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Okot smiles and sets me down at the bottom of the steps.
“I totally rocked those stairs,” I say.
“You tripped,” Evert deadpans.
“Yeah, but not until the end,” I argue.
He just chuckles.
I step up beside Ronak, whose arm is crooked and waiting for me.
“You okay?” Ronak checks.
“Yeah, it was just a little fall. Like, a tenth of a fall. I knew it was gonna happen, so I was already mentally prepared. Just like I knew I was gonna fall off that obstacle course you made me train on after Amorette was born. Remember? I nearly died.”
Ronak rolls his eyes. “You were three feet in the air, and there was a safety net under you.”
“Yeah, but those three feet were terrifying.”
“I caught you,” he reminds me.
“Specifics aren’t necessary for this story,” I wave my hand dismissively.
I grab his arm and look around at all the dark, round wooden tables and plush sofa-like chairs. The space is lit up by candles and twinkling fairy lights, and nearly every table is full with genfins dressed in fancy clothes.
When the dessert tray rolls by, I start salivating so much that I kind of choke on my spit. Evert pats me on the back unhelpfully.
“Right this way, Covey Fircrown,” the host says, leading us through the room.
Everyone we pass looks up from their meal to stare at us. My covey and I are kind of famous since we took down the prince. Since Ronak and I have matching cupid wings, Sylred and I have matching pink hair, and I have a huge lamassu mate, we kind of stick out. Evert is the only one who can somewhat fade into the background, but he doesn’t anyway, because he’s Evert. Which means he’s usually cursing louder than what’s appropriate for polite society.
Ronak strides forward effortlessly, his chin up, looking fine as hell. I try to do my best to glide next to him, but there’s just no gliding in my current form. When we near a large table near the back, my eyes fall on a group of seven older genfins.
They all stand as we approach the table, except for one. Ronak’s mother, Resha, stays sitting down at one end of the long table. This doesn’t bode well for a fresh start.
She has dark gray hair swept up on her head, familiar black eyes that match Ronak’s, and a formidable expression. Stopping before them, our eyes lock, and I watch as she takes me in from my toes to the top of my head. Her eyes linger on my cupid wings, shifting from mine to the pair on Ronak’s back. She sniffs and raises her nose in the air. I plaster a smile on my face.
“Hello, Resha. How are you?” I step forward and go in for a hug. Except I have a hard time bending down right now on account of being middle-heavy. So I kind of fall on top of her where she sits in her chair. My smiling face smooshes against her cheek, and I get a little spit on her. “Whoopsies!” I laugh nervously, trying to pick myself back up. I can’t. I’ve totally lost my balance. Ronak comes to my rescue and pulls me back so that I can stand again.
“Whew! Sorry,” I smile down at her. She just glares at me and swipes a hand across her cheek were my slobber and some of my makeup rubbed onto her.
“Mother,” Ronak nods at her.
“Son.”
They do some intense eye lock, where neither of them back down. It gets tense, so I quickly intervene. “So, Resha. I love what you’ve done with your hair.”
Resha sniffs and lifts her glass of water. “I haven’t done anything to my hair.”
My smile starts to waver, but I keep that sucker locked in place, because I’m on a mission, dammit. “Well, it still looks super awesome.”
She gives my pink hair a long look, letting me know that she doesn’t trust my judgment.
Ronak’s fathers, Hesh and Gullen, come forward and shake my hand. They look similar with gray hair and brown eyes. All three of Ronak’s parents have brown tails and wings that have gone slightly silver with age. I haven’t seen them since the last mishap with Resha, because Ronak banned them too.
Evia, is already hugging Evert and trying to straighten his clothes. She always dotes on him. She’s a short little thing, only coming up to his sternum, and while her face is lined with wrinkles, she has a pair of dimples that she obviously passed down to her son. “Look at you! Not eating enough. You’re practically skin and bones,” she says, pinching him on the stomach.
He flinches slightly and rolls his eyes. “It’s called training. I’m not a flabby son of a bitch like father,” Evert jokes, laughing at the male who comes up to clap him on the back.
