Toward the world waiting for them.
Ruhn bowed before the seated Archangels. Hypaxia, at his side, bowed as well.
He was a lying piece of shit, he’d thought ruefully as he’d donned a black-on-black tux an hour ago. He’d agreed to be Hypaxia’s date to this thing—as her fiancé, and as Crown Prince he didn’t really have a choice but to be here—but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Day. About whether she’d show up in a mere few hours.
He’d already scoped out the fountain through the western doors. It lay in shadow beyond the massive glass conservatory, about fifteen feet from the stairs leading out of the building and into the starry night.
He hadn’t spoken to Day since they’d made their arrangement. He’d tried to talk to her, but she hadn’t answered. Would she be here tonight, as promised? Was she already in the packed conservatory?
He’d removed his carved black mask to make his formal greeting to the Archangels, and as he turned from Celestina and Ephraim, Ruhn scanned the crowd once more.
Beautiful gowns, beautiful ladies—they were masked, but he knew most of them. Of course, Day could be someone he knew. He had no idea what to look for. Where to even look for her in the vast, candlelit space, bedecked in garlands and wreaths of autumnal leaves brought from the colder climes up north. Winged skulls and scythes were interspersed with a rainbow of fall gourds on every table. Day could be anywhere.
Security had been insane getting in here. It was the 33rd’s show, and they ran it like the paranoid psychos they were. Soldiers stood stationed outside the doors and hovered in the skies. Baxian and Naomi had checked IDs and invites at the doors. They’d remain there all night, even while other members of the triarii reveled. None of Ephraim’s people had been tapped to stand guard. Either from a lack of trust or as a privilege, Ruhn didn’t know.
There had been no sign of Pippa Spetsos or her Lightfall squadron, or any other Ophion unit recently, but dreadwolves still prowled the streets. And this ballroom.
Ruhn slipped on his mask and said to Hypaxia, “Can I get you anything?”
She was resplendent in a royal-blue ball gown, her cloudberry crown gleaming amid her dark, upswept hair. Heads turned to remark on her beauty, visible even with the white-winged mask she’d donned. “I’m fine, thank you.” She smiled pleasantly.
Ithan, in a traditional tux behind her, stepped up, his silver wolf mask glittering in the little firstlights strung throughout the lush conservatory. “The River Queen’s daughter wishes to meet you,” he murmured, gesturing to where Tharion stood stone-faced beside a stunning, curly-haired young female. The former looked a bit stiff for once, but the female, clad in gauzy turquoise, brimmed with energy. Excitement.
That had been a minor bomb the other night. Tharion had settled quite comfortably into life with Ruhn and his friends … until he’d gotten the otter’s note from the River Queen instructing him to come to this ball with her daughter.
Apparently, the leash only stretches so far, Tharion had said when Ruhn had asked, and that had been that.
Hypaxia smiled at Ithan. “Of course. I’d love to meet her.” Ithan offered his arm, and Hypaxia said to Ruhn, “I suppose we’ll dance later?”
“Yeah,” Ruhn said, then bowed quickly. “I mean, yes. I’d be honored.” Hypaxia gave him a strange, assessing glance, but left with Ithan.
He needed a drink. A big fucking drink.
He was halfway to one of the six open bars throughout the space, each one of them packed, when his sister and Cormac walked in.
Bryce looked like a princess, and it had nothing to do with the crown, an heirloom of the Danaan house that their father had ordered her to wear tonight. People stared at her—many unkindly.
Or maybe their attention was on Athalar. The angel entered a few steps behind the royal couple. Apparently, he’d been given the night off by Celestina. But how the male could stand walking behind them, seeing Bryce’s hand on another male’s arm …
Athalar’s face revealed nothing, though. He was the Umbra Mortis once more.
A flash of red across the space drew Ruhn’s gaze. His father made his way toward Bryce and Cormac. The Avallen Prince seemed inclined to meet him halfway, but Bryce tugged on his arm and steered them right to the Archangels instead.
A few Fae gasped at the snub—Flynn’s parents among them. Flynn, the traitor, had claimed he had a headache to avoid coming tonight. From his parents’ pinched faces upon seeing Ruhn arrive without Flynn in tow, he knew his friend hadn’t told them. Too bad for all the eligible young ladies they’d no doubt lined up to woo their son tonight.
Ignoring the dismayed Fae, Bryce strode right up to the dais where the Archangels sat, bypassing the line of well-wishers. No one dared call her out for it. Athalar followed her and Cormac, and Ruhn noted his father’s stormy face and moved closer, too.
Bryce and Cormac bowed before the Archangels, Celestina’s brows high as she turned between Hunt and Cormac. Bryce said, “My congratulations to you both.”
“Thank you,” Ephraim answered, bored and eyeing the bar.
Cormac added, “Avallen extends its wishes and hopes for your happiness.”
It had been a relief to discover that Mordoc wouldn’t be attending the party tonight—wouldn’t be able to put faces to the scents he’d probably detected in the alley all those days ago. But the Hind was here. Ruhn had already warned his cousin to stay away from the female, no matter how his blood might howl for vengeance.
“And we extend our wishes to you, too,” Celestina said.
“Thank you,” Bryce said, smiling widely. “Prince Hunt and I plan to be quite happy.”
A gasp rippled through the room.
Bryce half turned toward Hunt and extended a hand. The angel walked to her, eyes dancing with wicked amusement. Cormac seemed caught between surprise and fury.
The room seemed to be spinning. Bryce wouldn’t dare. She wouldn’t fucking dare pull a stunt like this. Ruhn swallowed a laugh of pure shock.
“Prince?” Celestina asked.
Bryce looped her arm through Hunt’s, pressing close. “Hunt and I are mates.” A charming, brilliant smile. “That makes him my prince. Prince Cormac was good enough to escort me tonight, as we’ve become close friends this month.” She turned to the crowd. Immediately pinpointed the Autumn King, glaring white-faced at her. “I thought you told her, Father.”
Holy shit.
She’d played along with the rules so far to reach this point. A public declaration that she was with Hunt. That Hunt was a prince—a Prince of the Fae.
And their father, who hated public scenes … he could either risk calling his own daughter a liar—thus embarrassing himself—or play along.
The Autumn King said into the stunned crowd, “My apologies, Your Graces. My daughter’s union must have slipped my mind.” His eyes threatened Helfire as he glowered at Bryce. “I hope her excitement in announcing her union with Hunt Athalar is not interpreted as an attempt to upstage your joy tonight.”
“Oh, no,” Celestina said, covering her mouth with a hand to hide a smile. “I congratulate and bless you and Hunt Athalar, Bryce Quinlan.” It didn’t get more official than that.