“No,” Hadrian said when he caught sight of the faerie punch bowls.
“Have wine then,” Lyam said, pushing him toward the other side of the room.
Lyam and Kerrigan waited before the row of punches.
He tapped his foot restlessly. “Ker,” he said, an anxious note in his voice.
Kerrigan glanced over at him and found him staring at her intently. “Hmm?”
“Can we talk?”
“Talk?”
“Yes… somewhere private?”
“Right now?”
“Uh… after we get our drinks?”
Panic swept through her. She didn’t want to have this talk with Lyam. She’d been avoiding him for practically an entire year. He couldn’t think that things had changed.
“I just… miss our friendship,” he said faintly.
Kerrigan softened immediately. Ugh, scales. She missed their friendship too. “Miss having someone to get in trouble with?”
“Looks like you’ve been doing just fine with that on your own.”
She shrugged. “It’s my specialty.”
“Just please… a few minutes?” he asked. His eyes were wide and blue as the ocean.
She wished that she could fall for someone like Lyam. Wished those eyes made her insides squirm. But they didn’t. He was more like her brother than anything. And he hated hearing her say that.
“Uh…”
“What would you like?” the woman working the punch asked before she could answer Lyam.
Kerrigan looked at each punch. One was pink with slices of watermelon in it. One was bright green with pineapple and cherries. One was blood red with fresh strawberries on top. She pointed at the last one.
“Don’t you want to know which spell is on them?” Lyam asked.
She shook her head. “I’ll roll the dice.”
The woman poured her a glass of the red liquid, and Kerrigan walked away before she could hear what she’d ordered. Lyam liked to walk on the wild side, but he wasn’t reckless with his health. Not after they’d accidentally gotten into the Society’s punch stores and hallucinated for days. She just figured nothing could be worse than that.
Kerrigan stood at the edge of the room waiting for Hadrian and Lyam to make their selections and find her. She didn’t want to have this talk with Lyam, but it was overdue. Maybe it would be better to get it all out in the open. Hopefully then they’d be able to get past it all.
She sighed and took a sip of her punch. Her insides immediately loosened. Her mind stopped buzzing at a million miles a minute. She knew this feeling. She’d forget the night, forget all of her problems. She stared down at the liquid in question and was about to dump the entire contents down her throat when a hand reached out and plucked the drink from her.
“Hey!” she said furiously. “What are you…” She trailed off when she looked up and saw who stood before her.
“Hello, Kerrigan,” her father said. “We need to talk.”
Kerrigan furrowed her brow and gritted her teeth. “No.”
“This way.”
Lord Kivrin Argon, First of the House of Cruse, put his hand on the sleeve of her dress and all but pushed her down the hallway. As soon as he could, he dumped the contents of her drink in a plant and discarded the cup.
She glared at him. How dare he! How dare he!
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Saving you from yourself.”
“I don’t need saving, Kivrin.”
He didn’t flinch at his name. That she’d used it instead of Father or Dad. She’d stopped calling him anything else long ago. When he relinquished the right to be her father.
He didn’t even seem to care. He just opened a door and shoved her inside some sort of music room. A harp was strung against the window. A desk sat against another wall. Lots of plush cushions were in a circle about the room for lessons. Fancy place.
“Why did you drag me in here?” she demanded. “What do you want?”
“We need to talk about the ceremony.”
“Why?”
“We need to talk about who is courting your favor.”
Again, she repeated, “Why? It’s not like you’re going to pick me.”
He looked up at her, startled. “Me? No, of course not.”
She sagged in relief. She had always feared that. That, after all this time, he’d think he still had some claim, some ownership over her. That she’d be forced back into that sad, lonely castle in Bryonica.
“Who have you been talking to?”
“I don’t have to tell you that,” she said. “It’s confidential.”
He ran a hand back through his dark hair, and she realized for the first time that her father looked… uncertain. Could he be nervous? It made no sense. He was the playboy prince. He’d abandoned her. Why should he care?
“Have you spoken to Lorian?” he finally asked.
“Master Lorian?” she asked in surprise, wondering why he would be asking about the warrior tribe. “Of tribe Venatrix?”
“Yes.”
“No, he… he hasn’t approached me. Why would he? Isn’t he vocally against human and Fae commingling? Hasn’t he shredded his own daughter apart for wanting to marry a human? He hates half-Fae. Why would he talk to me?”