37. Danica

Danica

37

I was halfway to cloud nine when Mr. Viking Temptation himself, Rhyland, strutted in. The man's the spitting image of every girl's Norse god fantasy—his hair cut just right, those sculpted features, delicious muscles, and that scruff he's rocking, all a downright siren call to my fingers.

I let out a soundless "wow"—the man is downright edible.

My pulse picked up the pace as the vibe between us hummed with his craving—it's like a fiery spark just waiting to catch, and boy, is it contagious. I caught his smoldering gaze and let my lips curve in a sly little smirk, knowing I was pushing all his buttons without saying a word.

We saunter into the formal room, and it's like walking into a scene from a Bridgerton episode. Laughter and chatter float over the clinking of glasses, and gorgeous fae folks are dressed to the nines in casual and chic attire everywhere I look. It's like the Fae of this court decided to let their hair down and throw one hell of a soirée.

Lucian's lounging with a glass in hand, looking like the cat that got the cream, while Erik stands nearby, all brooding elegance and mysterious allure. Axilya radiates regal confidence beside them, and Faderyn's hanging out in the corner, talking it up with another noble fae.

Rhyland takes my hand, his touch sending delicious heat through my body as he guides me into the room. His charisma and smoldering looks are like magnets, drawing every eye in the place to us.

We settle into our seats among the group, and our attendants swoop in with drinks that look like some magical mixologist brewed them. The glasses are iridescent and filled with a golden liquid that seems to glow from within.

"What's this?" I ask, eyeing the enchanted concoction with curiosity and wariness.

Alina, ever the font of knowledge, gives me a conspiratorial wink. "It's our specialty, My Lady. Brewed from the finest grapes kissed by the sun in our vineyards," she explains, making it sound like the nectar of the gods.

I bring the glass to my nose, taking in the aroma—it's like distilled sunlight, zesty with a hint of lemon.

Tempted, I take a small sip; a symphony of flavors bursts onto my taste buds. "This is delicious!"

"Thank you, My Lady. It's... got a special kick to it," Alina responds with a chuckle. She gives me a gracious curtsy before making her exit.

"Wait," I call out, my curiosity getting the best of me. "Who are all these people?" I ask hurriedly, hoping to snag an answer before she can leave.

Alina pauses mid-step, turning back to face the gathering with sparkling eyes. "My Lady, feast your eyes on the resplendent Fae of The Sun Court," she declares, her voice brimming with a mix of reverence and pure, unadulterated glee. "They've gathered here to extend a heartfelt welcome to you and your friends. It's in your honor that they've conjured up this magnificent feast and party," she explains, looking like she might burst with pride.

"Oh..." I breathe, the sound escaping my lips in a simple utterance that somehow manages to convey my complete astonishment. These fae sure know how to roll out the red carpet.

Ever the opportunist when it comes to a well-timed wisecrack, Lucian sidles up with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. His signature smirk is firmly in place. "Well, well, well, looks like the grapevine in this joint is faster than a speeding bullet, huh?" he remarks with playful mirth. "Congrats, Princess—you've already got your own cheerleading squad. Groupies included, free of charge!"

He punctuates the quip with an exaggerated wink—the kind that somehow manages to be both utterly charming and completely infuriating.

I roll my eyes at him, but I can't quite keep the smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Watch it, Luci," I warn, my tone playful but with an undercurrent of steel. "This princess might just have to put you in your place if you're not careful."

Lucian's laughter bursts forth, a vibrant, irresistible sound. "Aw, you know you can't resist my devilish charm, Your Worshipfulness," he quips, dipping into an exaggerated bow. "Admit it. Life would be a total snooze fest without my sparkling wit and dashing good looks."

I shake my head, unable to argue with that. Lucian may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he's our pain in the ass, and I wouldn't have him any other way.

Turning my attention back to the gathered fae, I take a moment to really drink in the sight of them. They're a stunning bunch, all ethereal beauty and otherworldly grace, and I can't help but feel a little awe. It's humbling to think that they've gone through all this trouble just for us. I make a mental note to find a way to thank them properly later.

