Page 85 of Dark Fate

“Oh...” I breathe, the sound escaping my lips in a simple utterance that somehow manages to convey my complete astonishment. These fae sure know how to roll out the red carpet.

Ever the opportunist when it comes to a well-timed wisecrack, Lucian sidles up with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. His signature smirk is firmly in place. “Well, well, well, looks like the grapevine in this joint is faster than a speeding bullet, huh?” he remarks with playful mirth. “Congrats, Princess—you've already got your own cheerleading squad. Groupies included, free of charge!”

He punctuates the quip with an exaggerated wink—the kind that somehow manages to be both utterly charming and completely infuriating.

I roll my eyes at him, but I can’t quite keep the smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Watch it, Luci,” I warn, my tone playful but with an undercurrent of steel. “This princess might just have to put you in your place if you’re not careful.”

Lucian’s laughter bursts forth, a vibrant, irresistible sound. “Aw, you know you can’t resist my devilish charm, Your Worshipfulness,” he quips, dipping into an exaggerated bow. “Admit it. Life would be a total snooze fest without my sparkling wit and dashing good looks.”

I shake my head, unable to argue with that. Lucian may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s our pain in the ass, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.

Turning my attention back to the gathered fae, I take a moment to really drink in the sight of them. They’re a stunning bunch, all ethereal beauty and otherworldly grace, and I can’t help but feel a little awe. It’s humbling to think that they’ve gone through all this trouble just for us. I make a mental note to find a way to thank them properly later.

The room is washed in a buttery light, reminiscent of a swanky, bygone era. The buzz of chit-chat’s a masterclass in polite murmurs, spiced up now and then by the tinkle of some seriously fancy glassware.

In the corner, a string quartet plays tunes so smooth they could calm a thunderstorm. These musicians could give Mozart a run for his money.

And smack dab in the middle of it all, there’s little ol’ me, rubbing elbows with the Fae elite like it’s just another Saturday night. These folks are a different breed—all finesse and grace on the outside, but I’d bet they’ve got their share of melodrama behind closed doors.

Meanwhile, anticipation and whispers zip around me like they were born to party in the fast lane. It’s exhilarating.

Rhyland’s deep blue eyes lock onto mine, serving up a stare so intense it could give the night sky a run for its money. Just that one look sends my pulse skyrocketing, and I have to take a deep breath to keep from melting.

His steadfast hold on my hand anchors me in the middle of this swirling social whirlpool, full of faces I don’t know and secrets they’re not telling. He’s my rock amid all this chaos.

Suddenly, a lithe Fae with hair like spun moonbeams and eyes as blue as the sky glides over to me. “Lady Danica,” she greets me with a nod that holds centuries of tradition. “I am Elowen. Pray tell, how did you find your journey to our Sun Court?”

I blink, momentarily taken aback by her formal tone and the weight of her gaze.

I nod to Elowen, feeling all eyes on us. “Hey there, Elowen. My rear might file a complaint about the hike, but I gotta say—the beauty of this realm is so stunning, it almost made me forget about my aching ass,” I quip, my mouth running ahead of my brain as usual.

Oops, did I just let that slip out? Classic me, with a filter as reliable as a sieve. Sometimes, the words pirouette right off my tongue before my brain can send the red alert.

Elowen’s lips twist up in a smile that could light up the gloomiest dungeon, and a laugh spills out of her, all sparkly like fairy dust in the sun. “Truly, our realm is a tapestry woven with the threads of wonders and enigmas,” she muses with amusement at my less-than-delicate phrasing. “My apologies for the tribulations endured by your... ass, as you have so quaintly put it.”

I feel my cheeks heat up, but I grin. And if my little faux pas helped break the ice, I’ll chalk it up as a win.

With a knowing smile, Elowen drifts through the throng, engaging with other attendees. I watch her go, marveling at her ease and grace.

Me, on the other hand? I'm more of a bull in a china shop at these kinds of shindigs.

I glance at Rhyland, who watches me with amusement and exasperation. “Smooth, Angel,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough in a way that sends shivers down my spine. “Real smooth.”

I stick my tongue out at him, feeling a bit like a petulant child but not caring. “Hey, at least I’m being authentic. These fae types could use a little dose of reality, don’t you think?”

Rhyland shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’re something else, you know that? Never change, baby. Never change.”

I grin at him, feeling warm in my chest at his words. “Wasn’t planning on it, Berserker Brat,” I assure him, squeezing his hand. “You’re stuck with me, sass and all.”

As the evening progresses, Rhyland's thumb keeps up its soothing orbits on my skin—a warm, grounding Morse code that keeps my insides melting at his constant touch.

I catch Erik's silvery eyes scanning the room, his gaze as sharp and alert as a hawk on the hunt. The guy is like a human alarm system, always on guard and ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.

Meanwhile, Axilya exudes a zen-like command, her presence as serene and unruffled as a still pond on a windless day. And Faderyn? He's deep in conversation with some Fae in fancy threads, the two of them going at it like they’re hashing out plays at the Superbowl.

Then there's Mr. Smart-Ass himself, the charmer extraordinaire, already dishing out his grade-A flirt game like it's going out of style. He's got a Fae lady practically parked on his lap, giggling away like he's the funniest thing since court jesters. Lord knows what line he’s fed her—probably something about her eyes being like starlight and her laugh like music to his ears. Classic Lucian.

Out of nowhere, a new noble parts the sea of bodies—a guy tall enough to shadow a statue, with skin gleaming like a moonlit lake on a calm night. His presence commands attention, and the room seems to hold its breath as he approaches.

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