I turn to face the human woman, her silk robe barely drawn around her, blonde hair piled high on her head, jewels dripping from her ears and clinging to the delicate curve of her neck.
“We mean you no harm,” I say, my tone steady. “We're looking for someone.”
She narrows her gaze, sizing us up. “As is everyone who visits the Red Room. But we are strictly members only, and I've never seen any of you before.” Her eyes sweep over me, and for a moment, her expression softens. “I would remember.”
I grin in response, and she seems to take it as an invitation. Her hands loosen their grip on the robe, the silk parting over her thigh, revealing just enough, but I am not interested.
“Do you have any Ithranor Fae as members?” I ask, staying on task.
“Ithranor... Fae?” she gasps, eyes widening in surprise.
I lower my hood, revealing the pointed tips of my ears, and the others follow suit. The woman’s gaze flickers between us, a moment of hesitation before she nods, gesturing toward one of the curtained rooms.
I offer a silent smile, dipping my chin in gratitude as I move toward the curtain. When I slip inside, the Fae male splayed on the edge of the bed doesn’t even notice, far too absorbed in the woman kneeling between his legs, her head bobbing enthusiastically. Only when I clear my throat do his eyes snap open, and his expression morphs into one of panic as he sees us.
“Fuck,” he curses, shoving the woman away and grabbing for a sheet to cover his lower half.
The woman gasps, scrambling to gather her clothes as she hurries out of the room.
“Who the fuck are you?!” he bellows, his voice filled with indignation.
I step forward, rolling my shoulders. “Oh, I think you know.”
His eyes widen as he leans forward from the soft embrace of the round bed. When he finally recognizes me, it’s as if the weight of his world shifts.
“Prince Daedalus… but how… why... what are you doing in Ballamar City?” His voice cracks with disbelief.
I don’t hesitate. “I think you know that as well, so let’s stop wasting time. Shall we?” My jaw tightens as my voice lowers, rough like gravel. “Where is my wife?”
“Please,” the male stammers, one hand outstretched while the other clutches the sheet at his waist. “I have no ties to my house anymore. I’ve broken from them.”
“That’s not what my brother asked,” Zyphoro cuts in, her fingers idly tracing the intricate gold threads that edge the silk curtains. “Amara Phaedren. Princess of the Sundered Kingdoms. You know of whom we speak?”
The male nods.
“And you know she was stolen?”
Another nod, slower this time, his throat bobbing.
“So you know where she is?”
He shakes his head vehemently. “That, I do not know. I swear it.”
Zyphoro and I exchange a weary glance.
“Glamor him?” I suggest.
She smirks, tilting her head like a predator deciding how much to toy with its prey. “There are far more entertaining ways to make him talk.”
Smoke weaves between my fingers as I consider. “Strangulation? Decapitation? Evisceration?”
She taps her chin, feigning thoughtfulness as the male squirms, sweat beading on his brow. “Tempting options, but no. Maybe something a little more visceral.” Her eyes flick to Orios, standing like a stoic giant in the corner, towering over Solena at his side. “Reaper, how long has it been since you crushed a skull with your bare hands?” Zyphoro asks, her tone almost conversational.
A slow grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Too long,” Orios rumbles.
“Then, by all means, when you’re ready,” Zyphoro says, nodding her approval.
Orios steps forward, his massive hands flexing, and the male pales as if all the blood has drained from his face.