The room is washed in a buttery light, reminiscent of a swanky, bygone era. The buzz of chit-chat's a masterclass in polite murmurs, spiced up now and then by the tinkle of some seriously fancy glassware.

In the corner, a string quartet plays tunes so smooth they could calm a thunderstorm. These musicians could give Mozart a run for his money.

And smack dab in the middle of it all, there's little ol' me, rubbing elbows with the Fae elite like it's just another Saturday night. These folks are a different breed—all finesse and grace on the outside, but I'd bet they've got their share of melodrama behind closed doors.

Meanwhile, anticipation and whispers zip around me like they were born to party in the fast lane. It's exhilarating.

Rhyland's deep blue eyes lock onto mine, serving up a stare so intense it could give the night sky a run for its money. Just that one look sends my pulse skyrocketing, and I have to take a deep breath to keep from melting.

His steadfast hold on my hand anchors me in the middle of this swirling social whirlpool, full of faces I don't know and secrets they're not telling. He's my rock amid all this chaos.

Suddenly, a lithe Fae with hair like spun moonbeams and eyes as blue as the sky glides over to me. "Lady Danica," she greets me with a nod that holds centuries of tradition. "I am Elowen. Pray tell, how did you find your journey to our Sun Court?"

I blink, momentarily taken aback by her formal tone and the weight of her gaze.

I nod to Elowen, feeling all eyes on us. "Hey there, Elowen. My rear might file a complaint about the hike, but I gotta say—the beauty of this realm is so stunning, it almost made me forget about my aching ass," I quip, my mouth running ahead of my brain as usual.

Oops, did I just let that slip out? Classic me, with a filter as reliable as a sieve. Sometimes, the words pirouette right off my tongue before my brain can send the red alert.

Elowen's lips twist up in a smile that could light up the gloomiest dungeon, and a laugh spills out of her, all sparkly like fairy dust in the sun. "Truly, our realm is a tapestry woven with the threads of wonders and enigmas," she muses with amusement at my less-than-delicate phrasing. "My apologies for the tribulations endured by your... ass, as you have so quaintly put it."

I feel my cheeks heat up, but I grin. And if my little faux pas helped break the ice, I'll chalk it up as a win.

With a knowing smile, Elowen drifts through the throng, engaging with other attendees. I watch her go, marveling at her ease and grace.

Me, on the other hand? I'm more of a bull in a china shop at these kinds of shindigs.

I glance at Rhyland, who watches me with amusement and exasperation. "Smooth, Angel," he murmurs, his voice low and rough in a way that sends shivers down my spine. "Real smooth."

I stick my tongue out at him, feeling a bit like a petulant child but not caring. "Hey, at least I'm being authentic. These fae types could use a little dose of reality, don't you think?"

Rhyland shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're something else, you know that? Never change, baby. Never change."

I grin at him, feeling warm in my chest at his words. "Wasn't planning on it, Berserker Brat," I assure him, squeezing his hand. "You're stuck with me, sass and all."

A s the evening progresses, Rhyland's thumb keeps up its soothing orbits on my skin—a warm, grounding Morse code that keeps my insides melting at his constant touch.

I catch Erik's silvery eyes scanning the room, his gaze as sharp and alert as a hawk on the hunt. The guy is like a human alarm system, always on guard and ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.

Meanwhile, Axilya exudes a zen-like command, her presence as serene and unruffled as a still pond on a windless day. And Faderyn? He's deep in conversation with some Fae in fancy threads, the two of them going at it like they're hashing out plays at the Superbowl.

Then there's Mr. Smart-Ass himself, the charmer extraordinaire, already dishing out his grade-A flirt game like it's going out of style. He's got a Fae lady practically parked on his lap, giggling away like he's the funniest thing since court jesters. Lord knows what line he's fed her—probably something about her eyes being like starlight and her laugh like music to his ears. Classic Lucian.

