“Ignorance is no excuse,” her father said, cold amusement frosting his face. “You are now Bryce Adelaide Danaan.”
Bile burned her throat. She’d never heard anything more hateful. She was Bryce Adelaide Quinlan. She’d never stop being a Quinlan. Her mother’s daughter.
Her father continued, “You will maintain appearances with Cormac for as long as I command you to.” He rose, glancing again at her hands—the lines she’d gouged in the desk thanks to that new Vanir strength. His eyes narrowed. “What is that number there?”
She flipped over the piece of paper on which she’d written the sequence of numbers and letters on Sofie’s body. But despite her rage and disgust, she managed to ask, “You know it?”
He scanned her face. “I will admit to turning a blind eye to the recklessness of your brother, but I would think you, Princess, would be more careful. The Asteri won’t come to kill me first. Or even Athalar. They’ll go right to Nidaros.”
Her stomach twisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” What did the sequence from Sofie’s arm have to do with this? Had he known Sofie? She didn’t dare ask. Her father stalked for her office door, graceful as a leopard.
But he paused on the threshold, attention going to the star on her chest. “I know what it is you’re searching for. I’ve been seeking it for a long, long time.”
“Oh?” she sneered. “And what is that?”
The Autumn King stepped into the dimness of the stacks. “The truth.”
Juniper didn’t attend dance class that evening, and Madame Kyrah didn’t so much as look at Bryce.
Though everyone else did. There were glares and whispers.
So inappropriate.
What an entitled brat.
Can you imagine ever doing that to a friend?
Bryce left class during the five-minute break and didn’t return.
She found a bench in a quiet part of the Oracle’s Park and slumped onto the wooden slats, tugging her hat low over her face.
She was a fucking princess. Yes, she’d been one before today, but …
A folder full of documents had been delivered right before she’d gone to class. In it had been a new scooter registration, proof of name change, and a credit card. A sleek, black credit card with HRH Bryce Danaan stamped on the front. A long, golden leash stretched from it to her father. And his bank account. She’d shoved everything into a drawer in her desk and locked it.
How could she tell her mother? How could she tell Randall?
She’d been so fucking stupid. She wished Danika were with her. Wished June didn’t hate her guts, that Fury wasn’t hundreds of miles to the north. With her parents, who already had enough to deal with, without her telling them about this spectacular fuckup.
And yeah, she knew if she called Hunt, he’d find her in two seconds, but … She wanted to talk to another female. Someone who might understand.
She dialed before she could second-guess herself.
Thirty minutes later, Bryce waited at a pizza counter, nursing a beer, watching people begin to queue at the alley food stalls as night fell, the baking temperature with it.
The witch-queen entered so casually that Bryce might not have noticed if it hadn’t been for Ithan’s presence. He sat at one of the small tables in the alley, clad in an old sunball T-shirt and track pants, looking for all the world like a guy out to meet a friend. Except for the outline of the handgun tucked into the back of his waistband. The knife she knew was in his boot.
No sign of the dragon, though. Unless Ariadne was somewhere out of sight.
Bryce said to Hypaxia, “Nice jeans.”
The witch peered down at herself, the light green blouse, charcoal biker jacket, and tight black jeans, the sensible flats and pretty gold bracelet. A matching gold brooch of Cthona adorned the lapel of her jacket. “Thank you. Ithan suggested I blend in.”
“He’s not wrong,” Bryce said, glancing at the wolf sizing up every person on the street. She said to Hypaxia, “Order what you want and we’ll pay the tab when we leave.”
The witch strode the ten feet to the display in the tiny shop, then quietly ordered. If the male behind the counter recognized her, he didn’t let on.
Hypaxia took a position at the counter overlooking the alley. Ithan lifted his brows high. She nodded. All was fine.
Bryce said to her, “He’s pretty intense about the guard duty.”
“Very professional,” Hypaxia said approvingly.
Bryce offered a friendly smile. “Thanks for coming. I know my call was super random. I just … I had a crazy day. And thought you might have some advice.”
Hypaxia smiled at last. “I’m pleased you did. I’ve wished to see you since our encounter this spring.” When the queen had been playing medwitch. And …
It all came rushing back.
Hypaxia had freed Hunt from the halo. Had removed it. Had given him the ability to slay Sandriel and come aid Bryce—
“Thank you for what you did,” Bryce said, throat tight. “For helping Hunt.”
Hypaxia’s smile only widened. “From your scent, it seems as if you and he have made things … permanent. Congratulations.”
Bryce casually rocked back on her heels. “Thank you.”
“And how’s your thigh?”
“No more pain. Also thanks to you.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Bryce sipped from her beer as the server brought over the queen’s pizza. She murmured to him, and the male brought the second slice out to Ithan, who grinned over at Hypaxia and held up the slice in a long-distance cheers. Still no sign of the dragon. Maybe that was a good thing.
When Hypaxia had taken a bite, Bryce said, “So, I, uh …”
“Ah. The reason you asked me here?”
Bryce sighed. “Yeah. My father—the Autumn King—visited today. Said that because I used his name for a few things, it meant I had accepted my royal title. I tried to refuse, but he’d already done the paperwork. I’m now officially a princess.” She almost choked on the last word.
“Judging from your expression, this is not good news.”
“No. I know you’re pretty much a stranger, and that you were born into your title and never had the choice to be normal, but … I feel like I’m drowning here.”
A gentle, warm hand landed atop hers. “I am sorry he did that to you.”
Bryce studied a stain on the counter, unsure if she could look at the witch without crying.
Hypaxia said, “Why do you think I came here this spring? I wanted to be normal. If only for a few months. I know what you’re feeling.”
Bryce shook her head. “Most people wouldn’t get it. They’d think, Oh, poor you, you have to be a princess. But I’ve spent my entire life avoiding this male and his court. I hate him. And I just walked right into his clutches like a fucking idiot.” She heaved a shuddering breath. “I think Hunt’s answer to all of this would be to go flambé my father until he reversed this bullshit, but … I wanted to see if you had any alternate ideas.”
The queen took another bite of her pizza, contemplating. “While I might enjoy the sight of Hunt Athalar flambéing the Autumn King …” Bryce’s mouth quirked up at that. “I think you’re right that a more diplomatic method is required.”