Page 167 of Gemini Kings
I drag my appalled gaze away from my disastrous film debut and slice my gorgon stare across the apartment, just to ensure none of my mates are here to observe this televised horror show. If they are, I’ll turn them to stone with my glare.
Fortunately for them, I’m alone.
Mostly.
It’s end-of-quarter recess, so no one’s in class. Mercury’s been spending hours on nursing duty with Maxim while our dragon recovers from his injuries (both physical and emotional) and works his way through everything that’s happened with his hideous mother, although he really doesn’t say much about it, and we’re all quite careful not to press.
He’ll speak about her when he’s ready.
Meanwhile, Mercury fusses over that injured dragon so sweetly it’s as though our First Boy is the witching world’s Florence Nightingale. Which isn’t to imply I’m jealous that Maxim getsallthe attention these days.
But Mercury seems to be (uncharacteristically) sleeping late this morning, snuggled up with Zara and Lucius upstairs under a mound of eiderdown blankets in our queen’s big curtained bed.
Fortunately, they’re all still asleep.
As for Ronin, he’s flooded with feel-good endorphins and humming with energy since he’s finally come out of heat. My boyfriend slipped out early from the studio bed he shared with Max and me last night. Now he’s downstairs training in the gym.
And Maxim is still asleep here in the guest studio in his bed.
Ourbed, if you want to call it that, given the amount of time he and Zara and Ronin and I spend fucking in it. Miraculously unhindered by the chintzy 1980s ambience of aqua walls, chunky furniture, and framed Pop Art posters that was apparently trending when Lucius’ predecessor lastrenovated(and I use the term loosely) this studio.
It’s like fucking in a time warp.
Anyway. In the days since the fiasco-slash-triumph of Zara’s succession announcement, no one’s heard a peep from any so-called rival. It seems likely that piece inThe Witching Inquisitortruly was no more than an elaborate lure, crafted by Anastasia to tempt our infamously rash and reckless Zara out from behind the island wards, where she’d be alone and vulnerable. When Zara refused to take the bait, she left Anastasia—out of her scaly mind with jealousy and hatred for her son’s new mate—no choice but to slip behind the wards with the news crew in pursuit of Zara.
If Lucius’ wolf hadn’t torn out the bitch’s throat, I would have taken unparalleled delight in killing her myself.
Lucius is still investigating, of course.
Those vile little rodents from Villa Tiberius have been quiet as church mice, since the entire cohort was interrogated by the Dean, the instigators of the Molotov cocktail attack identified and expelled, and the remaining miscreants placed on suspension.
Messalina was both a no-show at Zara’s succession announcementanda no-comment on the question of a rumored Aquarius bastard. But the Senate (which proclaimed Zara the next queen in the first place), herded along by Mercury Senior, is standing squarely behind our girl.
Which means Zara’s succession stands unchallenged.
At least, that’s what the news is reporting.
Meanwhile, our dragon’s been resting and healing (helped along nicely by his fast-repairing shifter DNA).
Still, he nearly died.
He too has needed more sleep than usual.
Relieved to be unobserved, I settle into the pastel cushions of the sofa, smooth a few creases from my silky sleep pants and the pretty black lace camisole Zara gave me for Valentine’s Day, and return my attention to the TV screen.
There’s my little queen now, standing at the altar in the stone circle with the news cams whirring away, her turquoise eyes blazing with witchcraft and her gorgeous face burning with resolve after that dreadful dust-up with Maxim’s horrid and now mercifully dead parent. My queen looks like a teal-haired Scarlett Johannsen with her lush curves and suntanned skin encased in the sparkly purple couture frock I arranged for her announcement, since wearing purpleisa royal tradition.
We’re ranged behind her, all five of her kings, with a barely ambulatory but defiant Maxim bookended between Ronin and me (because the poor wounded dragon needed both of us to brace him, but he refused to be left behind).
I lean forward to adjust the volume dial a smidge so I can hear.
“…giving you my promise that I’m done running.” Zara’s firm voice trickles from the set. “I’m here at Icarus to learn to be the best queen I can be when it’s my turn to ascend. Iwilltake my throne. I’ll be the first Gemini queen. And when I do, all five of these warlocks are gonna be my kings. The Gemini kings.”
In the name of God, why didn’t I at least swipe on a coat of mascara before the cameras started rolling? Why in Heaven didn’t anyone tell me? I look horribly washed out in the blaze of electric light. I look positivelyill.
And it’s true, the camera really does add kilos to anyone’s look, even my normally slim and trim physique.
“…we’re gonna figure out together what we need to do to save the witching world.” Zara’s televised voice swells with certainty until it’s edged in lightning. “I’m here to tell you we’realreadyfiguring it out. And here’s the first thing. All you shifters out there need to be mating a lot more and, like, biting a lot more—anyone who wants that, especially anyone who’s got a chromosome of shifter DNA. Forget about the inbreeding and crossbreeding. Stop trying to keep the bloodline pure. There aren’t enough of you, um,usanymore to be ideological about this. We gotta, like, spread the love around.”
