I flex my fingers, feeling the shift of fabric, the hidden strength beneath the decadence. A suit fit for a prince. A mask fit for a monster.
Zyphoro rolls her eyes, unimpressed. Smoke pools at her heels, thick as storm clouds, swirling in restless tendrils around her legs. It rises, licking at her skin, and when it fades, she stands transformed.
A gown of the deepest obsidian clings to her frame, but unlike the sharp lines of my suit, there’s nothing modest or subtle about my sister’s choice tonight. The dress is cut high in the front, revealing far more leg than I’m comfortable seeing, her thigh-high stockings disappearing beneath a tangle of black tulle that spills into a dramatic train behind her.
Her heels are sharp enough to wound, meant to be heard before she enters the room, and her long black gloves cling to her arms like a second skin. But it’s the bodice… strapless, tight, and straining against the full rise of her chest, that has my gaze darting away.
Smoke curls around her face, thick and inky, sliding over her sharp cheekbones and smirking lips. When it recedes, it leaves behind a mask of ebony filigree, its edges tapering into delicate thorns that frame her temples.
She flicks a hand, and in her palm, the silver pommel of a dagger gleams, conjured from nothing, a casual reminder that beauty and death are often the same thing. Beneath the veil of shadow and lace, her silver eyes gleam. “Shall we?”
I rise from the edge of the bed and step toward her, drawn by the bond that hums in the space between us. Our eyes lock in a hollow silence, the only sound being the restless whisper of the breeze slipping through the open window. I extend my arm.
“Sister.”
She tilts her head, studying me with that rare, quiet softness. Then, with a ghost of a smile, she slips her arm through mine.
“Brother.”
A grin tugs at my lips as I push open the door, and side by side, we step into the candlelit corridor of the inn, where the others wait.
Golden light flickers over their masked faces, casting shifting shadows against the worn wooden walls. Reon stands in a blaze of crimson, his coat embroidered with curling patterns of gold, while Orios is clad in midnight blue, the fabric stretched so taut across his broad frame I wonder if he simply refused to conjure a size larger.
I let the door click shut behind me. “Let us go.” Then, frowning, I scan the hall. “Where is Solena?”
A door creaks open further down the hall, and soft footsteps sound against the wooden floor. Solena steps forward, the candlelight catching on the pale silver of her gown, its fabric fluid as moonlight, draping elegantly over her frame. The bodice is fitted, its delicate embroidery glimmering with frost-kissed threads, the neckline a graceful sweep that bares the smooth expanse of her collarbones. Her long black hair spills in perfect sheets down her back, a river of night against the cool shimmer of her dress.
For a heartbeat, I forget to breathe.
It is not Solena I see standing before me, buther. Amara. The shape of her lips, the way the candlelight pools in her dark eyes, the soft cascade of her hair. It's all so painfully,impossibly familiar. My pulse stutters, my throat tightens, and for a single, wretched moment, I am caught in the cruel jaws of memory.
I do not know how long I stand there, lost in the trick of candlelight, before awareness drags me back. Too late.
Solena shifts, uneasy, adjusting her silver mask, her fingers twitching. The air in the hall thickens, tension creeping in like an unwelcome guest. One by one, the others notice. Reon’s smile fades, Orios stiffens at her side, and Zyphoro’s sharp gaze flicks between us.
I blink, shattering the illusion, and exhale through my nose, forcing the weight from my chest.
A muscle in Orios’ jaw ticks as he steps closer to Solena, glaring at me from beneath his heavy brow, his broad form shifting between us. His hand finds the small of her back, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to remind her, and me, of where she belongs.
I’m not about to waste time in a pissing contest with him, and I have far more pressing matters than justifying myself to anyone.
“Let’s move,” I grind out, my voice a low rasp against the uneasy silence. My eyes flit to Zyphoro. “Is your plaything ready?”
She nods. “He is downstairs. Exhausted but able-bodied enough to serve his purpose.”
I do not care for the sordid details, though I’m glad Tamis has survived the last few nights as Zyphoro’s bedmate. I press forward, Zyphoro at my side. Behind me, I hear Solena’s quiet breath as she clings to Orios’ arm, her fingers tightening just slightly. His frown deepens, but he says nothing.
No one does.
We descend the narrow stairs and move through the tavern, no longer a quiet hovel cloaked in midnight hush. Now it thrums with life. Music curls through the air, tangled with raucous laughter, the thrum of voices, and the sharp clatter of mugs colliding in drunken celebration. The patrons, soaked in ale and blissful ignorance, barely glance up as the finely dressed Fae, masked and glittering, slip like shadows through their midst.
When we step outside, the warm breeze clings, offering no reprieve from the choke of the humid night. Tamis leads the way, but he falters, his eyes flicking toward the dark alleyways that split off from the street like veins. I catch his elbow before he can get clever.
“Not thinking of making a run for it, are you?” My voice grates rough as gravel. “I’d hate to snap your neck after my sister’s taken such a liking to you.”
Zyphoro laughs, soft and dangerous, as Tamis swallows hard.
“Of course not, Your Highness. I’m only… orienting myself.” He stiffens his spine, gaze sweeping over the crowd-packed street, thick with bodies drifting between taverns and brothels like moths to a flame. Then his eyes catch something and widen beneath the edge of his mask.
