciate the hospitality that lets me say such things with impunity, even if I also have to deal with Ithronel eyeing me up like a piece of meat."

Both my brows shot up this time. "You're definitely handsome enough to catch the eye of a goddess, but I didn't pin Ithronel for a flirt."

Are you baiting me? Cass sent me, his growl darkening the air. If so, it's fucking working.

I traced a heart on my thigh.

Pelleas' lips twitched into a smirk. "Evening the score?" he asked, taking a bite of the sugar crown.

"I pay my debts," I said, smirking right back. I liked him.

"Brother," Tarra said in a wheedling voice. I glanced over to see her pouting at him, her sapphire eyes limpid and pleading. "Kitty was telling me about his best duels. When are we going to get to see you duel?" Her gaze flicked over to Pelleas. "Maybe Pelly-boo—"

"I think not," he said smoothly. "Star-iron cuts through glamor, and I'm not fond of the dueling ring. You'll have to convince someone else."

She pouted harder, a storm settling over her lovely face. "Kitty already said no, too. You men are ruining my fun."

"Even if they agreed, I wouldn't," Cass said in a low rumble. When I looked over my shoulder at him, he flicked an ear at me. "My wings and healing have no place in an exhibition duel. I'm not interested in killing for sport."

"I could help with that," Pelleas said, sounding intrigued. "I've read some of the reports on your capabilities. It would be interesting to see in action."

Tarra cooed. "Ooh, would we get to see more glamor?"

Pelleas breathed a laugh. "What else, darling?" he said. He took a moment to focus, and then there was a copy of him sitting in an identical chair in the center of the room. "Duplication is a far simpler skill than creation, after all," he said in synchrony with the other Pelleas, moving his hands through a complicated pattern that the glamor-copy of him followed without any visible delay. "I could hold something like this on an army, I think, as long as you don't expect perfect physical fidelity. All we'd need would be someone to do the same for the King."

I stared at the duplicate, trying to find any roughness or simplification. There wasn't any to find. Through the Clement Palace, I could tell exactly where the real Pelleas sat, but my eyes and ears were completely fooled. It was an identical copy, down to the curl of his eyelashes and the way his cloak pooled on the floor.

The prince flicked his fingers, dismissing the glamor, and it vanished. He smiled, an expression of heavy-lidded challenge.

"Well," Cass said after a moment. He sounded as stunned as I felt. "I suppose we ought to organize a battle."

"And a revel!" Tarra cried, clapping her hand. "Oh! I'm so excited!"

The Misted Duke tugged on her hair. "Grant me a lock of your hair, and I'll lead the enemy army for you, sweet princess, if our gracious King allows it."

"Done," she said, smiling into his face. "Say yes, Xarcassah."

He sighed, but he didn't sound irritated, and he didn't feel unhappy. If I had to take a guess, I would have said the tightness in my gut and the tension down my spine was eagerness—that Cass was looking forward to the chance to fight again. "How could I deny my own sister?" he said with a huffed laugh. "I suppose I'll meet you on the battlefield, your grace."