Chapter Thirty-One Zara

Chapter Thirty-One Zar a

I've been a lotta things in my short but scandalous life.

Runaway kid.

Cat burglar.

Student witch.

Rebel queen.

But I've never been a fairy princess. That's a new one.

Despite all my badassery, which I've been really leaning into all day to keep myself and my whole group in the right headspace, my heart thunders like a kettledrum under my dragonscale party dress as Xhevith descends from cruising altitude and wings in for a landing over Party Central.

The Faerie Ball.

In a moonless night (which is a totally different phase than the moon at Icarus), under the light of a thousand stars arranged in constellations no mortal eye will ever see, Xhev circles the tall shining spires of the Avalon Academy for Promising Royals of the Faerie Court like he's a predator owl circling a porcupine.

I'm supposed to do an exchange program with the Avalon Academy—like a semester abroad—one of these terms.

You know, assuming we ever settle all that succession shit back home and now this demonic insurrection thing over here?

Right now, looking down on the total ruin of the roofless kiva where Zephyr's psycho mom and I duked it out last spring—the crystal dome still shattered from me busting outta there in dragon form—the sight of all that leftover carnage just unsettles me worse .

"Do we really have to do this here ?" I say grimly (even though I know the answer). I pitch my voice under the whistle of the wind and the steady beat of Xhevith's wings.

That way, the wind carries my words back to Zephyr, who's gripping the reins in the dragon saddle behind me, and to Lucius who's buckled in behind him.

"'Tis the traditional setting for a coronation," my Dark Fae King murmurs. The brush of his lips against the studded rim of my ear makes me shiver like I'm spiking a fever. "'Tis where we Unseelie have always crowned our royals. Admittedly, this open-air arrangement is a novelty. The dome has resisted all repair. Be thankful at least we banished eternal winter when we shattered the curse."

"Yay. At least we won't freeze to death." I lean way over Xhev's scaly green shoulder to get another gander at the Faerie Ball.

And, you know, that demon we're trying to lure.

The dome over the kiva used to be shaped like a tulip. Huge stabs of crystal petal, broken away from the alabaster stem, lie scattered but mostly intact around the jagged circle of open space that used to hold the queen's lecture hall.

Inside, the circular rings of student desks and seating and the prof's lectern are all gone. On the podium, two tall empty thrones stand rigid on tiptoe in a flaming circle of witchlight torches. On the terraced lower tiers that surround the stage, the kiva seethes with sudden flurries of inhumanly fast Fae movement. They're dancing down there (sorta). But they dance like the vamps move in True Blood or something, all graceful glides, punctuated with spurts of frenzy that come close to violence.

Looks like the entire Unseelie population's assembled, decked out in their exotic finest—which for them means bone antler jewelry, tooth-and-claw necklaces, and other gothic accessories, because these are Dark Fae and they're not, like, nice.

They're bloodthirsty little savages and they're practically feral.

The Unseelie horde is mingling over wine and canapés under the eerie arpeggio of music from an Unseelie war-harp that's taller than I am. Not to mention, the thing looks like it's playing itself—with no musician in sight. The fermented honey of moon wine twines through the air, mingled with the briny tang of ocean and the musky spice of dragon.

All those Unseelie .

Assembled by royal command.

All summoned to see me get what I've got coming.

A massive shadow plummets from above and slices across the festive scene, black wings blotting out the starlight. Even though the summer night is balmy, that sudden sweep of shadow makes me break out in goosebumps all over.

Steady, showgirl , I tell my thundering heart. That's just Max showing off.

Max's bellow of domination splits the night. His tyrannosaur roar is echoed by a lusty war whoop from Ronin, who's strapped to that dragon's back, his powerful frame glittering in ice-white dragonscale that clings to every muscle, his raven hair streaming in the wind. In that getup, every delectable inch of him looks like a Dark Fae dragonrider.

Even Neo, who's plastered behind Ronin gamely clutching his waist (but who still hates flying) manages a dutiful yell.

That bookworm yell makes me smile. Despite the strain we're all under.

Yeah, I know. Maybe demon-hunting on my coronation night isn't the best idea I ever came up with.

But if not now, when?

We've all got finals back at Icarus tomorrow.

