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“Mercurial,” Rhyan snarled.
“Ah, ah, ah. Mercurial, First Messenger of Her Royal Highness, Queen Ishtara of the Star Court, Lady of the Night Lands. When you are not fully clothed, you do not get to minimize my full title.” He bowed. Straightening, he pressed his finger against his chin, looking up as though deep in thought. “Now, I do believe I once foretold of a certain forswearing between you two. It seems as though I were in fact…prophetic.” He stalked closer. “Although I am already in possession of the knowledge that this was not your first-time foreswearing.”
“You want something,” Rhyan said, his voice deadly.
Mercurial’s hand snapped up, his fingers pointing at us. “No! You do not get to take that tone with me.” Afeyan magic, ancient, powerful, made of a terrifyingly bright light, and bound by a color I’d never seen before, pulsed around him. As quickly as it had been unleashed, it vanished, and he smiled sweetly.
“What do you want?” Rhyan asked.
“What do I want?” Mercurial asked. “What do you want?” His eyes slanted, taking in our state of undress and dishevelment. “Clearly to continue on with each other. What was the next piece of clothing to come off? What part of her grace’s body was your slippery tongue hoping to taste next? Her belly button? Her thighs? Somewhere in between?”
“Get out,” Rhyan said. He glanced back at me, seeing me still struggling to pull my dress up fully. “Or at least turn away, allow her grace to finish dressing. Now!”
“You have mocked the very oath you swore,” Mercurial said, “the oath you swore in blood. You are Godsdamned lucky that kashonim doesn’t operate the same as blood oaths, or the two of you would have been struck by lightning just now. Make no mistake—the magic is angry with you two, and a price will be paid. But I am who you need to be more concerned with. Well, me and the other man who I believe would be very interested in the activities happening in this room.”
I stilled, hearing footsteps in the hall.
“Lord Tristan,” Mercurial said. “He’s on his way over here right now.”
Right on cue, Tristan’s voice carried itself into the room. “Lyr! Lyr? Are you back here?” He sounded frantic, his voice full of concern. The last time he’d seen me, I’d been escorted to the dance floor by the Imperator, and then I’d run off. How long ago was that? Fuck!
“He’s coming in here. He’ll find you. Not exactly what you want, is it?” Mercurial asked, his hips snaking sinuously side to side as he continued across the room. He reached into his long locks and produced a glittering Valalumir, which spun in his palm. He’d carried it the day we’d first met and had nearly hypnotized me with it. “I can easily redirect him. But you must do something for me first. Make a deal. Now. Go on. Ask me for my silence. I know you want to. I know you need to.”
“Is this how you forced my father into a deal?” I asked. “You blackmailed him!”
Mercurial laughed. Even now, the sound was tantalizing and musical, drawing me in even as my entire body felt repulsed.
“He came to me on his own. As I knew he would after so foolish an act.”
“I’ll ask it,” Rhyan said defiantly. “I’m ready to deal with you. I, Lord Rhyan Hart, ask for your silence, Mercurial. I beg it of you. Name your price.”
Mercurial laughed. “Lord, now? How convenient. No,” he said. “You don’t have anything I want. Not yet. But you, your grace. Ask me.” He held his hand out to me, and the star rose, turning slowly, hypnotically. Stars danced across my vision, and I swayed.
I pulled my gaze up to meet his eyes. “What’s your price?”
“No!” Rhyan said. “Lyr, don’t. I’ll pay. This is my fault. I should be the one.”
“Lyr?” Tristan called, his voice louder. He was closer. “Lyr!”
“The noble lord of silver is desperate to find you.” The Valalumir in Mercurial’s palm spun faster. “Ask me. Ask me for my silence. And when the time comes, I will find you. And you will pay the debt. Whatever it is. Refuse me, and your boyfriend walks through these very doors in the next minute. He’ll find you two, report you—he’s such a good little boy, following all the rules of the Empire. You know his mind, your grace, you know he will. And then, such a shame, tomorrow you’ll both be in the arena on the stripping pole. No waiting, your judge and executioner sit jovially in the next room.”
“Lyr? Are you in here?” The door knob jiggled.
“Ask me.” Mercurial’s nostrils flared. “You have, at most, fifteen seconds remaining before his stave unlocks the door. You’ve seen it before. He can do it.”
Rhyan looked ready to fight, to tear Mercurial to pieces. But he had no weapons on him. And fighting an Afeya was a battle not even soturi prepared for.
“Mercurial,” Rhyan said, “let me ask you for your silence. I’ll pay double.”
The Afeya sauntered over to Rhyan, bent down to where he still sat on the floor, placed a finger over Rhyan’s lips, and slowly, seductively traced them until Rhyan snapped them shut. “So soft,” he said.
Rhyan wrenched back. “Deal with me. Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“Must have been quite the kiss between you two.” He sniffed at the air and frowned. “No. Kiss isn’t the word for what just happened here. It smells like…hmmm, you know what it smells like between you two.” His voice was light and flirtatious, but his eyebrows narrowed, and that anger he’d directed at us the first night returned. “My lord, do not dare threaten an Afeya of the Star Court, or even you will regret it!”
“Lyr!” Tristan yelled. The lock began to shift, the gears twisting and turning. He was breaking through it.
“Out of time,” Mercurial said. “Should I let him in? It’s rude to ignore guests so persistently knocking on the door.” He pouted. “Very rude indeed.”
