"You can drink alcohol," Raye murmured, squeezing my hand as the music swelled and the crowd folded us in. "I strictly told the vendors—no aphrodisiacs in anything. But don’t drink too much, okay?"
"Mothering me now?" I teased.
She rolled her eyes. "You certainly need some mothering. You’re a trouble magnet."
We’d barely stepped into the main thoroughfare when the ground turned to water—people moving in currents, lanternlight rippling over shoulders and silk.
A horn sang out, and somewhere to our left a cheer lifted as a troupe of drummers struck a gallop.
The men from the House of Ambrosia appeared as if Raye had ordered them from a menu: smiling, graceful, dangerous in that particular way of men who knew they were handsome and had survived it.
Their clothes and skin shimmered, their smiles had the charm you could fall into.
"Raye!" one of them called, eyes twinkling as he reached for her. "Dance with us or we’ll have to make a complaint to the moon for negligence."
"By all means, sue her," Raye chirped, delight crackling off her. She swung her gaze to me, eyes bright behind glitter. "Come on, Vivien, join us!"
"I’ll sit this one out," I said, patting her hand. "I need to eat! I’m starving."
"Fine, be alluring and mysterious by the sweets." She tried to tug me anyway, then relented with a groan that was mostly laughter. "Be careful!"
"Noted," I said, and watched her vanish into a ring of outstretched hands and turning shoulders, already laughing, already spinning like a spark caught in a draft.
I drifted toward a long table piled with desserts and realized I’d chosen correctly.
It was obscene in the most reverent way.
Towers of macarons dusted with edible glitter. Bowls of candied fruits shining like captive suns. A tray of cupcakes swirled high with frosting, each crowned with a sugar crescent so delicate it trembled when someone breathed too hard.
I claimed a cupcake that looked like a storm caught in a teacup and relocated to the side, one shoulder to a stone pillar warmed by a lantern.
The music volleyed, a fiddle answering a drum, and through the arch of bodies I caught glimpses: Raye lifted, Raye spun, Raye laughing in the middle of her admirers like a general adored by her favorite soldiers.
Ares, at a distance, raising a glass at someone, then kissing a lady’s hand with a bow so deep he nearly invented a new floor.
Diaval, farther still, stationed like a keep where the tide breaks, speaking to a man whose mask had antlers.
Sugar softened the edges of the night. I took a bite and the frosting gave under my teeth like silk—vanilla, a tinge of lemon, and some kind of liqueur.
"—back so soon, Mira?"
The voice floated over the spread of sweets, curved and polished. Polite on the surface, but in that way people make their politeness sharp so you’ll bleed before you notice.
I glanced along the table’s length and saw them partially veiled by a high tower of spun sugar.
One I recognized at once: emerald silk poured over straight shoulders, dark hair coiled and pricked with jewels at the crown, the same serpent comb I’d seen earlier pinning its head with arrogant grace.
Jesmine. That’s what people called her.
She was even more exquisite up close, the kind of beautiful that seemed like an accusation if you’d ever felt plain.
Opposite her stood a woman in a bold red dress that might have been fire taught to behave. Mira, I guessed, from the name Jesmine had just mentioned.
"I didn’t know you’d be back so soon, Mira," Jesmine said, softer this time, but it sounded taunting. "I thought you and your family were doing business in Nyrav for a few more months—considering the Alpha wants it done this year." Her lashes lowered, a feigned regret that somehow sharpened the blade. "I hope your father isn’t slacking off simply because the Alpha is busy with other things."
I took another bite of cupcake and pretended to contemplate the sculpted roses on a marzipan cake.
In reality, every pore on my body was listening.
Mira’s smile cut clean, a bright thing with no warmth.
"My father is not slacking off," she replied with a sharp edge. "The deal is nearly closed. Nyrav was accommodating, more than we expected, but since the final signatures wait on a council date, my father permitted me to return ahead of the family."
She lifted her chin a fraction, and the lanternlight snared on the red at her mouth, making it look wetter, sharper.
"After all, it is the Moon Festival. Why?" A small, feline tilt to her head. "Are you afraid I’ll steal the Alpha’s attention?"
Jesmine’s laugh was soft, elegant, the audible equivalent of smoothing a glove. "Me? Afraid of you?"
There it was—that little slide on the me that said the joke was everyone else’s.
I didn’t miss the way the nearest pair of ladies stopped arranging their plate of sugared violets to listen more carefully.
Jesmine moved a fingertip along the rim of her glass, a tiny circle, glittering. "I don’t think it’s me you should worry about, though." Her tone went brighter, friendly enough to be insulting. "Haven’t you heard yet?"
Mira’s mask didn’t shift, but her spine did. "Heard what?"
"The Alpha brought some girl a month ago," Jesmine said with the kind of smile women gift each other when the mirror is a battlefield. "And she’s living with him in his castle."
I inhaled frosting.
It went, with all the efficiency of gravity, straight the wrong way. I coughed, clapped a hand to my mouth, and turned my head so fast.
Tears leapt into my eyes. The cupcake, traitorous darling, tried to climb into my sinuses.
Easy, Leika huffed, amused and bristling at once.
I dragged in a breath that tasted like sugar and humiliation and did my best to cough quietly.
Some girl. Living with him.
I reached for a napkin, fingers steady through brute force, and dabbed at the corner of my mouth. The frosting comet on the linen stared up at me, damning and ridiculous.
Why was I suddenly involved in the—
"Where are you?"
My heart jolted when I heard his voice inside my head.