We can't leave this rebellion festering behind us.

Now it's Xhevith's turn to sound off. The green dragon splits the sky with his nails-on-chalkboard scream. Between my thighs, his scaly ribs expand and vibrate with challenge.

Max might be the dominant dragon on this island. He's definitely the biggest and (unlike Xhev) he breathes fire. But that doesn't mean Xhevith—who's the dominant dragon whenever Max isn't around—has to like it.

Lucius flings back his head and howls at the moon like the wolf king he is. It's a full-throated bay that's extra impressive coming from a human throat. My headmaster's really hoping he knocked me up last night—him and that knot he's rocking—so he's been quivering with tightly contained exhilaration and desperate hope all day.

Then Vasili's steam kettle hiss makes the giant crystal petals tremble and knocks small rocks from the rubble to tumble downhill till they plop into the sea. My silver snake spirals through the night like a diamond javelin, eyes burning cobalt, platinum mane rippling in the wind.

On the wing, V's definitely keeping a lotta distance from Max. That's been glaringly obvi, in a totally understandable but still awkward way, since the second we took off.

I can't exactly check under that snake's skirt (because V's junk hides coyly in a slit when he's shifted). But I'd pay good money that my alpha, in this form, is currently female.

And fertile.

If a dragon fucks Vasili like that, my snake could literally carry eggs.

Just one more damn thing to keep track of.

As we all spiral over the enchanted bubble of the Faerie Ball—my guys and me, all eight of us united (more or less) at last—Ash's winged form sweeps over the kiva in a low recon. The Seelie Prince is stunning in the moonlight with his pewter wings spread wide, his regular doeskin swapped out for an ivory dragonscale version of his vest and breeches, scales flashing with facets of Zephyr's royal green and my signature teal.

Ash glides low over the gathering, pivots in a lazy spiral to retrace his path, then soars into yet another pass. My Eagle of the Air (as he's called) has the sharpest eyesight of any of us.

Plus he knows what he's looking for.

And my shifter guys and I don't.

"Once, twice, thrice," Zephyr whispers on the wind like a spell.

That's the recon pattern we agreed to (because the Fae aren't telepaths, so we have to plan this shit in advance). Three passes for Ash to signal the all-clear for my guys and me.

Wherever that demon Mordred is lurking, he's not visible in the crowd.

Not even to Ash's eagle eye.

I push out a breath and roll my shoulders to loosen the tension.

Not that it helps.

Zephyr leans hard into the reins, his supple form straining against my back, because reining a dragon into a tight turn takes real muscle. Xhevith's big body tilts into the turn and sweeps toward the kiva's broken rim, with my guys arrowing right behind, all hot on our tail.

My gaze shifts to the night-dark sea, foaming white against the ancient bones of the Unseelie city rushing toward us .

Maybe that demon's waiting and watching in the deep.

In, like, his kraken form.

An electric flash of last night's dream, way more vivid and disturbingly tactile than a normal dream has any right to be, sears through me like a bolt of lightning.

The supple flex and suck of tentacles soft as suede gripping my limbs.

A swirl of indigo hair like spilled ink caressing my skin.

The rigid prod of a mighty cock parting my thighs.

Only there was something… different… about that particular boner—

Fuck.

If that was him… Mordred… then fuck.

I don't even want my warlocks knowing I came, much less how hard I came, during that dream fuck. I never consented to that shit—

"Sure we're good, mate?" Ronin shouts through the wind. He's finally talking in a strained but civil way to Ash, at least.

"Yeah, far's I can see? Demon's a no-show. So far." That's Ash, finally shouting back, also strained but civil.

We've all been civil all day (except V, who's been his usual pissy self, only worse, but he's hormonal) while we planned out this gig.

Now we settle on the kiva rim in unison, me and my warlocks, with Xhevith ahead of the rest. As his cruel claws curl and flex around the rim, my eye zooms in on a tall skinny pillar that rises between those thrones on stage. Perched on top, under a shimmery dome that looks like some kinda protective forcefield, a jeweled circlet sparkles in the moonlight.

Then it croons my name.

Zara. Zara. Zaaaarrraaaaa.

Sweet Jesus. Well, hello there, crown.

