Chapter Seven Zara

I'm seriously fascinated by Mallory and her ménage .

I mean, I don't know anyone else at Icarus who's poly like me and my guys. But I don't want to make my classmate feel weird. Or, God knows, threatened—like the rebel queen's macking on her guys (or on her). So I work really hard not to stare.

Since that's apparently what I am right now.

The rebel queen.

"WNN just finished filming their whole special broadcast from our villa crypt. I guess because it's, I dunno, all medieval and atmospheric down there?" From her uneasy perch on the Renaissance sofa, Mallory wraps up her story with an apologetic shrug and scoots closer to the fire. "So we heard the whole thing right from the source. Messalina controls the media, and they're spinning this whole thing like we're starring in The Hunger Games and this is the revolution."

"Am I supposed to be Katniss?" I stare. "Not totally minding. She's badass."

Mal's throat ripples in a hard swallow. "They're saying you and your kings are trying to overthrow the government."

"Oh, please." Vasili sneers and looks totally unimpressed. "As though there's any sort of actual Aquarius government to overthrow. Everyone knows Messalina's reign has been a nightmare. Truly, she's worse than useless. The witching world is practically extinct. First she ignored it, then she denied it. In the end, she's only made the entire crisis worse."

"That's why we're here, true?" Draco Mars rasps in his sandpaper voice, draping a possessive arm around Mallory's shoulders and tucking her skinny frame against his big body to keep her warm. "A shitload of witches and warlocks gonna feel the same way. The way we see it, you boys and her? If we gonna survive? You're the only play for this shithole throne we got to make."

Sure, that sounds supportive, and they're here —which speaks volumes. But those Nordic eyes burning in the square-jawed face of Mallory's hulking Icelandic beau are twin chips of blue ice.

Suffice it to say, this guy's not filling half our sofa with his Hulk-sized body at one a.m. because he likes me.

And Mal's other guy—Jean-Emilien Labête (who goes by Jae)—seems even more on edge as he prowls around our great room, barely visible in the shadows with his black hair and black clothes and silent tread.

Let's just say it's no coincidence that my guys have rearranged themselves around me on the settee with V coiled on one side, Lucius lurking on the other, and Ronin looming on his feet behind me with his hot Leo hands literally resting on my shoulders. Max is pacing around the windows again (and Jae's definitely ceding him that terrain).

My surly dragon looks like he might shift and start flaming at the first sign of danger.

While Neo and Dez bustle around getting everyone refills on their coffee and cocoa, Racetrack pokes at the fire and looks grumpy.

I worry that my housemate's head is hurting from her injury (which she incurred fighting for me). But of course, she's too stubborn to admit it and take a numbing potion. Especially now, with these uninvited guests in the house, especially guests that are so alarming. I figure Dez is gonna have to coax her girlfriend into taking care of herself.

Because, clearly, I did enough ordering everyone around—including RT who isn't even my mate—while we were fighting for our lives on that yacht.

"I'll admit the news you're hearing is consistent with what I've derived from my own sources, Ms. McSnicker," Lucius murmurs around a genteel sip of Hungarian palinka . The fruity bite of his brandy stings my nostrils, but that bite is familiar and comforting. Comfort is something we all need right now. "My grandsire missed the yacht's departure from the port in Sorrento to attend this evening's festivities only because he was detained by the AIB when he attempted to board. "

"What the hell?" Okay, now I'm indignant. "One, Gramps is head of the Aries clan, so he's influential as fuck. And two, he's like a hundred years old. You can't just go around arresting old people. They get heart attacks and shit."

"Except for being inconvenienced by his detainment, he's fine. Although I don't advise that you address him as Gramps when you meet." My headmaster shoots me a wry look and rests a steadying hand on my knee. "More to the point, I fear the same fate has befallen Racetrack's mothers, as well as Senator Mercury… and even Mick Gemini."

"My dad?" Caught in the middle of serving Mallory's cocoa (minus schnapps, because she's pregnant), Neo's so surprised he almost squeaks. "He's under arrest?"

"Whoa." I sit up straighter and carefully cradle my own boozy cocoa, which is way too yummy to spill. "I mean, don't get me wrong. My asshole dad gets arrested on, like, a regular basis. That's what happens when you're an Irish mob boss and a crooked casino czar. But I'm guessing that's maybe not the norm for anyone else's parental unit?"

"Let's just say the arrest was a novel experience for my law-abiding and very traditional Hungarian grandsire," Lucius says dryly. "However, a pureblooded Aries wolf shifter—even one of his years—is difficult to confine, as the AIB learned to their dismay. He is at this moment, as I believe you'd say, on the wind?"

