Page 115 of Gemini Wicked

My warlocks and me, we’re all pretty rough.

Insurrection or no, we arrive on the wing (which is a power move) because I figure this is one of those times when you don’t hide your light under a basket.

Besides, even if I felt like being sneaky, Zephyr’s too proud to come slinking into his own city like a thief in the night. This is a guy who shows up with fanfare and the blowing of trumpets to hail His Moon-Dazzled Radiance.

And Vasili never lets anyone dim his sparkle.

So I soar over the Unseelie city at sunset like the dragon queen I am, my teal wings spread wide like sails to catch the downdraft, while the swollen red orb of the setting sun paints the sea indigo and bathes the shining spires and pale walls of Zephyr’s fairytale castle in a wash of crimson. The shadowy bulk of the Avalon volcano—now dormant since the two of us broke the curse that was dooming this whole island—looms in shades of mauve and lilac against the magenta sky.

A balmy summer wind washes over me, laced with the spicy fruit of jasmine and the voluptuous sweetness of tuberose. I breathe in deep to fill my cavernous lungs with that half-forgotten scent—a heady aphrodisiac to my shifty senses—and my six-chambered heart beats harder.

I’ve grown to think of Icarus as home, mostly because that’s where my warlocks are. This place… Avalon… exudes all the seductive enchantment of fairyland.

But that seduction is deceptive as fuck.

We’re not safe.

We’ve finally left the ferals behind, and only royals ride on dragonback in Avalon. That means we have the sky to ourselves.

So I arrow boldly over the dizzying jumble of twisting streets and sloping rooftops, while wary citizens scatter and bolt from the streets in a panic (because dragon) and startled faces pop into view in the tall arched windows. I bellow in the brassy rumble of my lightning voice to announce our arrival.

Behind me, the deep rumble of Max’s dragon cleaves the air, punctuated by Xhevith’s nails-on-chalkboard scream and Vasili’s rattling hiss. Then we all plummet straight down from cruising altitude in a daredevil descent. Ronin’s gleeful yell, where he and Neo are strapped to Max’s back in a riding harness my clever bookworm rigged for both of them, is like the coda of our soundtrack.

No doubt about it, we’re coming in hot.

Even if poor Lucius, whose wolf clearly does not like flying, has been clinging green-faced and grimly silent behind Zephyr in the dragon saddle all day.

As the shining spikes on the castle turrets rush toward us, I spin in a tight spiral to clear my six (that’s because dragons have a major blind spot behind us). Then I dive for the broad stone ledge of Xhevith’s lair, alight and snap my wings in tight to make room for my guys, and surrender to my shift in a blinding flash of heat and light.

My bare human feet have hardly hit the ledge before Xhev’s big green bulk settles heavily beside me.

That’s when the scream of literal trumpets nearly makes me jump out of my human skin.

“Cheese on toast!” I yell as Zephyr unbuckles his fighting straps, swings a leg over, and scrambles nimbly down Xhev’s helpful foreleg to alight beside me. “What is that, a doorbell?”

“Royal accolade.” Calmly he twists back to unbuckle Lucius, whose face is pale as milk as he sits stiffly in the unfamiliar saddle. “You will grow accustomed. After all, you are now our queen.”

“Think I’d rather have a blast of something a little more… today? Like maybe some K-pop?” That’s me trying to joke.

Of course, this Unseelie mate of mine has a cultural gap big enough to drive a Mack truck through. So he tilts his head quizzically and gets that little furrow between his green brows that happens when he’s perplexed.

“K-pop.” Carefully he tries out the word. “I shall instruct the minstrels.”

I snicker and reach for my gorgeous dragonscale leathers, custom-made in my teal and his green to fit my royal posterior and still hanging on the peg where I left my gear weeks ago (because of course I’m all nakey after my shift). I’m pulling the pants up my legs, commando style, when my eye catches a flash of green and silver.

That’s a forked banner—a massive one—being winched up a flagpole by unseen hands on the peak of the highest tower looming over us.

“King in residence,” Zephyr explains briefly to my probably startled face. “That banner is the Unseelie equivalent of a witching world news broadcast. The next will be yours.”

Sure enough, a teal banner follows his up the flagpole. My banner’s as big and splendid as his. Seeing it makes my chest glow with a sudden warmth I don’t expect.

That’s the warmth of belonging. The warmth of feeling welcomed.

“Queen in residence, huh?” I say softly.

Zephyr inclines his head in a regal nod. Confronted with whatever must be written on my face, the hint of a smile softens his cold Fae features.

It’s not like I need validation. But considering what’s going down with my crown in the witching world right now?

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