Page 153 of Gemini Wicked

“Indeed I was.” Zephyr turns toward me with a small secret smile. “There is one power all Unseelie queens have in common. All our queens, once crowned, acquire an… attractive aura. A magnetic energy that draws armies of amorous would-be suitors.”

“Yeah, no. That’s one power I can definitely do without. I, uh, don’t seem to have a problem attracting suitors.” I snort and hop down from the saddle on my own, because Zephyr knows I don’t want an assist. “Anyway, I’ve already got my army with the seven of you.”

As we’re all very well aware, even for a poly queen like me, both my hands and my bed are, like, extremely full.

A blinding flash of light announces V’s shift back to his male warlock form. A heartbeat later, Max shifts after him, with another nuclear flash that leaves white spots dancing in my vision.

“Surely you don’t imagine you’re finished collecting amorous warlocks, do you, little queen?” V needles me, sharp as a wasp. “You can be certain none of the rest of us are making that assumption.”

This definitely isn’t anyplace I’m ready to go right now.

And thanks to the party going down right on top of us, I don’t need to.

I turn away to let V and Max have their primping time, shimmying into their party duds from the saddlebag behind the privacy of Xhevith’s lifted wing, while I take a sec to adjust my own getup.

Because the last thing I need tonight—as in, the very last—is a wardrobe malfunction.

Fortunately, a dragonrider’s coronation gown is designed for… wait for it… dragon riding, so I don’t have much to fix. Just an ice-white gown, strapless and fitted and slit high up the thigh, with supple dragonscale elbow gloves and dominatrix boots. Every time I move, emerald and teal flash in the witchlight like I’m encased in sequins. My hair’s twisted in a braid that wraps around my head like Leia the rebel princess in The Empire Strikes Back (equally practical for dragon flight or saving the ice world of Hoth from Imperial attack).

Plus the getup leaves just enough leeway to strap my stiletto to my thigh.

So I’m good.

Actually, I’m more than good.

Ronin, Neo, Zephyr, Max, and Ash all glitter tonight like they’re encased in ice. Like they’ve all been dipped in diamonds, with accents in my teal and Zephyr’s royal green. Thanks to my Unseelie’s generosity, we all look like we belong together. Like we’re fitting consorts for a dragonrider king. Even Lucius, who’s opted for his vintage tux and ascot with chestnut curls flowing loose down his back, fits right in with the enchanted ball theme.

And, sweet Jesus, Vasili.

When my horrible alpha finally emerges from the screen of Xhev’s modestly lifted wing, V looks so Hollywood A-list celebrity in his narrow white tux and punk-rock silver hair, with a swipe of teal glitter across his eyelids and a pop of emerald sparkle at his cuffs, that I wanna ask for his autograph.

That magical war-harp is still plinking away, filling the balmy night with its uncanny melody. Couples and throuples and quartets of various genders are linking hands and whirling in circles around the kiva like they’ve been charmed to dance till they drop dead.

In a place like Avalon, honestly, I wouldn’t rule it out.

But the minute Zephyr takes my arm like the king he is, grips Ash’s elbow (because Ash is his other acknowledged consort), and squires the three of us onto the stairs, a militant blast of trumpets carves through the night like a cleaver.

The harp quivers into stillness.

All movement stops like someone flipped the off switch.

Under graceful falls of lavender and cornflower and sea-green hair, garlanded with spiky black flowers or loops of nightshade, a scattered sea of cold Fae faces turns across the kiva to track our approach.

My warlocks fall in behind us, all my shifters right on my tail, Ronin bringing up the rear and keeping a wary eye on our six. All around, I see heads bowing, hands pressed to hearts—and more than a few Dark Fae whose homage looks sullen and token at best.

Very clearly, Mordred’s been making mischief.

Then the familiar chords from the trumpets (more invisible musicians) pluck at my nonexistent sleeve for attention.

“Royal accolade?” I shoot a sidelong look at Zephyr.

Behind his coldly regal face, a smile hides at the corners of his mouth.

“Cheese on toast. Is that… K-pop?”

“’Tis what you requested, is it not?” My Unseelie guides the three of us down the corkscrew stairs with their tricky footing into the kiva like he does it twelve times a day.

“Yeah, but we’ve been kinda busy today, Your Radiance,” I point out. “Planning to trap your demon and all. So I’m impressed.”

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