Out of nowhere, a new noble parts the sea of bodies—a guy tall enough to shadow a statue, with skin gleaming like a moonlit lake on a calm night. His presence commands attention, and the room seems to hold its breath as he approaches.

His voice rings out, smooth and melodic, as if he's about to serenade the lot of us. "Forgive my intrusion," he says with an elegant bow straight out of a fairy tale. "I am Aelius. There are whispers among us about your intentions for gracing our court."

Before we can respond, Rhyland's deep voice fills the space. "We come seeking understanding and perhaps aid," he states firmly, leaving no room for doubt about his conviction.

Erik leans forward slightly, deliberate and clear, like a general outlining a battle plan. "We recognize your court's sovereignty and wish to discuss matters that concern not just us but all realms."

"We indeed seek your court's counsel—there are shifts in the fabric of our worlds that require unity," Axilya adds.

Aelius considers this momentarily, his brow furrowing in thought, before turning back to me with keen interest sparking in his gaze. "And you, Lady Danica," he starts inquisitively, his eyes boring into mine as if trying to read my soul, "are you indeed the one foretold in ancient prophecies? The mortal who will stand against encroaching darkness?"

All eyes shift to me, and the room goes still as I straighten my posture, feeling the weight of their gazes. Rhyland's silent encouragement flows through our bond like warm sunlight, bolstering my resolve and giving me the strength to face this moment head-on.

My voice doesn't waver when I reply, "Yes, I am she." My affirmation resonates through the room—a declaration to Aelius and all present, a statement of fact that brooks no argument.

The posh Fae crowd goes quiet like they're chewing on my words, feeling the heavy aftertaste of destiny hanging in the air. It's like they're trying to decide whether to believe me, whether to put their faith in a mortal girl with a big mouth and an even bigger destiny.

The band keeps up their gentle melody, but it's now hushed and suspenseful, waiting for the next scene to unfold. We are all holding our breath, waiting to see what Aelius will say next.

"Marvelous! We earnestly anticipate that you are indeed the personage you profess to be. The evidence you bear is keenly awaited with great interest," Aelius says, and just like that, the buzz of chatter and ripples of laughter crank up again as if he's just pressed play on the soirée.

I exhale a breath that's been sneakily squatting in my lungs, feeling like I've just passed some test. But before I can fully relax, Alina signals it's time for dinner. "My Lords and Ladies," she announces formally, "dinner is served."

The crowd starts drifting towards the dining hall, their laughter and conversation flowing like a river as they go.

As we migrate to the dining hall, I'm nearly bug-eyed at the spectacle before us—it's like stepping into a fantasy epic where grandeur takes on a whole new definition.

The dining chamber is an expansive sea of elegance stretched beneath a ceiling lost in the soft golden glow of a twinkling chandelier constellation. The walls sparkle with inlaid gemstones that glint like stars, their light reflecting off the polished surfaces until the whole room shimmers with an otherworldly radiance.

And the table—good lord, the table—is a wooden beast so long you'd expect one end to be in a different time zone, with room left over for a dragon to nap at the end. It's draped in golden linens, dotted with crystal goblets, silverware that out-sparkles the stars, and blooms so lush it's like a rainbow crashed right into the centerpiece.

Thrones masquerading as seats line the sides, their high backs adorned with sunbursts that make each Fae noble seem like an emperor at a war council, albeit armed with silverware instead of swords. It's a display of power and prestige that's as subtle as a sledgehammer but damn effective.

This isn't just a meal; it's a feast for the senses, a courtly dance of splendor and anticipation, where each mouthful is a vow of the Fae's enchanting opulence. It's enough to make a girl feel like she's stumbled into a dream.

"My god..." I breathe, my mouth hanging open as I try to take it all in.

Rhyland slides up behind me, and his arms find my waist with the precision of a hawk on the hunt. His touch gives me goosebumps, and I lean back into his solid warmth, feeling grounded by his presence.

He leans in, his breath tickling my ear as he murmurs, "Angel, if I knew a room could steal your breath like this, I would've built you a palace made of stars."

