On her other side, Bastian drank his own glass. Tharen knew it wasn’t enough for the vampire, but at least he’d been well-fed in their solitude.
All this lost time, yet nothing to fucking show for it.
Emarelia’s not here.Tharen scowled.
Patience.Vale’s voice filled his mind.
Tharen wanted to fucking hit the dragon for it—patience, his ass, when his beast must’ve been riding him hard about stealing their Vincire from them, whisking her away to gods knew where.
The mage plucked the glass from Luella’s hands. She spluttered as droplets fell from her lips. She had nearly been ready to take another sip. He placed his lips on the same spot she had just touched, staring down at her as his tongue traced over the lip of the glass.Don’t lecture me on patience, Vale.
"Behave," Bastian crooned, the lilting warning speaking of more than just stealing Luella’s drink. "Here, pet." Bastian pressed his glass into her hands.
"No blood, right?" she asked, voice small.
Bastian’s lips twitched. "No blood." He lowered his voice, but Tharen still heard. "An angel in their midst is one thing, a vampire? Quite another."
Tharen watched the line of Luella’s throat as she tipped her head back and drank, feeling his cock stir in interest. He pushedthat impulse down. She didn’t need him to fucking mess with her anymore. He’d had her once.
The celebration continued, and it was obvious the Fallen watched them all closely. Graves, in awe at his return. And the rest? Suspicion. In some cases, outright hostility.
That was what Bastian was for, however. Every time the vampire picked up on dangerous, violent thoughts, he alerted them all to it.
They were racking up quite the ledger of supposed enemies.
Fucking good.
Tharen was itching for a fight—he’d been cooped up too long at sea, then their week of solitude.
After some time, when the sweet wine worked to dull the ever-present rage he felt, Graves appeared; though, not alone. The Fallen Prince was tailed by the little Fallen Princess that Tharen had seen him talking to. She was delicate and small, and her dark wings were only slightly larger than Luella’s. Her eyes matched Graves’s, but the kindness in them was disconcerting, as opposed to whatever the fuck sort of guarded stoicism usually shadowed Graves’s features.
The Princess held a babe, perched on her hip. A wingless female youngling with the same dark hair and large green eyes. Her tiny fists curled in the ends of the Fallen Princess’s hair, and she bounced the youngling on her hip.
"Introduce me, Sorren," said the Fallen Princess. "I’ve never met the rest of your friends before. And an angel, no less." The youngling cooed in agreement.
Luella’s eyes tracked the Princess with wariness, but Tharen felt the slight interest as she peered at the babe.
"This is Prima Tharen Wystaro. Bastian Thorne, the King’s Advisor. Azgorath Da’amith." Graves’s eyes flicked to Luella, then away. "And Princess Luella Eritrais of Solis." Graves settleda hand on the Fallen’s shoulder. "This is my sister, Princess Sorill Damaris."
Princess Sorill dipped her chin. "I’m afraid I cannot curtsy with Jili here." She smoothed the babe’s short dark hair. "It is a pleasure to meet you all. Princess Luella, has Sorren been treating you well?"
Luella glanced at Tharen, as if seeking permission to speak.
Bastian, Tharen prodded in their link.
He watched as the fear in Luella’s eyes seeped away, as Bastian told her in her mind that the Princess was no threat. It was a careful balance they all kept. What to say; whatnotto say. The Queen didn’t know the whole reason why they were here—the Damaris siblings knew even less, so Tharen had been told. They all knew just enough to have their confidence and sanctuary.
They knew Luella was important, and she was the true Princess of Luna. They knew the Fates were involved. Nothing else.
"He has been treating me well," Luella hedged. "Forgive me, I’m used to c-calling him Graves. Sorren sounds strange to my ears."
Tharen didn’t miss the flex in Graves’s fingers as she said his true name.
Princess Sorill rounded the lounge area and sat across from them, perching the youngling, Jili, on her lap. She patted the empty spot next to her. "Sit with me, Princess? I’d love to get to know the reason for Sor—Graves’sleaving." Princess Sorill glanced to her brother with a sweet smile as she said his middle name.
"Go, Lu," Azgorath said, still standing at Luella’s back, hands on her shoulders, playing with her hair.
She glanced at Tharen; he kept his face impassive. Then, to Bastian on her other side, who inclined his head and said, "Go play, pet."
