Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

I thought Arion wanted redemption, but now, looking down on him bending one knee to me in The Greasy Spoon, I see only the sharp want of revenge.

Maybe there’s space for both for him. Maybe, in his position, there is not one without the other.

“You want to kill the Summer Queen?” I ask him. I want to be sure I’m not mishearing. Misunderstanding. I want to be extra clear that what he wants is also what I want so we can move forward.

“Yes.” He gives me a curt nod to emphasize the answer.

“What changed your mind?”

The rest of the customers at The Greasy Spoon are watching, completely riveted. I can hear something bubbling in the fryer in back, but the air is taking on the scent of burning potatoes. Stanley is beside me, plate in hand, the white ceramic overwhelmed by a thick grilled cheese and a giant pile of fresh fries.

“You gave me compelling evidence,” Arion answers. His nostrils flare, shoulders leveling in a tense straight line. “And if I’m completely honest, I always had my suspicions about Maven. The fact that the queen circumvented the truth about his lineage in order to skip me in the royal line of ascension is”—his teeth clench—“unforgivable.”

“I agree,” Bran says.

Arion’s gaze shifts to Bran standing beside me. I don’t think my brother likes Bran much, but there is a softening in the hard lines around his eyes.

“Get up,” I say. “There’s no need for you to be on the floor when we’re both destined for thrones.”

Making this bold statement sends butterflies skittering through my stomach.

Sometimes it still catches me off guard. All of it really. That I have a brother. That he’s fae. That I’m supposed to inherit a fae throne of my own.

I can almost see it, he and I coming together in the fae realm, restoring the balance. Becoming friends even.

I want that.

I don’t want to disappoint him.

He slowly climbs to his feet and dusts off his knee with a swipe of the back of his hand. He straightens out his jacket. It’s royal blue with threading in gold and delicate stitching along the lapel showing swirls and four-petal flowers that sorta remind me of four-leaf clovers.

His blue-black hair is swiped back from his forehead and the sides are buzzed short as if he’s just come from a fresh haircut.

“If you’re serious,” I say, “you and your blade can have the Summer Queen if you’ll join me in fighting back against her. I sure as hell don’t want to marry Maven.”

Bran snorts.

“It won’t come to that,” Arion answers. “The betrothal was just a shroud meant to obscure the truth about Maven and the queen’s ultimate plans to steal more power for herself. Once she realizes the ruse is up?—”

“Once she realizes you are no longer her puppet, you mean?” I raise a brow.

“Yes.” Arion nods. “Once she realizes she’s lost both of her best avenues, she’ll go to outright violence. It will not be pretty. She may be blinded by her hunger for control, but she isn’t dumb, and she is powerful. She’ll use all of her assets against us.”

I can sense my grilled cheese growing colder by the second. Stanley is still standing there, waiting patiently to serve me. Though I think a little part of him wants to know the details too, and has stuck around so he could have them, regardless of whether or not he plans to fight. I don’t think brownies ever do. They’ve been neutral as long as I’ve been alive, both here in Midnight, and in the history books we read in school.

“Sit down with us,” I tell Arion. “Let me eat that delicious grilled cheese and you can fill us in on everything you know that might help us win this war.”

While I swipe crispy, salty fries through a puddle of ketchup, Bran and Arion are discussing ways into the Summer Queen’s palace using salt and pepper shakers and hot sauce bottles as entry points.

We have all of The Greasy Spoon to ourselves. Arion’s arrival sent a few people running out the back door, and those that remained Stanley shooed out, claiming it was a fae holiday and the Spoon was closing early.

The people I went to school with nodded at me and called out hello as they passed my booth where I now sit beside Bran and across the table from a Summer fae lord.

I was never super popular in school. I had Sam and she was all I needed. Bianca was always friendly, though we were never close. Now I think I’m all anyone can gossip about in Midnight Harbor.

“What about this entry?” Bran asks.

