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It wouldn’t surprise me to be attacked while momentarily blinded by the shimmer of a diamond.
No one was to be trusted, not even my mother’s upbeat assistant, Carter, who urged me to smile each time our gazes brushed. The small Islandi omega constantly pinched his thumb and forefinger, letting it trace the length of his lips as an indication for me to part my lips in welcome.
Hell no.
I had no intention of endorsing this farce. I’d made my wishes clear: a small, intimate coronation with only family present. In such a setting, there would be less of a need to watch my back for potential sharp objects waiting to be lodged between my shoulder blades.
The Council, on the other hand, had other plans. This was more than a coronation, they had decreed. This was an olive branch, a symbol of new peace in our landlocked southernmost kingdoms. It was time to bury old feuds with the death of my sire, and an era of prosperity under a new King was waiting to unfold.
The thought set my teeth on edge.Newpeace,newera,newprosperity. We didn’t need anythingnew. The old ways worked just fine.
I thrust two fingers between the necktie and starched collar of my shirt, tugging roughly to mitigate the pressure of it against my throat. The damn thing was too tight, like a tourniquet for my neck instead of a useless piece of drapery no one cared about. In a few minutes, I’d be crowned the new king of Agnivale, and my first order of business would be to outlaw clothing that served no purpose other than frivolity.
“Zo.” The sudden whisper of my name just beyond my shoulder brought a ball of flame to life in my right hand, ready to be hurled at an unexpected assailant.
“Ease up, it’s just me.” The clinking of ostentatious bracelets gave Pyke’s presence away before they appeared in my eyeline, clad in a ridiculous drapery of crushed dark velvet. The ball of fire cradled in my palm cooled into ash, drifting to the ground silently.
The youngest of the Highblade clan had always been given to whimsy, and this evening, their heavy Grecian braid and thick smoky eyeliner made them appear dangerously fragile, like a mythical creature in need of saving. Their cheekbones had never seemed sharper, nor their lips more curved with a perfected pout. They had made considerable effort to look impeccable for the event. Mother had always whinged about appearances being of utmost importance, and while the memory of it made my lip curl in disgust, Pyke had taken it to heart.
“I’ve got your jacket,” they whispered, shaking the matching velvet monstrosity in front of them. “Put it on, please. You know Mama wants us all to match.”
I eyed the garment, feeling a shudder of revulsion threaten my spine. The gold stitching along the collar and cuffs were supposed to complement the design, but they stood out to me in stark relief—too striking and stately for my tastes. A chain-link design had also been fixed onto the lapel, making the jacket much heavier than it should be.
“It’s too tight,” I protested, turning back to the merry crowd. “Cuts off my range of motion.”
“Range of motion?” Pyke echoed incredulously. “What do you think is going to happen, Zo? It’s your coronation, not a bloody battle.Put this on.”
“You’re becoming as bossy as Mother,” I scolded, unmoving. “I said no.”
“It brings out your eyes, you know,” they cajoled, running their fingers over the decadent fabric. “That’s the whole reason Mother chose this shade.”
I glanced over at the jacket, biting back the insistence that it looked nothing like the red-flecked green irises that looked back at me in the mirror.
“Have you ever seen me wear jewel tones, Pyke?” I murmured under my breath, heaving a sigh.
“Well, no,” they admitted. “But today could be a first. After all, a King should start a new fashion trend with their reign.”
“Not interested.”
“Then at least think of the omegas,” Pyke insisted. “Give them something to drool over.”
A smirk lifted the corner of my lip. “I don’t need a jacket for that, dear nibling.”
“You are far too arrogant for your own good,” they chastised, draping the jacket over their arm in defeat. “Fine, don’t wear it.”
They turned away, murmuring under their breath. “Netto wins again. Never should’ve bet on Zo…”
My ears perked up and I turned on the ostentatious throne, sending a little lick of flame from the tips of my fingers to Pyke’s adorned arm to get their attention.
“Ow, shit,” they exclaimed, flicking away the flame as they turned back to me. “What the hell, Zo—”
“Give me the jacket,” I said, holding out my arm. “Netto bet I wouldn’t wear this, huh?”
They nodded, mutely shaking out the velvet and handing it to me. “Can’t have her winning now, can we?”
Netto was our beloved sister—middle child and hellion. As a teen, she had made Pyke’s existence hell, and I’d long ago made it a priority to protect my nibling from Netto’s devious mind.
The velvet slid over my shoulder, just as uncomfortable as it had been this morning when the tailor insisted I try it on during the fitting. It matched the ruby buttons on the white shirt perfectly, although the double layer of fabric pinched and pulled under my arms.
