Page 29 of Gemini Wicked

“I’ll say,” he purrs, eyeing the scrum around the lifeboats under his smoky lids. “Who knew that Aquarius bitch has a teleporter at her beck and call? That naughty fellow whisked little Lina off the boat—along with himself—before I could slit her throat in the powder room.”

You never know how literally to take him when he says shit like that. But I eye his bloodstained hands and cuffs and feel kinda queasy.

This bad boy always carries a cache of hidden knives. When he uses them, he’s fucking lethal.

“Regicide is a felony,” I say primly (like he needs reminding). “Uh, not to mention, murder’s a violation of the Academy Codex.”

“Well, she was whisked off before she could bleed out,” he says peevishly. “So no harm done. More’s the pity. Fortunately, little queen…” He gives me a sly smirk and slips a hand inside his tuxedo jacket to produce a glittery object. “In her rush to flee the scene, she left a little something behind.”

I stare down at the delicate tiara in his hand. Up close, that slender circlet sports actual diamonds, the icy blue-white glitter interspersed with purple amethyst. The thing’s real familiar, because Messalina wears it for all her public appearances. It’s like a royal heirloom that goes back centuries.

In fact, she was literally just wearing it.

Suddenly I’m feeling kinda dizzy. “Is that…?”

“What it is, little queen, is yours.” My warlock hums with wicked satisfaction and offers me the ancient artifact with a showy flourish. “You’ll want to replace the Aquarius amethysts with Gemini emeralds, of course. Ideally before the formal coronation, whenever that may be. I can assist with that. I have a personal jeweler at Tiffany’s.”

“Why does that not surprise me.” I’m still staring at the thing in this nauseated fascination.

Seriously? This whole moment is pretty otherworldly. My snake’s attracting plenty of attention, the way he always does (even in mid-evac), perched elegantly above the fray in his bloodstained violet tux, casually offering me the witching world crown.

The action slows and the seconds stretch.

I feel the weight of this moment, the pressure of all those watching eyes, like a physical presence pressing down on me. A swarm of choppers circles overhead, bristling with those omnipresent cameras.

Then I suck in a breath and lift my chin. My eyes lock with V’s.

“Go ahead and put it on me, bad boy,” I tell him softly. “You’re the Scorpio scion. Plus you’re gonna be one of my kings, aren’t you? I intend to crown you and all the guys right along with me at the formal ceremony.”

Something fractures in his face.

His icy gaze glitters with suppressed longing.

My heart clenches and aches in my chest. I know shit about him that only the guys in our polycule know. Behind his horrible bully warlock facade, I know my terrible alpha will always be the lonely queer boy his father rejected and shipped off to hide behind magical wards at the Academy, just for the so-called sin of being gay. Though he’ll deny it with cutting scorn that’s sharp enough to draw blood, Vasili’s always secretly been afraid we’ll reject him too.

I want him to know that’s never gonna happen. Not on my watch.

We’re all crazy in love with our snake.

Even if, deep down inside, he’s still afraid to believe it.

In an eyeblink, his smoky lashes sweep down and his perfect face shutters. Now he’s all sneering arrogance, same as usual, as he saunters up close and places the crown delicately on my head.

That artifact throbs with ancient power.

Yowsa.

The thing’s so unexpectedly heavy I can barely hold my head up.

And the whole world is suddenly so still and silent, under the crackle and pop of burning wood and the chukka-chukka of the choppers, that I can hear my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. It’s like the night is holding its breath.

Every eye in the witching world is watching.

I swallow hard and raise the mic to my lips. Even while my gaze clings to V’s for reassurance.

“Okay, listen up,” I tell the whole witching world. “The Senate voted on the next queen months ago. We don’t need a do-over. I’m the next queen. So I’m keeping this.” I stick out my chin and glare straight at the cameras. “Anybody wants to take it from me? I got finals this week. Right here at Icarus. Just so you all know where to find me.”

Vasili acknowledges my declaration of intent with the Romanov eyebrow. Then he inclines his chin, just a fraction of an inch, in subtle approval. He pivots to stand with me, shoulder to shoulder. His dangerous stare slices through the spellbound crowd in silent challenge.

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