“Sure,” Becka replied after a pause. Vott tried so hard to help her, she found it hard to turn him down despite the late hour. “Let me just run by my room first and then I’ll be right up.”
“Don’t dawdle.” He wagged a finger at her, and then turned to go, leaving Becka standing with Alvilda.
A few uncomfortable seconds hung in the air between them. Although Alvilda presented as a fawning partner to Calder, Becka suspected Alvilda had lofty aims. Why else would she attend this event hanging on Calder’s arm for all to witness? Did she think Maura would take her more seriously if she saw the two looking the part of fae royalty?
Perhaps it was rooted in her own dislike of prestige, but Alvilda’s focus on upward mobility made Becka instantly dislike her.
“Give my regards to Duke Vott,” Alvilda said with a wink.
How boldly familiar! Just because she was involved with Calder didn’t mean Becka had to be friends with her.
“I suspect I’m in for a more enjoyable evening,” Alvilda continued. She didn’t wait for Becka’s reply but swept off in a swirl of gold and gray mist trailing her steps.
“With my stuck-up brother? I doubt it,” Becka replied, just loud enough for the departing fae to hear.
Chapter 2
Becka was overjoyed to discover a new batch of clothes from her townhome back in the city, freshly laundered, pressed, and hung in her closet.
“You got more!” Becka exclaimed. She popped her head out of the closet, and Saige smiled back at her. “Did you wash them too?”
Saige chortled. “No, you have people for that, and I’m not one of them.”
“Thank you!” She’d have given Saige a hug, but the wolves were touchy about personal space.
“My ability to smuggle in your stuff has improved commensurate with your bribing skills. To be honest, this week I took pity on your pathetic self. Plus, I had a little more free time, what with your extra training sessions.”
If it wasn’t for both Luce and Saige being willing to play along, Becka would have had to give up coloring her hair pink and wearing her favorite boho styles weeks ago. Her shifter friends had also acquired a steady supply of her favorite hot sauce. Maura hadn’t asked how she’d managed it, and Becka hadn’t offered an explanation.
She’d been well-motivated to buddy up with the shifters, not just because they had leeway to travel freely between territories with no one batting an eye, but also because they were far more approachable than the typical fae. For one, the shifters laughed all the time and seemed to try and find the fun in each moment. Second, they didn’t follow strict protocols or get upset if you didn’t use their correct titles. Third, she didn’t have to fear that any of them could be a Shadow-Dweller. Shadow-Dwellers were born fae, later corrupted by an unholy thirst for power.
“I love it! I’ll find more of that whiskey you like.” She disappeared inside the closet to change. Becka picked out a billowy pair of sage green palazzo pants with a red embroidered dragon wrapping around the legs and a drapey beige crocheted tank to wear. Then she pulled her pink hair back into a messy ponytail. She slipped on a pair of flip-flops and emerged from the closet feeling more like herself again.
“Those floofy dresses don’t suit you at all. You look happy to be back in your own skin,” Saige said.
She’d learned the wolves were passionate about being true to one’s self, or skin as they called it. “Be true to your skin, right?”
Saige nodded, a single brow arched.
Becka had heard shifters say it to each other in passing, sensing each time the weight of their belief behind the sentiment. The saying reached back into antiquity, often cited in some of the earliest shifter lore. She’d never spoken the shifter phrase before, but Saige didn’t seem to mind Becka using it.
“Did you agree to smuggle in my things because of the whiskey or because of the whole shifter skin thing?”
Saige grinned, offering her a shrug. “You may never know. But seriously, trying to be that which you’re not causes many issues.”
Luce, appearing at the door, sniffed the air and cast her gaze about in a wide net. Alighting on Becka, she nodded. “Isn’t Elder Vott awaiting the pleasure of your company, Lady Becka?”
She rolled her eyes at Luce and was rewarded with a sly grin. The shifters knew Becka didn’t need or want titles, so their insistence on using them at times had become something of an inside joke. Becka had tried to get them to disclose some similar level of titles within their ranks, but if the shifters had titles, they had yet to share them with her.
“Just a moment,” Becka replied. She slid on the sea silk gloves Vott had gifted her after her Null gift had been discovered, when she’d touched the Unbreakable and broken it. Vott had these teas with her a few days a week, usually after her training had finished for the day. She wasn’t sure how he timed it, but he was always precise down to the minute.
This one was an exception to the timing, and perhaps a prelude to an impending lecture.
Becka swept out of her room, falling into a steady cadence alongside the shorter woman. “Off to the rooftop garden.”
Luce glanced at Becka. “It’ll be pretty in the moonlight.”
“She’s worried about getting a talking to,” Saige, walking behind them, replied.
“I never said that,” Becka replied.
“Didn’t need to,” Luce said. “There’s a stiffness in your movements that tells me you’re anxious.”
Becka sighed, unable to disagree.
As they headed down the corridor towards the main central staircase of House Rowan, they passed portraits of Rowan ancestors along the way. The rich, vibrant colors and historical settings were something she’d stared at in wonder in her youth, both for the intricacy of the art and the richness of the frames, the wallpaper, the carpet, even the lighting sconces.
Becka wondered if, had the elders still been alive, would they have disapproved of the free-spirited woman she’d grown into as much as her current relatives did?
Near the end of the hall they passed by a fae who, at their approach, stepped to the side and inclined his head to her. Becka smiled at him and returned the nod, but the interaction, one of many she had during each day, grated on her nerves.
Becka wasn’t anywhere near used to being heir again of House Rowan. Fae kept strict adherence to their social norms, and she had the sense that it gave them comfort. A feeling of stability, even. She’d tried following along, but it didn’t feel right. She’d lived too long finding her own path, and following customs she couldn’t even remember the purpose of didn’t help her sleep better at night. Sighing in frustration, Becka wondered if she would ever grow used to it all. It didn’t help that she had no interest in fulfilling the role.
She wasn’t blind to the potential that, as heir, she could hold great sway. She’d have even more power as the future duchess, although that time would be decades away from now.
But Becka didn’t want to wait. She didn’t want to be patient. Her fire for change was in the present, not some distant, untouchable future.
However, when she’d had conversations with Astrid and Maura about her desire to have more control over her life, they’d both shot her down. Becka had been told she was pushing for too much, too fast, and to wait until her gift was under control before asking these questions.