Page 48 of The Lord of Whispers

You have no idea how true that is, I thought, the desire to imprint on Alarie popping to the forefront of my mind. So far, I’d resisted the nearly overpowering urge to imprint on Alarie, but my reasons for doing so now were different than my initial reasons. Before, I’d been concerned about the implications of jumping into something so serious so early with her. Now, I was concerned that, assuming we had the magic to enable it, we would end up bonded instead of just imprinting on each other. I could try to deny it all I wanted, but I was falling for the girl, and I thought she was right there with me.

“It’s not like that, Grey,” I responded. “Well, it’s notentirelylike that,” I admitted with a guilty smirk on my face.

Grey raised his eyebrows in disbelief before continuing. “Well, well, well, someone has finally managed to get through that thick-ass hide of yours,” the King quipped.

I let a fraction of what I felt about Alarie show on my face. “I haven’t talked about it with the lady yet,” I said begrudgingly.

The King knew I was referring to Lady Vitruvian.

“But I’m thinking Alarie will be House consort by the time of the Spring Ball,” I said.

“And this is the first I’m hearing of it from you? What the hell, Jay? Where’s my asshole best friend and what have you done with him?” Grey continued to tease, enjoying the opportunity that only came around once every few decades.

“But what about the Choosing, Jay?” my oldest friend said, changing tones.

“What about it?” I barked.

The King cleared his throat.

“Well… Alarie hasn’t participated in the Prince’s Choosing yet, has she?”

“No,” I growled. “And she won’t need to.”

“Jay,” the King replied, sternly. “The prophecy—”

“Has run out of time to work, assuming it ever would have. And, anyway, Alarie won’t be twenty-four untilafterthis year’s Choosing,” I said in measured words.

He knew as well as I did what the realities of our situation were—the magic was dying and the prophesized girl who would save us all was a no show so far.

As far as the Prince’s Choosing went, only women who were twenty-four had to participate. Alarie wasmine, and that meant I would not allow her to be lined up and picked over by anyone, not even the Prince of Darkness himself. This was going to be a fight with my good friend. But it wasn’t a fight we needed to have until Alarie turned twenty-four. The King let the issue drop.

“Let’s go greet our host then,” Grey said, changing the subject. “I have a gift for him.”

The rest of my night, the talk around Lord Preston’s Gala was truffles. Or a single truffle, really, which turned out to be no truffle at all. Leading up to his party, Lord Preston had bragged about a rare and expensive truffle he was having delivered just for the Winter Gala.However, the Ruby Court was home not only to Valencia’s mining but also its agriculture. As the magic continued to decline over the years, the agricultural operations became more and more labor intensive and less reliant on magic. The lesser fae wanted land to call their own in exchange for their toil. High Lord Rein was open to it, but others, in camp with House Mouchard, were resistant. As a result, the lesser fae had started to leave not only the High Court but also the fields.

Due to a recent lesser fae boycott in the north, Lord Preston had been unable to get the truffle delivered in time for the Gala, a great embarrassment to the lord, and on an even higher level, an unpleasant reminder to the High Court that we were very dependent on the lesser fae and our daily lives could be easily affected by the mood of the lesser fae.

But the missing truffle was just the beginning of Lord Preston’s truffle-related troubles that evening. Knowing of Lord Preston’s predicament, the King had someone from his House pick out a fine truffle from his own reserves. The King’s consort, Gloria, had presented the gift to Lord Preston shortly upon their arrival at the Gala.

As Gloria had handed Lord Preston the golden box wrapped with a big red bow, the King had explained, “I know it’s no help for this evening, but for the next party, you’ll be prepared.”

Lord Preston eagerly began to unwrap the bow and then removed the lid to find a large, black lump in the box.

“A fine truffle, my King,” Lord Preston exclaimed as he reached for the lump.

He raised the black nugget inquisitively to his nose, taking a big whiff. He threw it to the ground, dropping the box as the dark clump burst apart on the marble floor.

“Shit!” Lord Preston screamed. “It’s fuckingshit!” he exclaimed, holding out his hand.

Then, realizing that he had screamed obscenities in the direction of the King and his consort, Lord Preston began to apologize profusely.

Unfazed by Lord Preston’s antics, I bent down, noticing a note that had fallen out of the box after being thrown to the ground.

Go dig in the ground for your own fucking truffles.

— Don Davante

I took a deep breath and exhaled in exasperation.

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