Page 114 of Gemini Kings
“Well, I’m not flying off to Mongolia, for fuck’s sake, but Iamgonna hold my own arcane press conference right here at Icarus,” she announces. “I’ll officially announce that I’m accepting the whole queen gig. I’ve never done that, everyone’s just assumed, and clearly it’s time to put any doubts to rest. And I’m gonna do it live on WNN.”
“You’re going to make your television debut on the Witching News Network?” I’m instantly delighted by the entire notion. “Well, all publicityisgood publicity, as they say. I dare say you’ll make prime time.”
“Would they even let you do that, cobber?” Dez asks. She’s helping Racetrack clear the table, since RT has cleanup duty tonight, but she waits to hear Zara’s reply.
“I’m not asking for permission,” Zara says curtly. “I’m the fucking queen.”
“You’re the queen-in-waiting,” Neo says, with an apologetic look at his fated mate. “There’s a difference, babe. Your legal authorities are pretty limited until you actually ascend.”
“You planning to ask, like, the current queen?” Racetrack pipes up from the kitchen. “About your whole press conference master plan?”
“Yeah, no.” Zara snorts. “The current queen hasn’t exactly been making overtures my way, has she? For all we know, she’s in on this rumor resurfacing. She could actually be plotting to put her hypothetical bastard on the throne. And the Aquarius reign’s running the four races straight to extinction. So, no, we’re not asking.”
“But would WNN even run your gig without her say-so?” Dez wonders.
“We’re a constitutional monarchy with an elected Senate, not a dictatorship, right, Lucius?” Zara shrugs. “I’m like the Prince of Wales. Right now I may be powerless—you know, politically. But clearly, as we’ve seen, I’m newsworthy. Like Vasili said, if I call a press conference, we’ll probably make prime time.”
“But you haven’t much fancied that whole queen bit, have you, love?” Ronin points out. “You’re not tempted by the notion someone else could shift this whole burden right off your shoulders?”
“Not in this sneaky, underhanded way.” Zara scoops up her own dirty bowl and silverware and hands them off to Racetrack, then starts collecting the rest of the dirty crockery in a highly unqueenlike fashion. “If some mystery chick turned out to be an aboveboard candidate who wanted the best for the four races, wouldn’t she just come forward and say so? Or if she’s aboveboard anddoesn’twant the throne, she could come forward and say that, and bury all these rumors.”
“Our little queen makes a fair point,” I muse. I’ve already skimmed the relevant article, which is sensationalistic and poorly written, of course. Beyond that rather glaring attribution to an unnamed source in Mongolia, the piece contains nothing more of merit.
Ronin’s still leaning against my shoulder and reading it himself.
Now I’m newly distracted by the aggravating way that rutting dragon across the way keeps eye-fucking my boyfriend.
Doesn’t he realize Ronin only flirted with him in the kitchen because that’s what Zara wanted?
It’s not as though Ronin reciprocates his interest.
I glare at the dragon and, holding his stare the whole time, lean in to drag my serpentine tongue along the rim of Ronin’s ear. Needless to say, this is an intimacy my boyfriend accepts with a sexy murmur.
I’m marking my territory, as it were.
“Nope.” Standing in the kitchen doorway, Zara folds her arms and pops one sexy hip. “If this rival exists, I don’t trust the bitch. This is a huge important deal for the whole witching world. Whose ass sits on that throne—it fuckingmatters. I might not have seen that at first, but now it’s pretty fucking crystal. The future of the arcane races could literally depend on it, and I’m gonna go with my gut.”
“I’ll have to clear your notion of a press conference with the Dean,” Lucius frets, and raises a hand when she starts to protest. “Yes, Zara, I must. At the very least, the Dean will have to approve a damned WNN news crew passing through the wards. And your statement will be stronger, and viewed more seriously, if you have this Academy standing behind you.”
My royal darling doesn’t like being told what to do, but she trusts Lucius, and her chin dips in a reluctant nod. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But if she won’t play ball, you tell her I’m not giving up, and she won’t like what I try next. Like Neo said, we can’t afford to ignore this. The arcane races are literally dying. That means the succession’s too important.”
“At least pass your midterms first,” our headmaster pleads. “If I tell the Dean we’ll schedule the event for minimal academic upheaval after midterms next week, and that your academic performance will demonstrate your commitment, I may be able to secure her consent. This is a reasonable request, my dear, and you know it.”
“Fine,” she sighs. “That’s Wednesday night then. Five nights from now. Right while I’m dealing with my fucking heat. I’ll agree to it because it’s you asking, Lucius. But you talk to her, okay? I mean, it’s probably after her bedtime so, like, tomorrow? Tell her I’ll pass the goddamn midterms—I swear to fuck I’ll pass them, Neo will help me study, won’t you, babe?”
“We can start tonight,” Neo says happily. Because he’s happy when Zara’s happy.
For him, happiness truly is that simple.
Whatever was troubling him last night, when I pierced his ear and made him blow his load, seems to be no longer an issue.
Hopefully he isn’t regretting what he let me do to him. Because once I get Lucius and Zara and Ronin through their heats and this damned press conference in our rearview mirror, Mercury and I have some unfinished business of our own to conclude in Zara’s big medieval bed.
“Fine.” Now that her mind’s made up, our girl’s already powering toward Neo’s study nook in the corner, where he’s commandeered half the textbooks in the entiredomusfor his monster study sessions. “But I want this shindig set up. And I’m gonna need all of you to help me make it happen. I wanna make Wednesday night prime time on WNN a total goddamn spectacle.”
Hmmm, that sounds promising.
So my queen wants a spectacle, does she?
