Page 126 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Then that vision narrowed inside the crowd. Jumping from one hand to another as the court hesitated around the platters of food. Garrik focused on a group of courtiers staring at each other with golden skewers of glazed meat in their hands.

They are deciding who will risk the first bite. To whom will sacrifice themselves to the whims of the Savage Prince for eating before he does.Another deep chuckle rumbled through her.

Alora shook her head and mused.Maybe you should put them out of their misery.

Garrik laughed, andstarsdid she love that sound.They can squirm.

The bodies had been removed.

She had watched as soldiers pulled nobles off the dead, weeping, before the court went about as if nothing had happened.

But their faces, those who had lost someone, never stopped glaring at her High Prince until his malicious attention settled on them with a brow raised in challenge. No one was foolish enough to act on it.

Sometime after, that small part of Alora that bled into the furnishings and blended into the walls at Kaine’s parties became a distant memory. Never again to be that pretty little trophy on the mantel, Alora paced Kadamar’s throne room with an eagerness in every step as music burned in her soul. Every pluck of a string, the harps, cellos, and violins. Each trill of a horn or note of a piano had her aching to play along with them.

It was the second hour that she took closer notice of details. The first spent picking at platters of glazed sweet buns, candied meats sizzling with steam, stuffed mushrooms, and far too many foods that she couldn’t possibly mention in one evening. She had drifted around the hall and settled into meaningless conversation with leery courtiers and mothers of noble sons. Most males seemed to dismiss the attention of females and were better suited on the balconies smoking mellowherb or drinking expensive liquors while speaking of trivial things.

Nothing much different from Kaine’s spectacles.

Those finer details collected in her mind though. Who belonged to who. Who spoke to who while ignoring others.Which whispers held schemes while others hid secrets. Noting the exits, aside from the door Garrik had shattered on his arrival, and which thresholds servants went through. Which ones only nobility were allowed through and which darkened doors held the High Guard behind.

If there was anywhere Blood might be hidden, she was willing to wager one of those guarded doors led to the sister stone.

Alora’s head spun as she sipped her wine, causing her vision to blur and forcing her to blink rapidly. She should’ve remembered the drinks of the higher class were stronger than the cheap bourbon or ale they drank in camp.

The cold of the wineglass brushed against her thumb as she mindlessly rubbed it. Her heels clacked against the marble when she moved and observed Aiden sitting beside Garrik at a head table. Their sea captain’s feet rested on the table as he trailed a finger down the bronze skin of a beautiful courtier.

Frigid violence thrummed around the Savage Prince as he reclined in his chair. Swirling a glass of clear liquid on the wood, ignoring the conversation of four males sweating and nervous to keep his temperament at a threatening level and not one likely ending with bloodshed.

Death was alluring on him.

Taking a sudden sip to mask the heat flushing her cheeks, Alora browsed and spotted Jade leaning against a pillar nearby, looking … incredibly Jade-like. Unapproachable. Hand dangling near her thigh of blades. Unamusingly tapping her wineglass with her starfire ring, agitated and bored.

Despite it all, despite the warning in her mind, Alora decided to become her company—or rescue.

As she weaved through the gathered crowds, one particular conversation drew her attention enough that she found herself slowing in pace to listen.

“My lord lost a great deal of fortune in the tragedy.” A female fanned herself at the swell of her breasts, distraught.

Another dramatically palmed her chest, and Alora had to will herself not to roll her eyes. “The High Guard hasn’t caught the fool yet?”

“No. And the lowers are calling him the Night Stalker.” A dark caw of a laugh. “Can you imagine such a thing?”

Something warm brushed beside Alora.

Thalon grinned at the crowd she’d stopped to sneer at.

How she had ever survived the dreadfully boring and self-centeredness of nobility escaped her. For a moment, she wanted to slap the looks off their faces, but a tattooed arm nudged her out of her violent urges.

“Apparently, this Night Stalker is the talk of the evening.” Thalon’s eyes glowed with mirth. “Some vigilante that interfered with the slave trades in the Lord’s Markets. A few of the auction houses have burned down, carriages thieved, coin stolen … faeries rescued.”

A gleam settled in Alora’s stare, and she downed her wine to conceal her approval from wandering eyes.

Her Guardian was practically vibrating in awe. Thalon crossed his arms and widened his stance as he brushed an inked hand down his beard. “The lower city is calling him a hero.”

The urge was there to tease him. She couldn’t help herself and toyed, “Why, Thalon. Do I sense an infatuation?”

He barked a laugh, stirring a few patronizing glares and whispered words ofbarbarianat the outburst too unsightly for court. Thalon ignored them and leaned close to her ear, admitting, “I’d offer a piece of Earned to shake their hand. This kingdom’s slave trade has continued for far too?—”

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