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Irisa’s makeup-stained eyes crinkle. “Well, come on. Be honest. You’re nowhere near as good as me.”
“I think Iggy would say otherwise.” Dahlia pushes Irisa, who looks down at her as if she’s a child.
“Honey,” she drawls. “The whole world just watched one of the most eligible Radiants fuck me.HerRadiant. I think I win.”
“Maybeshewins,” Dahlia sneers, “since she’s obviously fucking them all.”
My brows lift. They all stare at me and then burst out laughing.
“Nah,” Becky says. “We know you can’t be.” She sobers. “But seriously. If you want to be, you gotta sort that face out.”
Irisa’s eyes flash. I blink, thinking I might detect a little jealousy, but she’s the picture-perfect smiling sweet thing on the next blink.
“Your turn,” she says. “Shout something you’ve been dying to let out. We can take it.”
They look at me expectantly, but I freeze.
“First night jitters.” Dahlia nods emphatically. “Don’t worry, you’ll eventually warm up. A dance will help.” She scans the group of dancers, frowning. “I think Lord Sylvanar’s son Milford is here. He’s always good for an easy charm.”
The drums quicken, but it feels like my heart is pounding inside my brain. The heady scent of burned petal spice is dizzying. A raucous cheer rings out. Then another. Coming from somewhere else. Turning, I feel disorientated.
“What’s that?” I mumble, flaring my eyes to see better in the dark. But everything is starting to blur together. Dahlia tries to tug me away from the cheering, but I’m drawn to it.
“No, no.” Dahlia tugs harder. “This is a waste of time.”
“What is?”
“Just show her,” Irisa grumbles. “Get it over with, then we can find Milford.”
“As long as you don’t do this every time.” Dahlia waggles her finger at me. “Fine. We’ll take you to see the Radiants blow off steam.”
By letting off steam,she means no-holds-barred brawling. And by Radiants, she means Fox and Emrys, circling each other, fists bloody, grinning wildly. Both are shirtless, sweating, and dirty, as if they’ve been rolling on the ground.
“Holy shit,” Irisa mutters, eyes wide.
“What?” Dahlia pushes to the front of the crowd. “No way.”
Fox still holds that feral glint in his eyes. Emrys stalks him calmly, almost amused. His fists might be bloody, but his body is a pristine mix of pale skin and black, arcane tattoos. Barely a scratch on him. They don’t move like normal people. Not even like animals.
I’m transfixed as Emrys taps his jaw, taunting Fox.
“Never seen two of them fight each other.” Becky raises her brows.
“How would you fucking remember?” Dahlia scoffs.
“Oh yeah.” Becky hands me another drink from somewhere. I blink into the cup. How are they finding drinks everywhere? What is in this? I sniff it, but my nose isn’t working. It smells the same. Like alcohol. Oh well. Here’s to making more mistakes. I toss it down the hatch. Bodies suddenly surge, applauding.
“Come on,” Dahlia moans. “We don’t have time to waste on these assholes. They don’t care enough to hand out charms.”
“You shouldn’t say that,” Becky mumbles, eyes glassy and distant. “They saved my life more than once.”
The reminder of war is an iced bucket of water tossed on us. In their silence, the crack of bone blares as Emrys’s fist connects with Fox’s jaw, spurting dark blood. I wince, forgetting he can heal faster than anyone I’ve seen. But Fox smiles through bloody teeth, spits a wad, and asks for more. My jaw drops. He wants to be hurt, just like he wanted my dagger in his heart. This isn’t a fight. It’s a beating.
“Yeah, they’ve saved our lives,” Dahlia agrees sardonically. “But charms can do that too.”
“They put their bodies on the line.” Becky shakes her head. “The others just keep sending us to the slaughter from a distance.”
“I’d rather have something I can trust than wait for a hero.” Dahlia looks at me. “So what’s it going to be, Willow? You going to wait for a hero or save yourself?”