Zarina Selene Gemini. Queen of dragons. Lady of lightning. A silvery voice shimmers through me . If I cede you my power, showgirl, how then will you wield me?

I swallow hard under the cold caress of that tinkling inner voice. Last time I saw that crown, Zephyr's mom was wearing it.

At least then, that crown was silent.

Now it's all chatty Cathy.

I tilt my chin and eye the suddenly vocal bling across the kiva. Well, I won't be a homicidal psycho like Queen Maeve, that's for sure. Hope that doesn't disappoint?

When my snark doesn't trigger a comeback, I clear the chalky taste of nerves out of my mouth and unbuckle my fighting straps. Meanwhile, Zephyr (who disdains the harness like a child's safety seat and never uses it himself) scrambles nimbly down Xhev's foreleg.

The Dark Fae King's regal as fuck tonight, with his lithe sinewy frame encased in diamond dragonscale, winking with facets of teal and emerald. His moss-green hair spills down his back under a circlet of charmed silver ( much less flashy than the queen's crown). Twin spikes of silver cap the tips of his pointed ears. The narrow slash of his green eyepatch divides the cold beauty of his cruel face.

He doesn't even need the crossed swords rearing over his narrow back or the snarling dragon at his command to make him lethal.

I lean back to help Lucius with his buckles, because my headmaster's hands shake when he's on dragonback. (Another nervous flyer in my harem, poor wolf.)

So I aim my remark at Zephyr. "What kinda power do we think we're looking at, Your Radiance? I mean, once I'm crowned."

Yeah, I've asked before. And he's told me.

Now that I'm within reach of that Dark Fae crown and the thing's all talky and shit, I need to hear the intel again.

"'Tis difficult to be certain." Zephyr adjusts his swords and leaps to help Neo (who's also wearing the royal dragonscale and looks cute as fuck) climb down and almost fall off Max.

"The Unseelie crown," Zephyr says, patiently steadying Neo on his feet, "amplifies and magnifies the powers, both physical and arcane, of any queen who wears it. You may, perchance, develop the ability to assume other forms, above and beyond your dragon. Or more of your witching world recessives—genes that are yet unknown—may be triggered."

Yeah, I need the power.

But I still don't like hearing that shit.

"Maybe you'll be able summon earthquakes like me, babe," Neo suggests hopefully, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Because you have Kryll DNA you're totally not using."

"I think one of us making the earth shake's enough, baby," I say gently. My sweet fated mate summoning earthquakes is one thing, but the thought of having that kinda power myself is not exactly comfortable. Hurling lightning is bad enough. "Maybe I'll start transmuting lead into gold like you, though. You might not be alone anymore in Honors Alchemy."

"Then I could tutor you," Neo says happily. Clearly nothing would make him happier.

Zephyr turns toward Ronin to help him off Max, but my Brit's already unbuckled and jumped down on his own. Ronin lands in an Avenger-like crouch on the kiva rim just as Zephyr turns toward him.

For a breath, all action on the rim freezes.

Max, who's twisted around sniffing with hopeful interest at Vasili's genital slit, rumbles a warning at Zephyr.

Vasili, who's baring those sharp fangy teeth and snapping at Max, lets rip with a sinister hiss.

Lucius stiffens in the saddle behind me. "Zephyr, don't—"

Undaunted by all the hostility, Zephyr gives my guys a narrow look, then reaches a gauntleted hand to pull Ronin easily to his feet. Ronin unfolds to tower over him…

But neither guy releases his grip.

"You are a natural, Ronin Kilcannon Pendragon," the Dark Fae King says quietly, "on dragonback. 'Tis as though you were always meant to fly."

"Always wanted to." Ronin looks down into Zephyr's upturned face, a blazing flash of eye contact that crackles with suppressed emotion, then clears his throat, unhands his ex, and looks away. "Talking about Zara's new powers, weren't you?"

"Indeed I was." Zephyr turns toward me with a small secret smile. "There is one power all Unseelie queens have in common. All our queens, once crowned, acquire an… attractive aura. A magnetic energy that draws armies of amorous would-be suitors."

"Yeah, no. That's one power I can definitely do without. I, uh, don't seem to have a problem attracting suitors ." I snort and hop down from the saddle on my own, because Zephyr knows I don't want an assist. "Anyway, I've already got my army with the seven of you."