Arion clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “This door and the hallway beyond it leads directly to the dance hall. There’s no place to hide here.” He lifts the lid on the straw dispenser, pulling out wrapped straws to make a rudimentary perimeter for the palace, then shifts the saltshaker to the back corner. “This is for deliveries. It tends to be busier during the day, but it’s a great way inside, regardless of if we try to sneak in or waltz in, blending into the crowd.”

I bite off a corner of my grilled cheese. “Which do you recommend?”

He hands me a napkin when cheese catches on the corner of my mouth.

“Thank you.”

“It will be hard for us to blend in,” Bran points out.

“Why can’t you use the same magic you used to kidnap me?” Arion asks, just a hint of accusation in his voice.

I look over at Bran. “It’s a good idea.”

“We’d have to bring Bianca with us,” he answers. “And I’m not so sure I’m willing to risk our witch in the fae realm.”

“She’d say yes if you asked her.” I take a sip of my Diet Coke, then lick my lips. “She made a choice to join Duval House to be an asset to Duval House. If you ask her, she’ll want to help, and you should let her continue to make her own choices.”

Both men are silent, staring at me.

“What?”

Bran blinks.

Arion says, “Sounding like a fair and honest queen already.”

I blush because for some stupid reason, his compliments make me proud of myself.

I want my older brother to not only like me but respect me.

And more than anything, I want to live up to this title I was born with.

“All right, little mouse,” Bran says. “We’ll let the witch decide.”

Arion steals one of my fries. “I’ll be honest, Duval, I assumed your arrogance would get in your way and you’d constantly be at odds with Jessie as the power shifts. You’re surprising me.”

“Jessie and I are on the same page,” Bran answers, indifferent.

“No, you’re not.” Arion bites off the end of the fry. “You’re not even in the same book.”

“We are,” I assure Arion. “We will always be on the same page.”

My brother arches a brow. “Well, if that turns out to be true, even hell should watch its back. You two will be unstoppable.”

I rest my hand on Bran’s thigh and give him a squeeze. I meant what I said. We are on the same page, regardless of whether or not I wear a crown. And I want to be unstoppable with him. I want us to be a force to be reckoned with.

We leave The Greasy Spoon once my plate is clean and my stomach full. We head straight for Duval House to ask Bianca if she’d like to venture into the fae realm to help us deceive the Summer Queen.

“Absolutely,” she says too quickly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

With that part settled, Bianca leaves to prep the spellwork. Lance reports to us that Damien is with Kelly and because we don’t want to risk the Summer Queen learning that Arion is working with us, we keep our distance and head out of town to the Alpha’s Pack House. If we’re fighting a war, we’re going to need more than the vampires on our side.

Because the Bimmer is a super obvious car and literally the only vintage BMW in all of Midnight, we leave it safely tucked away at Duval House and take one of the nondescript black SUVs. And because I want Bran and Arion to like each other, or at the very least get to know one another enough to tolerate the other, I give Arion the front seat and climb in back.

The leather seats are so plush, the SUV such a smooth ride, that it’s easy to slink down and let my eyes slip closed.

“Christ,” Bran says and I lurch upright, having dozed off.

“What? What is it?”

He pulls the SUV around the Pack House driveway and nods at the large front porch.

A chill floods my veins.

Sam is there next to one of the grand porch columns and she’s pointing a very angry finger at the Alpha while talking to him. And he’s got his arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw flexing.

“What are they saying?” I ask Bran.

He grins.

“Bran!”

“Apparently, she heard about you going to the fae realm to defend your throne and she plans to go with you and the Alpha forbade her and so now she’s telling him where he can stick his head. Would you like me to repeat what she said?”

“No, I think I got it.” I scrub the sleepiness from my face. “Sam can’t go. She’s mortal. It’s too dangerous and?—”

Bran parks the SUV and talks to me through the reflection in the rearview mirror. “I swear someone was just saying something about female empowerment and letting women make their own choices? Arion, do you remember someone saying something like that?”

“Yes, I do remember,” Arion says with a smirk.

Well, shit.