"Bon bagay!" Jae, who's a lean and kinda slinky-looking Creole with expensive clothes and amber eyes like a shifter—prowls into the light and bares his teeth in a wolfish grin. "The Aries wolves are badass, oui? My fanmi back in New Orleans, they tell folk tales about Count Laszlo."

"Count Laszlo, huh?" I murmur to Lucius, shooting him a teasing wink. You been holding out on me, Teach? Am I gonna be a countess once you and I officially tie the knot?

You're already a queen. The gray silk ribbon of my headmaster's mental murmur unspools through the mating bond we share with our guys. Although it's true my ancestral home is a rather atmospheric medieval castle in the Carpathians. I'll enjoy taking you—all of you—to visit someday.

That juicy revelation definitely adds to the whole Old World aristocrat vibe Lucius is rocking .

Too bad I'm so worried about everything else I'm hearing, and so relieved Lucius seems none the worse for wear after his wolfish scuffle with that fucker Xiao—someone else who's still on the wind—that I can barely even get psyched about visiting Dracula's castle.

Still, it means something that Lucius (who's super reserved and private, at least when he's not wolfing out) is extending the invite. It means something that his whiskey eyes linger on all of us—all our mates, even Max who he isn't fucking—with that kinda warmth.

Vasili hums with interest and looks intrigued. Still looming behind me, Ronin shifts one hand from my shoulder to rest on Lucius'.

My headmaster's still talking, his affectionate gaze resting on Neo's worried face as our bookworm trots over and snuggles on the ottoman at my feet. "There's no cause for alarm over anyone's parents. I understand Senator Mercury is very capably negotiating with the AIB authorities, and the Prynnes are among his biggest donors. My grandsire fully expects they'll all be paroled and released by dawn."

"Oh, gosh, poor Dad. Paroled. " Neo leans into my knees and sighs. "Wait'll the press get wind of that. It's an election year too. No wonder he isn't returning my calls." His face turns diplomatically toward RT. "And the poor Prynnes too."

"Yeah, sucks, but it's nothing they can't handle." Racetrack scowls into the fire. "One of my moms runs a construction crew. She's tough enough to spit nails, so no one fucks with her. And my other mom has nerves of steel—you know, brain surgeon."

"A construction boss and a brain surgeon?" Mallory looks impressed. "Wow. Did they meet cute? Someone should write them into a sapphic romance."

RT looks so appalled at that idea that Ronin snickers. "That could be your side hustle, mate. Romance author."

Predictably, Racetrack flips him the bird. "Anyway, they're both pretty hard to shake up. And they're too loaded to intimidate. Neo's dad'll get 'em sprung."

"Which leaves my dad," I mutter. "He's got more legal lives than a cat. He'll lawyer up and wiggle outta whatever they try to charge him with. Same as always."

Lucius says quietly, "I'm afraid the charge is sedition."

Hearing the word, I suck in my breath. My heart gives a hard thump. That ugly word just lies there, on the colorful Turkish rug before us, like a stinking dead rat no one wants to touch.

"The fuck," Ronin mutters.

Maxim lets out a dragonish snarl and resumes pacing.

"Sedition?" I echo, feeling dizzy. "As in, treason ? If we're all being charged with treason, why isn't the AIB beating down our door to haul us off right now?"

Lucius places his snifter on the end table, right next to my stolen crown, and raises a scholarly hand for caution. "It appears no one's been formally arraigned. Merely detained. Messalina was clearly hoping you'd recognize her daughter, renounce your claim on the crown, and obviate the need for any more dramatic course of action."

"Yeah, no, not renouncing." I scowl at the crown that's causing all this trouble. "Vasili said it. Draco said it." I give a wary nod at the hulking Norseman sitting across the way who's watching us all so closely. "I said it on live TV. The witching world is dying. We're in free fall. We're not making enough little witches and warlocks to sustain the population. If I can figure out how to reverse that, the way Zephyr and I did for the Dark Fae in Avalon when we broke the curse—then we've got a fighting chance."

My point's one hundred percent valid. Still, it hurts to say Zephyr's name, for real. Hot pain pings in my chest and burns in my throat.

Because neither he nor Ash have been picking up (so to speak) from Avalon when I try to call.

Ronin, my telepath, shifts both hands to my tight shoulders and gives me a hard squeeze.

