Page 76 of Gemini Wicked

Me? I’m alone and unloved on the outside.

Peering in.

Same as always.

A quick step in the doorway draws them apart. Awareness crackles through the room like a bolt of lightning. Everyone turns with alacrity as Zara appears on the threshold and loops her arms around Maxim’s neck for a quick kiss, which he returns with a dragon’s brooding intensity. Then she ducks into the kitchen.

She is not dressed for Avalon, which vexes me.

Clearly she means to make me wait.

I’m in no mood to idle and tarry on her doorstep like an addled suitor while Avalon seethes with rebellion, my spider of a cousin spins his web of deceit and betrayal, and my love—my Ash—holds my throne alone.

Still, at the sight of her, my heart lifts with pleasure.

My bride’s fetching curves are on pleasing display in a short plaid skirt and smart emerald blazer—at least she is wearing my color—with the Academy logo stitched over her lush breast. Her teal curls stream over her shoulders in saucy pigtails she’s tied with two snips of black ribbon. Black knit stockings encase her slim legs. A handspan of sleek bare thigh peeks between the tops of her stockings and the hem of her skirt. Beneath, she wears black-and-white saddle shoes.

“Mmmm, maple bacon.” Zara ambles in as though we’re not all teetering on the naked edge of violence. She shoots a warm look at her three mates snuggling near the stove and gives an appreciative sniff. “I’m starving.”

“I’ll fix a plate for you, Zara.” Looking perfectly happy to perform this menial chore like a servant, Neo detaches from the huddle and fetches a clean plate.

“Thanks, baby.” Her casual glance finds me standing alone and wary near the sink. “How about you leave those swords somewhere, Your Transcendence? There’s not gonna be room for your whole medieval arsenal at the breakfast table.”

Now I feel beset from all sides.

As my bride clearly senses, I don’t feel comfortable disarming in this alien land. Nor do I wish to sit cozily bumping elbows over a rasher of greasy eggs and burnt sow with these rivals and enemies.

If I accept their hospitality in this way, if I disarm and eat and drink at their table, I myself will be bound by the sacred obligation a guest owes his host. I will be bound to harm none who dwell beneath this roof—

Unless they harm me first.

The quiet knowing look I’m receiving from the wolf tells me he too knows these ancient laws.

Perhaps he even senses my turmoil.

I feel my brow furrow. I itch to return with my bride to Avalon. It is for this reason alone I’ve come.

Now, all too clearly, I will not achieve my aim without patience. Perhaps it was churlish of me to arrive late and unannounced, then make my distrust of her mates so blatant.

Now I experience another emotion I do not often tolerate. My face heats with the awkward burn of embarrassment.

“Forgive me,” I say stiffly, hands rising to the harness that straps my swords to my back. “I meant no offense. I will disarm.”

“If you intend to disarm,” Vasili Romanov fires back spitefully, “don’t forget to remove the pole that’s currently riding your royal Unseelie ass. There’s no room for that at the breakfast table either.”

Ronin snickers. His sullen face lights with a sudden grin. It’s a mocking grin, to be certain.

But it pulverizes my heart.

Once I would do anything to see him smile.

“Okay, everyone grab a plate,” Neo says with determined cheer, while he busily fills Zara’s. “Your eggs are getting cold.”

We do not mind cold food in Avalon. Our witchfire is not capable of a gas stove’s sustained heat.

But apparently cold breakfast is a problem here.

Neo’s comment prompts a general migration for plates and cutlery and an orderly procession of bodies past the heaping skillets.

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