Page 53 of Caged By the Ruthless Thief

“It’s different,” Holter whispers to me.

“It’s nice.”

“No, not the lobby. Having everyone stare at him. You being the afterthought.”

“I don’t care.”

“You sure?” Holter looks away from me.

I survey the crowd. All eyes are on Nico. As they should be—he’s gone to hell and back. The main doors are open already, and when we step in, this is where Glyden is represented. We’re not going to be outdone by the Braesen. The ceiling of the dome is draped in a liquid gold fabric with sapphire chandeliers spaced around the room. The fabric drapes to the floor, only partially concealing secluded alcoves around the room that contain giant puffed lounging mattresses. Golden clouds. The same mattresses, as well as sofas and loungers, are out in the open ballroom too, and there are a few males huddled near them, but no one’s lounging yet. Not until the females get here. The music is gratefully not our traditional music. Instead, there are sounds of running water and bird song. It’s like one of the relaxing meditation tapes my assistant back in Athens has recommended to me more than once.

I make my way to Nico’s side. “You want to sit?”

“No. I need to be seen.”

I crane my neck around the room. There’s not a set of eyes that aren’t staring at Nico. As of yet, no one has made their way over. A few heads inclined, a few polite nods. No, they are waiting to see what the governors do.

We’re on the later side of the arrival time. Many of the males have been here for a few hours. At least, it appears that way. Drinks are in hand.

Holter touches my elbow and inclines his head up to the balcony. This ballroom is different to the one in Glyden. The masses enter on the ground level, while the balcony is where the mermaids will descend from. This is one of several balls a year that have a more sensual twist to them. Unlike the ball for Annabelle, this is a party. It starts out formal, but it never ends that way. My eyes flick over to the alcoves between the pillars. Several of them already have males claiming them. No, this isn’t like the ball I went to before. And I fucking hope Eros explained that to her.

“Want me to get you a drink?” I ask.

“Dragon ale,” Nico grunts.

“No. How about something less strong?” Holter replies. Frankly, I’m just impressed that Nico is willing to let someone else fetch him a drink, that he didn’t limp over to the bar and get it for himself.

He locks his gaze with Holter. “How about I go get it myself?”

“Stay here.” I point to a smaller seat next to one of the cloud-like mattresses. “I’ll get it for you.”

Nico grasps the trident with both hands, not sitting. I suppose when you’ve spent as long in bed as he has, you don’t want to sit anymore.

“Castor,” a deep voice says. “Interesting news from Zaffiro. What do you think of it?”

“I’d need to know what news you’re referring to.” I turn. It’s Atlas. He’s standing in the shadows behind a pillar. “What news?”

“That Nico gave Annabelle to Eros Herod to keep her safe while he was in the chasm, and he mated her.”

My stomach twists, and my gut wrenches. He mated her? She mated him? I’m angry, and I have no right. I’m not in their pod. She is no one but my best friend’s mate. It’s logical that it might have happened, but a respectable male would have–– I scoff. This is Eros Herod we’re talking about. And she’s been there for a while.

I glance back to where I left Nico and Holter, but the music changes and the crowd pushes forward to the balcony. The mermaids are entering, and there’s no returning to the back of the room.

25

NICO

There are a few places on my body that don’t hurt, but I’m not registering them right now. Holter’s right. I shouldn’t have dragon ale. Hell, Ophelia’s probably right. Standing is taking every ounce of strength I have. I want to crumple to the mattress next to me. But doing that would mean standing again, and I’m sure that would be more difficult. When I came back from the chasm, the Arg-leth hadn’t taken hold of my system yet. It hadn’t weakened me to the point of being a podlet again. Weaker than a podlet.

The music changes, and the mermaids stream through the doors. I know she’s there. I can feel her. I don’t see her yet, but the hold she has on me is reaching for me, beckoning me to approach. I move forward with the mass of the crowd. I’m not the only one anxious to see my mate, the one I breathe for. No, the room is pulsing, racing with excitement for what will happen here later. I will have her in my arms again, away from here. I ignore the pain in my wrists and ankles.

I glance over at Holter. He’s as amped up as I am. The tightening of my throat has cut my body in half. It makes me want to rage, throw the males between me and the balcony out of my way. But even if I could physically do it now, I know that’s not what my Little Krill would want.

I’m holding on to this ridiculous trident for optics. There’s no one who understands optics better than a military male. There’s also no one who hates it more. I’m ready to shuck this damn thing at the first governor I see. Stele, Permula, or Braesen, I don’t care. At this point, I’d have to think twice about not ramming it into Nole.

This space is different every year. The best part about being on theCentauriis not having to come to shit like this. Not having to time my pulse to keep from losing it. Holding myself back, tethering my control.

The music stops, and conch shells blast through the room. The double doors swing open. Ophelia is accompanied by the duchesses of Zaffiro and Braesen, each of them in a swirl of their dome colors. Zaffiro’s is in shimmering blue—Eros Herod’s mother, Nerida. She’s a duchess as well. And next to them stands the Braesen duchess, her gown a swirl of orange and red like it’s on fire. They bow to the crowd and move to the side, the next tier of mermaids taking their place, others whom I should know but whose names I haven’t bothered to remember as they giggled at Castor or batted their eyes at me, falsely believing I was the way to become his mate.

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