Deyric’s pace slowed. “Are you sure you want to go in?” His voice dropped, quieter now. “We don’t have to. Cassidy already confirmed everything’s going to plan. They believed Margo’s story. Found the Siren’s Song at Caelith’s place. It’s done.”
She took a step back, hands smoothing down the front of her dress—her mother’s dress of blood-red spider silk, clinging to every curve. She hadn’t even realized how hard she was breathing until she felt her ribs rising too fast under her hands.
“No.” Her voice came steady, even if her stomach wasn’t. “I have to see it finished.”
Deyric looked her up and down, from head to toe, and his mouth edged into a smile, almost gentle. Almost.
“What?” Her shoulders hunched slightly, suddenly too aware of the way the fabric scrunched.
“You’re beautiful.”
She snorted, fingers twitching at the seam. “It’s just the dress.” She spoke too fast. She’d had compliments before, but never spoken like that, like fact instead of flattery.
“No.” His hand caught her chin, tilting her face up just enough to force her to look at him. “It’s you.”
He offered his arm again, but before she could take it, he leaned in, brushing a kiss against her cheek.
“You’re beautiful, Emmaline.” A beat. A crooked grin. “For a lunatic.”
She blinked, the words catching somewhere between her ribs. “Why you…” Her fist shot out, catching his shoulder hard enough to send him half a step off the road as they crossed through the gates—and into chaos.
A whole squad of gliders lined the drive, Patrol officers moving between them, tablets glowing as they flipped through reports. Corgis swarmed the grounds, their noses to the dirt. Beyond the Patrol, the front doors stood wide, guests flooding out in pairs and clusters, silk and lace rustling as they fled down the stairs.
Fragmented voices trailed after them, broken bits of scandal and horror:
“He’s been taking women. For years.”
“So has the mother.”
“You won’t believe what they found.”
Emmaline turned, her pulse hammering in her ears as she took it all in—the churn of Patrol officers whispering in small clusters, heads bent close.
“Noble scum.”
“Someone has to stop them.”
“How did this go on so long? We’re supposed to protect our own.”
The shock and anger rippled like a current through the crowd, outrage boiling just beneath the surface. Then, above it all came a softer sound—a high, delicate chime, like a silver bell rung from nowhere and everywhere at once, though no one else seemed to hear it.
Emmaline’s hand found Deyric’s. “It’s really happening, isn’t it?”
He didn’t look away from the scene unfolding before them, but his thumb brushed over her knuckles. “It looks that way.”
Before either of them could speak again, the front doors slammed open hard enough to rattle the glass panes of the nearest windows. Four Patrol officers stumbled through, struggling under the weight of a thrashing, shrieking woman—a tall, thin blonde draped glittering with jewels. Hair once likely pinned into an elaborate twist now hung loose around her face, strands catching in her mouth as she fought them every step.
“You will all pay for this disgraceful behavior!” Her voice cracked, shrill with rage.
Emmaline’s stomach turned to ice. “Is that—?”
Before she could finish, a young Patrol officer leaned toward the man beside him.
“That’s Lady Isolde.” His voice held both awe and disgust. “Apparently, she was working with Lady Allistair.”
The other officer’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “How many of them do you think there are? Doing that?”
“I don’t know.” The younger officer’s fist clenched at his side. “But we’ll find them. Noble blood won’t protect them from their crimes this time.”