As we're all very well aware, even for a poly queen like me, both my hands and my bed are, like, extremely full .

A blinding flash of light announces V's shift back to his male warlock form. A heartbeat later, Max shifts after him, with another nuclear flash that leaves white spots dancing in my vision.

"Surely you don't imagine you're finished collecting amorous warlocks, do you, little queen?" V needles me, sharp as a wasp. "You can be certain none of the rest of us are making that assumption."

This definitely isn't anyplace I'm ready to go right now.

And thanks to the party going down right on top of us, I don't need to.

I turn away to let V and Max have their primping time, shimmying into their party duds from the saddlebag behind the privacy of Xhevith's lifted wing, while I take a sec to adjust my own getup.

Because the last thing I need tonight—as in, the very last—is a wardrobe malfunction.

Fortunately, a dragonrider's coronation gown is designed for… wait for it… dragon riding, so I don't have much to fix. Just an ice-white gown, strapless and fitted and slit high up the thigh, with supple dragonscale elbow gloves and dominatrix boots. Every time I move, emerald and teal flash in the witchlight like I'm encased in sequins. My hair's twisted in a braid that wraps around my head like Leia the rebel princess in The Empire Strikes Back (equally practical for dragon flight or saving the ice world of Hoth from Imperial attack).

Plus the getup leaves just enough leeway to strap my stiletto to my thigh.

So I'm good.

Actually, I'm more than good.

Ronin, Neo, Zephyr, Max, and Ash all glitter tonight like they're encased in ice. Like they've all been dipped in diamonds, with accents in my teal and Zephyr's royal green. Thanks to my Unseelie's generosity, we all look like we belong together. Like we're fitting consorts for a dragonrider king. Even Lucius, who's opted for his vintage tux and ascot with chestnut curls flowing loose down his back, fits right in with the enchanted ball theme.

And, sweet Jesus, Vasili.

When my horrible alpha finally emerges from the screen of Xhev's modestly lifted wing, V looks so Hollywood A-list celebrity in his narrow white tux and punk-rock silver hair, with a swipe of teal glitter across his eyelids and a pop of emerald sparkle at his cuffs, that I wanna ask for his autograph.

That magical war-harp is still plinking away, filling the balmy night with its uncanny melody. Couples and throuples and quartets of various genders are linking hands and whirling in circles around the kiva like they've been charmed to dance till they drop dead.

In a place like Avalon, honestly, I wouldn't rule it out.

But the minute Zephyr takes my arm like the king he is, grips Ash's elbow (because Ash is his other acknowledged consort), and squires the three of us onto the stairs, a militant blast of trumpets carves through the night like a cleaver.

The harp quivers into stillness.

All movement stops like someone flipped the off switch.

Under graceful falls of lavender and cornflower and sea-green hair, garlanded with spiky black flowers or loops of nightshade, a scattered sea of cold Fae faces turns across the kiva to track our approach.

My warlocks fall in behind us, all my shifters right on my tail, Ronin bringing up the rear and keeping a wary eye on our six. All around, I see heads bowing, hands pressed to hearts—and more than a few Dark Fae whose homage looks sullen and token at best.

Very clearly, Mordred's been making mischief.

Then the familiar chords from the trumpets (more invisible musicians) pluck at my nonexistent sleeve for attention.

"Royal accolade?" I shoot a sidelong look at Zephyr.

Behind his coldly regal face, a smile hides at the corners of his mouth.

"Cheese on toast. Is that… K-pop?"

"'Tis what you requested, is it not?" My Unseelie guides the three of us down the corkscrew stairs with their tricky footing into the kiva like he does it twelve times a day.

"Yeah, but we've been kinda busy today, Your Radiance," I point out. "Planning to trap your demon and all. So I'm impressed."

Zephyr says nothing, but his hidden smile deepens.

The minute we clear the stairs, he beelines for the platform.

Where the thrones—and the crown—are waiting.

Zaraaaaa, the damn thing breathes as we approach. I hold the power you seek. But you claim me at a great cost .

Zephyr's hand tightens around my arm. Clearly I'm not the only one hearing this. But he's the Dark Fae King. Maybe that crown's always spoken to him.

