The Queen’s throne was at the far wall, opposite the entrance in which they stood. Her deep blue eyes fell to them all, where they entered, and a gentle smile curved her lips upward.
Quiet befell the room.
Luella’s eyes darted around, watching as the Fallen stared and stared at them all. Her hands fisted in the skirts of her gown, breath hitching. Were the stories true? Would they hurt her?
She was too wound up to read the emotions flickering across the countless faces in the room.
The threads coiled tightly in her chest wavered with protection. Blindly, she reached for the hand nearest to her, desperate to be grounded and kept safe. When her fingers brushed a calloused palm and the thread inside her that felt like a snowstorm uncoiled, her lips parted in shock.
Tharen.
It was too late to pull her hand away; though, she waited for the Prima to shrug her off, or worse, laugh at her. Imagine her surprise when his fingers pushed between hers, and he clasped their hands tightly together, refusing to let her go. And perhapsa small part of her didn’t wish to let him go, especially as Tharen brushed against her with every step.
Vale was before her, but the King slowed, allowing Graves to lead them all. It was an act of deference, a testament of Graves’s…statushere on the Isles. Another reminder of his lies.
It was so quiet that the water lapping against the rocks outside resonated. Wind swept through the open archways, bouncing off the curved stone ceilings, rustling the feathers in the room—hers included.
Queen Samil stood, and Graves stepped right before Luella, shielding her with his frame as his dark, feathered wings unfurled from where they’d been tucked closely to his back. Her eyes grew wide at the sheer size and beauty of them. Graves’s wings were so much larger than hers. Where the tips of Luella’s stopped right behind her knees, the tips of Graves’s nearly dragged the floor with every step.
Luella peered around Graves, watching as the Queen left her throne and ventured into the crowd of winged revelers.
They were given a wide berth, and that circle of solitude befell the Queen as she glided closer. A low buzz of murmurs took hold of the Fallen. Queen Samil raised a hand, and it quieted instantly.
Finally, she stilled right before her son. Tharen’s hand tightened around Luella’s, and a warmth at her back made her glance behind her, to find Az looming like the fearsome protector he was.
Queen Samil touched a hand to Graves’s cheek, and through the open back of his shirt, Luella saw his muscles tense up.
"My son," the Queen said quietly, and if it were at all possible, the hush of the crowd turned even more silent.
Luella’s breath rattled in her ears.
Queen Samil dropped her hand. "You have all heard the rumors. My son, Prince Sorren Graves Damaris. He has beenlost to the Fallen Isles, but now has returned." Her voice rippled through the room. "My son has returned, but not alone. He and his companions are to have safety here." She stepped to the side, putting her directly in Luella’s line of sight. The Queen smiled down at Luella, her eyes flicking to her tucked wings. She held out a hand.
Dare Luella take it?
The implications were not lost on her. As soon as the Queen made known Luella’s title, everything would change.
Unwavering, the Queen’s hand remained outstretched—an offer.
Luella waited for Bastian to whisper an order in her mind, but it never came. This was a choice left for her to make. Something stolen, given.
Luella released Tharen’s hand, her palm tingling from his touch. Then, she placed her hand in the Queen of the Fallen Isle’s.
Queen Samil’s smile grew, and her fingers closed around Luella’s. The crowd watched, their eyes on Luella’s exposed wings and back.
"Princess Luella Eritrais of Solis," Queen Samil declared, "shall have solace here, with Prince Sorren’s companions."
Luella waited for the Queen to mention her wings or the nature of her status as half-angel, but it never came.
The Queen released her hand and stepped away from them all, her black wings rippling behind her as she spoke. "Celebrate my son’s return, but ask no questions, my Fallen. News of this will never travel beyond these Isles."
35
SUGAR GRAPES
THAREN
The sweet wine cooled Tharen’s tongue and chased away the godsdamned humidity, but he was missing the burn of hard liquor. Fuck this whole thing.
