Page 35 of The Amber Sunburst

She hears Aika sigh in relief behind her when they finally turn the last corner into the kitchen. They tiptoe through steel appliances and sneak bites of tomorrow’s ingredients on the way to the door. The one that opens to a storeroom full of wine.

It’s meant for the Guardians, surely, though technically no one in the Leadership Classes is permitted to drink. But the Auxiliaries use the space and the alcohol at least once a week and no one has stopped them yet.

Aika runs right to the boy serving wine, dragging Ophelia and Dora with her.

“Three cups, please,” she requests politely, batting her lashes.

The Auxiliary on bartending duty turns bright red and laughs nervously. “Anything for you, Aika,” he says, pouring wine to the brim of each cup and handing them over with a smile.

Aika: her adorable, tiny, doe-eyed master manipulator.

After an hour or so of chitchat, a loud fight erupts in the center of the room.

“I showed up to your stupid party. What more do you want, Kleitos?”

Of course it’s Kleitos starting the fight. She isn’t surprised, given the dirtbag he is.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe stop being such a scared little kitten?”

“Why do you care? What makes you so interested in whether or not I’m a ‘kitten’?”

Kleitos growls and moves to pin the smaller boy against a wall. The whole room winces and Ophelia prepares herself for a beatdown—these hotheaded Auxiliaries never back down from a fight—but instead of biting and kicking like she expects, the smaller boy ducks under Kleitos’ arm, sticks out his middle finger, and melts into the crowd.

Well, okay then.

Cheers and whistles fill the room for him, and she gladly joins in.

When Kleitos skulks away, Ophelia has to laugh. Maybe she should pity him. He’s emotionally repressed and probably fighting demons of his own. But he is also a jackass. And she loves seeing him put in his place almost as much as she loves doing it herself.

He’ll find her soon, once he’s done licking his wounded ego somewhere. He always does. She can’t wait to turn him down again.

But for now she bustles about, finding and losing her friends in the haze of the party. Music invigorates her movements, and with every moment she becomes less of a human and more of an entity. She drinks wine with Aika and it tastes like the sweetest honey; she spins a beautiful stranger whose eyes are the brightest green; she joins a tight circle of frantic dancers, convinced that somewhere in the sweaty bodies and dark orange lights, destiny is waiting for her.

Then, as she pours herself another glass at the quickly depleting wine table, someone taps on her shoulder, and she is human once more.

As she predicted, Kleitos stands leaning against the table.

She’s truly not sure why he keeps on trying when he knows what her answer will be. He may be able to trick the other Priestesses into his bed, but Ophelia knows an asshole when she sees one.

“You look cute,” he says, no innocence about it.

“You don’t.” She keeps her eyes to the table. There’s wine spilled over it. She wonders idly if it will stain.

“I complimented you,” he scoffs. “Are you really going to be that way?”

Ophelia keeps her mouth shut. It always makes him the most upset when she refuses to respond, and it’s hilarious to see him all red-faced and angry.

“Are you really going to pull this shit again, Ophelia? I mean, what, you think you’re better than everyone else?”

“Yes, actually,” she responds—so much for the silent treatment—and takes a long sip from her cup.

He scoffs before a clammy hand presses to the back of her thigh and a warm body pushes her up against the table.

“Are you sure?” he teases, breath stinking of alcohol. His hand keeps moving until its tight on her waist. He’s never been this bold before—never dared.

“You’re going to want to remove your hand and back off right now.”

“You know what, Ophelia? I don’t think I will. This… this cat and mouse game has gone on long enough.”