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“You can’t feel it? Or the lack of it?”
“It?” I stare at them both.
“Magic,” Uncle Mark says. “When he sees through his birds, it gives off a magical signature that we can feel.”
Zale squawks. Even the bird agrees.
“Well, I can’t feel it.” I stroke the bird’s head again. “At least you like my dress.” And don’t make me feel like an idiot.
The letdown at their revelation is a palpable feeling within me, like someone just took a little shine out of my outfit or squished me down too far in heels. No wonder the bond still remained tight and uncomfortable. I should have known he wasn’t here.
The eagle squawks again and flies to the window.
I wave at him and turn to my companions with a deep sigh. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Getting caught talking to a bird was a little awkward. Being the only human entering a room of fae nobles, competitors, and other dignitaries, is somehow so much worse.
Everyone turns to look at us when we enter.
At first, I thought it might be because of Hawke—royalty and all—but oh no, they’re definitely staring at me. Intrusive and prying, their piercing gazes inspect me head to toe, leaving nothing unscathed. My throat tightens, and it takes everything I have to put one foot in front of the other and enter the massive ballroom.
Or courtyard? Grand porch? Who knows. White marble pillars soar from the ground toward the sky, but there’s no ceiling above, not even a glass one. Fae lights float above us like twinkling stars, with larger ones clinging to the pillars and other sconces dotted across the gleaming floor.
Fae pack the space wearing a riot of colors and designs. Everything from puffy ballgowns a meter wide to ones so infinitesimal they barely count as clothes. Attendants carry gilded trays with small bites of heavenly smelling food, which war with varying perfumes for dominance. Just about everyone has a drink in hand.
The announcer from the games weaves through the crowd to me without error. Shimmering white and silver drape from him in flowing waves. Sparkling pale eyeshadow sweeps out to his hairline to mingle with the white feathers woven there.
He takes my hand and gives it a little pat. “We’ll be presenting the finalists in a little bit. Enjoy yourself until then.”
Right, like that’s so easy.
Maybe it is for everyone else, but not me. There’s no presentation necessary for every single fae in this room to know exactly who I am. Several glance around each other, trying to catch my eye. A few head my way with unchecked determination.
My shoulders stiffen, and I look to Uncle Mark. But he and Hawke have already been drawn into conversation with another group.
A flash of red catches my attention, and my heart leaps at the familiar face. Even better, he’s surrounded by a bubble of space as if no one dared get to close to a foreign prince. I weave my way to Lysandir, ignoring outstretched hands and calls of my name. How celebrities handle this nonsense, I’ll never understand. A sigh escapes as I break out into the open space surrounding the prince and the pillar he leans against.
He nods to me before lifting the half-empty glass of sparkling liquid in his hand and taking a quick sip.
“How are you this evening?” he asks before ushering over an attendant to pass off his glass.
“Much better than yesterday. And better now that I’m here with you.” I lean against the pillar, savoring the shock of the cool stone against my back. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
Lysandir forces a smile that fades as quickly as it came. “Me too. Though I’m not sure the cauldron could have granted my wish anyway.”
“Why not? What do you wish for?” Instant regret follows my words. I probably shouldn’t have asked, not with so many fae watching our every move like we’re fish in a tank. In the moments since I’ve joined him, they’ve already managed to close the space around us, not much, but enough to know they likely listen to every word we say.
“Let us…” Lysandir glances around. “Get some air.” He holds out his hand to me like the prince he is, and I take it.
He holds my hand in his and leads me to the edge of the throng. An intricate stone railing marks the boundary of the space and acts as a last defense to keep any wayward fae, or humans in my case, from plummeting off the cliffside to the valley below. Few linger here. These fae love to be noticed if their outfits are any indication, and so many stick close to the castle proper rather than lingering in the dim outskirts of the party.
I inhale the calm of night. “What a change. I feel like I can breathe again over here.”
Lysandir chuckles. “I thought to skip this entirely, but I wanted to see you before I left.”
My chest draws tight. “You’re leaving?”
He nods. “In the morning. I’ve been away too long as it is. Besides…” He glances back at the party. “I think the Court of Air might be more at ease without me lingering in their midst.”
