Page 16 of Gemini Wicked

A tiny trickle of hope seeps through the burning weight of my shame. I lift my head, straighten my shoulders, and stare straight into the cameras I’ve been avoiding my whole life.

Gimme a chance here, people, I’m trying to say. Gimme a chance to save us.

Hips swaying, lips smirking, the focus of every eye in his violet tux, Vasili catwalks to the rail that looms over the main deck. Then he sneers down his perfect nose at the queen bee on stage.

“It’s really too bad for you,” he purrs, “that it’s the witching world Senate, not the lame-duck queen, who holds the constitutional power to elect our next sovereign. You’ll just have to get with the program, Lina. They’ve chosen her. Zara. The Gemini queen.”

Messalina strides to the platform’s edge to meet his challenge. She’s elegant as fuck in her glittery purple gown and heels, electric light sparkling in the tiara that crowns her twist of fiery hair. All spiffed up in a way that looks effortless.

And just totally at ease in the spotlight. In a way I’ll never be.

In that one way, she suddenly reminds me of Cleo.

“After tonight, Vasili Romanov,” Messalina breathes into the mic like she’s Marilyn Monroe, “knowing there’s another claimant—a worthy claimant, one whose discretion is flawless, one whose commitment to duty is unimpeachable, one whose reputation is beyond reproach—I assure you, the Senate will reconsider. I’ve already petitioned, as is my right under witching world law, to bring a vote to the floor.”

My blood congeals to a slurry of ice.

My gut clenches in a fist of dread.

Wow. That’s, like, a blow. She’s obviously been planning to shake up the succession for a while. Probably since those first scattered rumors about a rival claimant popped up in The Inquisitor last winter.

Neo tightens his grip on my hand and whispers, “Oh, sugar.”

Which is his way of swearing.

“You ‘lead’ the Senate. In. Name. Only.” Vasili cracks each word like a whip. He’s standing on familiar terrain and crackling with confidence, because he teaches our Foundations of Witching World law class as part of his adjunct professor gig, and he’s a holy terror behind the lectern. (I’m not kidding. He literally makes his students cry.)

So he has no problem contradicting the queen, natch, with total Vasili snark. “Your role in the Senate is purely a ceremonial function. And it’s barely even that.”

That’s my Goblin King. Sticking up for me.

“So, um, he’s actually right, Your Majesty.” Much more respectfully, Neo trots up to stand right next to him. Of course, since we’re linked, my bookworm draws me forward with him. Even when more hostile scrutiny from this unfriendly crowd of bluebloods is literally the last thing I need. “My dad’s president pro tem of the Senate. Bringing a vote to the floor, well, that’s his responsibility. And he supports Zara.”

He sounds all polite and apologetic for contradicting her, but totally determined in a way that warms my cold and shellshocked body.

My guys are with me. They’re solid.

Even the three who are missing.

Right?

Besides, I’m common-law mated to half the scions of the twelve major clans in the witching world. For fuck’s sake, I’m the Gemini scion myself. By mating Zephyr, I’m actually legally married to a political ally, if you buy into that whole Dark Fae custom. (Which is, like, a major bone of contention in my harem. And wouldn’t it be great if Zephyr were actually here tonight, instead of being MIA?)

Anyway, my point is, she can’t get rid of all of us.

Can she?

Obviously, Neo’s argument would hold more weight if Senator Mercury was standing here next to us. The way he’s supposed to be.

Across the crowded deck, Messalina looks right into my eyes and smiles in a way that makes my skin crawl.

“I’m afraid Senator Mercury has… reconsidered,” she whispers into the mic. “Now that the whole witching world has seen… this.”

Right on cue, the huge LED screen behind her lights up in a blaze of color. The familiar contours of my bedroom flash into view. It’s a video feed, my room at night, lit by the warm golden glow of my study desk lamp. Judging by the angle, this view was shot from inside the vacant domus across the street.

My stomach sinks to my stilettos.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper.

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