His fierce voice ricochets through our mating bond. I'll find that bloody-minded Unseelie bastard. And the other one too, I reckon. Can't hide forever, can they? I've got a scrying glass, haven't I? And I know how to use it.

I can't hold back a mortified giggle, which makes Mal and her guys eye me like I'm psycho. Here I am, the mad queen, giggling into my cocoa over an extinction event that's dooming all four of the arcane races.

"No wonder they're hiding, Adam, with that kinda attitude," I mutter into my mug.

Now it's Ronin's turn to voice a dark chuckle. Which I'm kinda relieved to hear. My sexy Brit's got his own major baggage with my two missing Fae. Enough baggage to pretty much fill all the available space whenever he scrys for my two missing guys.

But now definitely isn't the time to unpack all that.

"Let's try to stay focused," Lucius says mildly, eyeing the two of us with gentle exasperation as we chortle away. "To Zara's point, no one's come to arrest us—even after she announced to the entire witching world where to find us and practically dared Messalina to try. Cleopatra actually fled the scene rather than fight."

"That's one way to put it," Ronin mutters. "A blooming sea dragon. Thought they were supposed to be extinct."

"Not in Avalon," I murmur. Sure, my ex-BFF turning sea dragon shifter was a shocker, but I've had a few hours now to process that shit. "They've got all kinds of dragons over there. And Cleo's apparently half-Fae, born in Avalon, so do the math."

"Even so." Lucius steeples his thoughtful fingers. "Even the AIB aggression on the yacht appeared to be primarily a delaying tactic. This restraint suggests Messalina Aquarius is… uncertain. Not yet prepared to declare open war against you—her proclaimed successor, the Gemini queen—and your powerful allies. In this situation, we retain a certain amount of freedom to… strategize."

I squirm on the settee and sip at my well-fortified cocoa to steady my jittery nerves. Seems weird to think of me—reformed cat burglar and a casino czar's brat—having powerful allies.

But, clearly, I do. I'm the closest thing to a purebred female witch our depleted races can scare up, with DNA from all four arcane races, which is why the Senate chose me to be the next royal. I've got all kinds of uber-scary witchcraft I'm still discovering and coming to terms with.

Plus I'm common-law mated to half the blooded scions in the witching world.

Not to mention semi-officially mated (kinda by accident) to Zephyr, the Unseelie King. And semi-officially shagging Ash, the Seelie Prince.

Assuming those two Fae haven't changed their minds about wanting me… us… I mean, all my warlocks. And all our baggage—

"So what's our play?" Draco growls in his gravelly voice. Under his spiky thatch of ice-white hair, his arctic eyes flick over me and half my mates packed like sardines around the settee. His lips twist in a scowl. "Assuming you got one. "

This Viking might be Mallory's guy, but I swear the temp in this domus plunges ten degrees every time he opens his mouth. Still, Mal's snuggled right up against that Icelandic version of the Terminator like he's not the most alarming thing that's walked into our domus since Bjorn the polar bear shifter last winter.

"Don't you mean, assuming we trust you?" Vasili's mouth curls in a silky smile. "You're not exactly your stodgy and responsible elder brother, are you, Draco? Where does the Mars clan stand in the matter of our so-called rebellion?"

Draco's cold eyes narrow and his big shoulders bunch under his spiked leather jacket. Mallory rests a hand on his knee to hold him.

"Draco stands with me," she says firmly. "And I might not look like much—but appearances can be deceiving."

Before any of us can dig into that, Mallory's freckled face fires with determination and she leans forward. "Besides, there's one other thing we came to tell you."

"Oh, we're listening, McSnicker," Vasili purrs. "With bated breath."

Now it's my turn to slide a hand over his silk kimono-clad knee. "Don't be an asshole with them, okay, Goblin King? They really are here to help."

"Yeah, don't be a brat," Neo chimes in helpfully from his seat at my feet. "Zara needs every ally we can get."

V hums with annoyance, but his cool fingers glide over mine (which is the closest he ever comes to an apology). His snaky humor lurks in our mating bond. I'm guessing he doesn't totally mind when sweet Neo calls him a brat.

Especially when, like, he is one.

His cool touch trails up my wrist, sharp black-painted nails tickling my skin like talons. Which is more than enough to get me all goosebumpy and tingling and totally sidetracked.

Yowsa.

Suddenly all I can think about is how vicious my horrible bully of an alpha's gonna be later.

When he finally gets me cornered.

In our bed.

