He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
Of course, the elders would do that since subtlety had never been their strength.
The room buzzed with monsters of every kind, basilisks mostly, though he spotted a few lamias, a couple of cyclopes, even a pair of harpies perched along one balcony rail watching the festivities with keen interest. Performers drifted through the crowd as well: fire dancers sending sparks spinning through the air, illusionists creating brief shimmering creatures that dissolved into smoke.
It was exactly the kind of spectacle the elders loved. A celebration meant to show the strength of their kind, and, more importantly, that his family’s honor had been restored.
He should have felt relieved; instead, his attention kept drifting to the human beside him.
Liora stood just to his right, dressed now in something darker and sharper than the airy outfits from the photo shoot, something that suited her far better, in his opinion. The stylists had worked their magic again: her hair fell in thick waves down her back, her makeup subtle but striking, her piercings still in place despite the elder’s earlier objections.
She looked…good.
The moment she’d arrived earlier that evening, she’d complained, immediately, about the hours it had taken for the stylists to get her ready.
“I swear,” she’d muttered to him while someone adjusted the fall of her sleeve, “if one more monster touches my hair I’m shaving it off.”
Now she stood, a polite smile carefully fixed on her face, as various elders and relatives drifted past to greet them. But he could tell that the smile was plastered on. Her shoulders were just a little too stiff. Her eyes kept scanning the room like she was calculating escape routes.
She was uncomfortable. And the strange thing was…he understood why. This wasn’t her world. Not the politics, not the expectations, not the way half the room watched them like they were the centerpiece of some elaborate performance.
He lifted his drink and took a slow sip, trying not to make it obvious that he was watching her. It didn’t work.
Liora glanced sideways at him. “What?” she muttered under her breath.
He shrugged casually. “Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“That’s worse.”
A small smirk tugged at his mouth.
For all the chaos this marriage had caused, his family’s honor hanging by a thread, the elders breathing down his neck, the entire basilisk community watching them, he had to admit one thing. So far, being married wasn’t boring.
He took another slow sip of his drink and glanced around the room again. The music had shifted to something grander. Two fire dancers spun near the center of the hall while a cluster of elders watched from their seats like judges presiding over a trial.
Then his eyes drifted up again, right to the enormous portrait of him and Liora kissing. He snorted quietly.
Liora noticed immediately. “What?” she said under her breath, not even turning her head.
He tipped his glass upward slightly. “Look up.”
She followed his gaze, and her shoulders stiffened. “Oh, absolutely not.”
“There we are,” he said lightly. “Immortalized.”
“That is enormous.”
“They wanted something tasteful.”
“That’s not tasteful,” she muttered. “That’s propaganda.”
Maldenis chuckled.
She kept staring at it. “Why is itthatone?” she asked.