Once I am yours, that tinkling voice whispers like the chime of silver bells, I can never be renounced. I will become your destiny—and your doom.

"Fuck me," Ronin mutters from the rear. "You lot hearing this shit?"

"Every word," Vasili murmurs. "It's like surround sound. However does one turn it off?"

"I wish you good fortune with that," Zephyr says briefly.

Okay, so I guess my guys are all picking this up, one way or another.

Once I am yours, Gemini queen, the crown purrs, your precious freedom is no more. Perhaps, after all, 'tis better to yield to the demon.

Ash's wings unfurl and spread wide in menace.

"Not about me," I mutter, loud enough so all my guys can hear. "It's not about my freedom anymore. What we're doing is, like, way bigger than me. Bigger than any of us. If I wanna save the arcane races before we all go extinct, I gotta ascend. And for that, we need that crown."

Fired with purpose, Zephyr leaps onto the platform. I scramble up with him (a maneuver my slitted skirt barely allows, and I practically flash the whole room my thong in the process).

With a single downstroke of his mighty wings, Ash alights beside us.

Vasili, never one to be outdone, levitates onto the stage in his Saturday Night Fever tux, then drapes himself right over one of the thrones like his Goblin King namesake in Labyrinth .

I wait for Zephyr to tell V to get out of his chair, like he did yesterday in the study when those two almost came to blows.

Instead, Zephyr levels him with a look and mutters, "It suits you." Then he swoops in to lay claim to Vasili with a blazing kiss.

I swear to fuck, I almost burst into flames. For real.

That kiss just about sets my thong on fire.

While those two get to know each other better, my other guys claim the stage and range themselves around me. Max all protective and growly with rut, Lucius grave and serious, Neo excited and happy.

V's hand snakes around Zephyr's head and fists in his hair, so he's the one controlling the kiss. Zephyr grips the arms of the throne to fence Vasili in. Ronin lurks at my side and stares at the two of them with amber eyes smoldering like he's seriously thinking about crawling onto that throne between them.

But Ash is watching the crowd.

He's watching for the demon.

Where the fuck are you, Mordred? I shift my gaze to the impenetrable depths of the midnight sea. Cuz this is about the time we figured you'd show yourself.

I can practically hear the low rumble of demonic laughter.

Meanwhile, Zephyr finally emerges from kissing the shit out of Vasili (though I can't tell whether Zephyr breaks free or my snake pushes him away or both). Anyway, Zephyr sorta staggers back from V and straightens. Smirking, V fishes his silver compact out of his tuxedo pocket and touches up his lip gloss while he sprawls elegantly over Zephyr's throne. Looking kinda dazed, my Unseelie draws a hand across his mouth.

Then Zephyr reaches to lace my fingers through his, draws me in close for my own slow kiss—a leisurely claiming of my mouth with his that makes my pussy melt—then turns to face the silent stares of our viewing audience.

I mean, I guess with him, they've seen it all by now.

But written like headlines over that sea of cold, unfeeling Dark Fae faces, I read astonishment, outrage, and smoldering anger at the sight of an impudent mortal warlock coolly fixing his lip gloss on the Unseelie throne.

Great.

V's, like, ten times more elegant and royal than I am.

Just wait'll they get a load of my Gemini ass parked on their throne.

Zephyr's fingers tighten around mine, like he can sense my trepidation, even if he can't read my mind. Gracefully he lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to my gloved knuckles.

"Here is the essence of the matter," Zephyr announces to the staring multitudes. He doesn't even need to raise his voice, because kiva magic does the projecting for him. "Tonight I crown this powerful Gemini witch, the first of her kind, as my most worthy and beloved queen."

A spark of warmth kindles in my chest and swells. That warmth spreads outward through my whole body till even my fingertips are tingling .

Of course, Zephyr never actually said he's in love with me. He didn't exactly spell out the letters just now either. But, hell, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck.

He loves me.

The King of the Dark Fae loves my aerobicized mortal witching world ass. And it feels freaking amazing to hear him say it out loud to his whole kingdom.

"Tonight, as well," he goes on calmly, "I claim my beloved queen's warlocks—all of them—as mine own consorts."