I crack a grin at his line, feeling a flutter in my chest at the raw sincerity in his voice. "Well, if you keep sweet-talking me like that, I might just forget an entire Fae army surrounds us," I toss back, my tone light and teasing.

But Rhyland's voice rumbles in response, low and rough with barely restrained desire. "Don't fuckin' play with me, sweetheart. I'm on the edge right now, and the scent of you and the way you look in this outfit," he grips my ass possessively, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, "is pushing me to the brink of insanity."

I suck in a sharp breath, feeling heat pool low in my belly at the raw need in his voice. "Rhyland..." I murmur, my own voice strained.

Before I can say anything else, Alina signals it's time to sit, nudging me out of Rhyland's gravitational pull—man's about ready to toss the rules out the window right here and now.

I clear my throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure as I nod my thanks to Alina. Rhyland's hand slides from my ass to the small of my back, a gesture both possessive and protective, and together we make our way to our designated spots at the grand table.

I can't help but marvel at the sheer opulence surrounding us.

The only thing missing is the scandalous whispers about who's courting whom. I half expect Lady Whistledown to come swooping in with her latest gossip column, dishing the dirt on which fairy lord was caught canoodling with which pixie duchess behind the rose bushes.

But then I catch Rhyland's eye and see the heat and hunger burning in those ultramarine depths. He's not playing—but I remind myself that this is no game. We're here for a reason: to forge alliances and gather information that could mean the difference between life and death for our realms.

I hustle over to my chair, which Alina's already shimmied back for me, and sit down with the grace of a newborn giraffe. She's there, tipping that bottle of golden, shimmery wine into my glass—the stuff's memory magic in a cup, and I'm in desperate need of a little liquid courage. Without hesitation, I wrap my fingers around the stem and gulp it down, the sweet, heady liquid pooling in my belly and sending a flush of warmth through my veins. The way Rhyland's got me buzzing, self-control's morphing into a full-time job, and I'm not sure I'm qualified for the position.

Rhyland slides into the space beside me, all coiled power and barely restrained desire, and tosses me one of those smoldering glances that would make anyone's heart skip a beat. It's like he's trying to set me on fire with just a look, and damn if it isn't working.

I try to act nonchalant, like I'm not acutely aware of the rising heat from our bond, the way it's thrumming through my body like a live wire. I tip back another glass of that bewitching golden elixir, hoping it'll cool the flames licking at my insides.

"Take it easy, Angel," Rhyland whispers, his voice a thread of silk against my senses. "Don't need you drunk and unable to keep up with what I've got in store for us later."

I murmur back, a wry twist to my words as I lay down the law with a playful but firm edge, "We're in diplomacy mode, and I'm all about the schmoozing game with the Fae tonight. So do me a favor and quit firing those...sexy bat signals at me through our bond, alright? I need to focus, please."

"Mm-hmm," is all he gives me, noncommittal as ever, like he's only half-listening to my request. The man's got a one-track mind; right now, that track is leading straight to the bedroom.

Snatching up his glass filled with warm amber brew, he sends it down in one go, his throat working as he swallows. I watch, transfixed, as a single drop of the liquid escapes the corner of his mouth and slides down, and I have the sudden, wild urge to lean over and lick it off his lips.

Great, now I'm stirring up my own storm of annoyance and frustration inside, a heady mix of emotions that has me gripping the edge of the table like it's a lifeline. I'm trying to keep my head in the game, to focus on the task at hand, but Rhyland's making it damn near impossible with his heated looks and suggestive comments.

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself, and turn my attention back to the rest of the table. The Fae nobles are engaged in lively conversation, their laughter and chatter rising and falling like the swell of a tide. I catch snippets of their words, tales of courtly intrigue and ancient legends, and I find myself leaning forward, eager to soak up every bit of knowledge I can.

But even as I try to immerse myself in the conversation, I can feel Rhyland's gaze on me like a physical caress, his desire a palpable thing threatening to consume me whole. Being so close to him and yet so far is a delicious torture, and I know that the moment we're alone, all bets are off.