Mallory's Creole boyfriend Jae slinks onto the sofa beside her and leans in to rub his face into her neck (which is classic shifty stuff. He's scenting her.) The beads and juju woven in his sleek black dreads slither over his shoulder.

And now Mal's blushing, because her redhead complexion's too fair to hide it.

"Me, I walk unseen on this island when I wish," Jae says softly, in the musical singsong of his Creole voice. "There is much I see. Tonight I see lot of traffic coming and going from Villa Tiberius."

"That den of vipers." Still vigilant near the glass doors, Max stalks back and forth. By now, he's so suspicious he practically has smoke leaking from his nostrils. "Those creatures are Zara's enemies. And they are mine."

Villa Tiberius is, like, our rival residential college. They bullied me like they bullied Max when we first turned up at Icarus. If Mallory and the Hadrians are Hufflepuffs, those cliquey witches at Tiberius (who all lean Aquarius) are definitely Slytherin.

And us? Given my creative cat burglary approach to the law, Neo's sky-high I.Q., and V's twisty cunning, we're definitely Ravenclaws. Because sometimes we skirt the rules. And we're smart enough and badass enough to get away with it.

I mean, usually.

"Somebody moving in at the rival domus ?" I rest my empty mug on the floor and sift my fingers through Neo's soft curls to caress his warm nape. That's both for his comfort and mine. My fated mate's always responsive, but tonight he's a little withdrawn. His hurt still smarts in our mating bond.

I breathe in his clean soapy scent of sage and lavender and hope he won't stay upset for too long.

If our sweet bookworm learning to fight is the price I've gotta pay to earn his forgiveness?

Guess I better get used to that.

"Yeah, a bunch of someones are moving in at Tiberius," Mallory says in response to my question. "With a lot of luggage too. It looks like an actual entourage."

"You mean, like, a royal entourage?" I stare into her earnest gray eyes. "I mean, sure, we sank the royal yacht. By accident, of course—"

"That was no accident." Maxim growls. "I meant to burn that vessel to the waterline. So that is what I did. "

Ronin laughs, which doesn't help, but we're moving past Max and his bloodthirsty ways. I glance around at all my guys. "I mean, why would Messalina move in at Icarus? This Academy is totally our space. It's our power base."

"She wouldn't," Vasili murmurs. "That bitchy witch has almost certainly retreated to sulk and lick her wounds at the Aquarius palazzo in Venice. That's her stronghold, where her actual throne resides. You've stolen her crown, darling. She's going to cling to that throne like a barnacle."

"Crikey! New student." Dez pops up suddenly.

Our resident house elf has finally stopped fussing over everyone's coffee and cocoa. Now Dez is tucked up neatly next to Racetrack on the rug and practically vibrating with excitement. "That's what the Dean said when I finally got her on the landline, yeah? I thought she was barmy. Telling me about a new student at a time like this? But maybe she was actually trying to warn us."

In the sudden silence, Vasili draws in a hiss of alarm. His cold fingers close around my wrist like a manacle.

That's his way of holding me close.

For protection.

Max snarls and stops in his tracks to eye me. In his golden irises, his oblong pupils narrow to slits. He's feeling the sizzle of instinct that crackles through my brain like a lightning bolt.

Since my mates all read me like the goddamn Sunday paper, Ronin's hands tighten on my shoulders. "Oh, bloody hell. Surely not, love."

Clearly smelling the tension in the room, even though they're not in our bond, Jae and Draco loom protectively over Mallory. The Viking's eyes flare and pulse with an eerie blue fire.

Even with my shifty senses, I can't be sure in the flickering light, but Jae's fingers seem to elongate, so they're all extra jointy and sprout cruel-looking talons.

Mallory squeezes Draco's thick thigh and grips Jae's freaky-looking hand. Her cautious gaze shoots straight to Lucius, the face of authority in the room. "I don't get it. Why would the Dean warn you about a new student? It can't be Messalina. She graduated from here thirty years ago."

"No, our new resident wouldn't be Messalina," Lucius murmurs. He sounds totally composed, but I know my unshakable headmaster is troubled (which makes my own misgivings worse). "As Vasili has surmised, our queen regnant has very likely returned to her royal seat in Venice. The refugees from the yacht are likewise being flown home on the Academy supply plane. Queen or no queen, only faculty and students are permitted past the wards to reside on this island."

I don't even wanna say this shit out loud.

But, clearly, someone needs to say it.

And then figure out some plan to deal with it.

"Fuuuuuck." I groan, long and low, from the heart. "Fucking Cleo. She just fucking enrolled here as a student."