My heart gives a huge leap. I gasp and turn to gape. He's watching the murmuring crowd, but his hand tightens around mine in a warm clasp.

"I trust you'll enjoy your wedding gift, my bride," he whispers under the crowd's restive rustle. "All seven of your warlocks fucking in one bed for your pleasure."

Oh, that effing Fae.

He's been planning this.

My entire body tingles with anticipation and excitement.

"Whoa," Neo whispers beside me, eyes shining behind his glasses. "I can't believe it. Am I really a king's consort?"

"That's right, baby." I literally feel like my heart's gonna explode. I link my free hand with his. "Believe it. He's claiming you. All of you."

I desperately wanna sneak a peek at Ronin, whose emotions through our bond are really turbulent. Telepathically, he's all over the map. But physically, he's not in my direct line of sight.

Besides, Zephyr isn't finished.

"The Unseelie crown is hers." Zephyr's cool voice hardens to rock. "And the Unseelie throne is, most emphatically, mine . If any here dare oppose me, know that you do so at your utmost peril."

Every soft Unseelie syllable falls on those staring heads like stones. "Be warned."

Unexpectedly, my Dark Fae turns to me. Gracefully, gauntlet glittering in the witchlight, he gestures toward the pillar.

"My queen," he says gently, "'tis time to claim your crown."

I blink in surprise and my mouth falls open.

Somehow, I assumed he was gonna crown me himself. I mean, I'm not even Unseelie. It's not like I was born to wear that thing.

But fuck if I'm gonna make him tell me twice .

I close my mouth, release my mates' hands, raise my chin, and walk through my guys into the danger zone. Close up, that witchlight dome hums like it's electrified. Static races across my skin and sparks across my fingers, and I haven't even touched it.

Vasili lowers his feet from the arm of Zephyr's throne to the floor and leans forward, his sharp gaze intent on my face.

"Be careful, little queen, do ," my snake whispers. "We really don't know what that forcefield can do."

But this isn't something he or any other of my guys—not even Zephyr—can do for me.

I'm either the queen or I'm not.

I brace myself, feet spread, and suck in my breath. Across the kiva, an awful silence descends.

In that stretch of nail-biting stillness, under the pressure of a thousand staring eyes, all my old misgivings come clamoring back. The babble of spiteful gossip and stinging criticism—every hurtful word stored up in my memory—makes my ears ring.

Maybe it's all a mistake.

Maybe I'm not worthy to be queen.

Maybe I'm selfish and self-centered and wicked.

A wicked Gemini who will never be queen.

"Cheese on toast," I whisper. God, I hate that my voice is shaking. "Not to be Captain Obvious. But there's literally one way to find out."

I steel myself for anything (not that steeling myself's gonna help if this crown is a trap or a curse). Then I plunge my dragonscale-sheathed hands deep into the sparkling dome. The forcefield wavers and hisses and sprays ultraviolet sparks like a blowtorch at a construction site.

Vasili exclaims and leaps to his feet. But I glare into his violently alarmed face and shake my head fiercely to warn him away. His narrow hands clench into fists and he hisses with frustration.

But, thank fuck, he follows my lead.

I just have this really strong sense that it's not safe for anyone else to touch the thing. And I'm gonna listen to my gut.

After all, I'm a fucking lightning witch.

I mean, honestly, I've handled worse.

My hands close carefully around the menace of glittery spikes, every one sharp enough to cut, and lift the crown from the surface. For such a major piece of bling, it's surprisingly light. Gripped carefully in my hands, it passes out through the witchfire dome like water.

Will you claim me? that silver voice chimes, so loud now it makes my skull ring like a bell. Do you dare?

Jesus. Now my own goddamn crown is daring me.

"Yeah, I claim you," I announce in a voice that rings to the heavens (and not only due to kiva magic, because queen voice). "I'm Zara fucking Gemini. And you better believe I dare."

Staring straight ahead and silently daring anyone (especially that demon) to stop me, surrounded and supported by all seven of my warlocks, I lift the crown, crackling with electrical energy, high before a thousand wide eyes.

From the rim, Xhevith stretches his long neck toward the heavens and bugles in triumph.

While his bellow fills the sky, I plant the Unseelie crown firmly in place on my head.