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“More like a breakdown,” I amended, side-eyeing them one after the other, “mentally speaking, and—”

“Glad your illness has come with a newfound sense of self-awareness,” the High King said under his breath.

“—I accidentally lost control of a sword,” I continued, completely ignoring his jibe. “One of the staff caught it.” I paused, gnawing on my lip, then added, “In his chest.” The unease in my stomach rose again, but I managed to hold it down. “Lucais and I had some things to work out afterwards.”

Morgoya’s eyes flickered back and forth between us, a thin eyebrow reaching for her dark hairline. “But you haven’t—”

“No,” Lucais repeated firmly, for what was starting to feel like the hundredth time that very morning.

I ground my back teeth together.

For High Mother’s sake. Nobody is having sex.

I wanted to ask why it even mattered, although I technically wasn’t speaking to her. We weren’t actively avoiding each other; I simply hadn’t seen her since the House, and I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t ready, so I fixed my gaze on Batre instead and smiled.

“I’m glad to see you again,” I told her honestly, marking the hurt that flashed across her girlfriend’s face in my peripheral vision. My stomach twisted, but I didn’t know what to do with the feeling. I had no room for it.

“You too, Aura,” Batre replied. Her gaze darted to the side, aware of Morgoya’s reaction.

It may not have been the nicest thing for me to do—especially if it would pit the two lovers against one another—but I genuinely liked Batre. She was the only person who hadn’t lied or kept any secrets from me while I was living in the House. In fact, she very nearly gave it away, played a significant part in making me realise the truth, and had actually been the one to confirm it in the end.

Morgoya, on the other hand, had been a much closer friend to me—and she had lied through her teeth, covering for Lucaisand stringing me along in silly little games designed to drive the real High King mad while I fell deeper into my involvement with the fake High King, Wrenlock.

Batre, to my knowledge, had played no such games with me.

“What a reunion,” I whispered, training my eyes on my plate as Wrenlock began to pile it high with different faerie foods. I spied the paperdove eggs, berries, pancakes, thick slices of toast he generously buttered before placing down, and strips of colourful melon.

“Eat,” he urged, gently nudging my arm with his elbow.

Yes, Auralie, eat.Lucais’s mental voice was in my head, and I detected the mocking edge to his tone.Try using a dining table for its intended purpose this time, and do let me know what you think of the experience.

My back stiffened, and then I emphatically ignored him.

But I did eat. Because I was starving—and because I was surrounded by people who didn’t seem to care that I’d killed a man beneath their very roof, most likely because they were faeries who did worse things themselves before getting out of bed in the morning. And whether it was right or wrong, that fact eased some of my guilt considerably.

“Who says I don’t care?” the dark, hollow voice from my bedroom hummed in my ear.

I jumped in my seat, my knees hitting the bottom of the table, causing the cutlery and glasses to clatter. The force made a pitcher of milk tip over and spill all over the table cloth.

Shit—

Batre was quick to act, mopping it up with a napkin and preventing the liquid from running off the sides and into Morgoya’s lap, but my heart still raced like a wild horse, and blood flooded to my cheeks as if it could defend me.

I waited for someone to yell or swear, and I found it hard to swallow my uncertainty when nobody did. It was an accident,and accidents always attracted the worst attention—like broken dishes over spilled milk from a man who walked past holes in the walls every day without blinking. My muscles were impossibly tense, every joint in my body locked into place, anticipating the imminent way in which I was about to be shattered.

I blinked, then looked at the expression on the closest face. Wrenlock was at my side, his mouth full of pancakes as he stared at me with a wide, probing gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the two simple words sounding broken and battered as they exited my mouth.

Hey.

Before I could move or speak again, the dull thump of something else falling over grabbed my attention, and I turned to see that Lucais was casually flicking cups and saucers over with his forefinger. His lips were tilted up in a warm, devious smirk as coloured liquids rushed out across the tablecloth like oil spills over an ocean. He clumsily knocked over a bowl of grapes that began to roll towards me, picked up a breakfast scroll with icing and cinnamon, tossed it up into the air above the table—

And then, with a musical laugh and a snap of his fingers, the table was set back to rights as if none of it had ever even happened.

Breathe, bookworm. Easy fix.

Batre snorted, and Morgoya picked up a green grape from the bowl that had reappeared properly centred and filled in the middle of the table. With questionable aim, she threw it at the High King, who leaned back on his chair legs with expert balance and caught it in his mouth. That earned a chuckle from Wrenlock, too.