And a few seem as quietly outraged as the royal siblings. The queen was purposefully baiting Brahm, but why? Does she want an excuse to execute him? How could she feel so venomous toward her own blood?
“Evony,” Queen Marison calls into the room, looking somewhat displeased that Sabine convinced Brahm to stay quiet. “Come sit by my son. He has regretfully lost his dining partner.”
My stomach falls when a beautiful woman stands.
Sabine stares at Brahm, begging him to stay silent. Thankfully, his stony expression is his only response to his mother’s manipulations.
The Faerie walks to the front of the room, looking terrified of her queen. She averts her eyes to the floor, glancing at Brahm only briefly as she approaches the table. Her long auburn hair falls around her shoulders in soft, uniform curls, vibrant against her white gown.
She looks like a reluctant bride, and the thought makes my stomach knot.
Resigned, Brahm pulls out my recently departed chair with a heavy sigh, mannered to a fault.
Evony’s eyes flicker to him, her face soft with sympathy as she takes my place. Soon, their backs are to me, and all I can see is the two of them together, making a handsome pair.
And then, the meal begins.
It doesn’t take long before I grow fatigued from remaining in the same position. Drake barely moves. He doesn’t fidget or shift, likely used to standing for long periods of time.
The meal stretches on, each tiny course followed by another, until my feet ache from standing, and my muscles protest the uncomfortable position.
When dessert is finally served, I hide a yawn behind my hand, shifting my weight from one leg to the other.
The queen’s gentle laughter becomes harsh and grating as the night wears on. Again, she waves a servingman over, commanding him to refill her empty chalice with the ruby red wine most drink in moderation.
I’ve heard tales of Faerie alcohol. If half of them are true, the queen might be dead by morning. Though I suppose the Fae are immune to the drink’s extreme potency, and we aren’t likely to be fortunate enough to get rid of her so easily.
“It’s almost midnight,” Drake says so quietly I almost can’t hear him. “The masquerade will start soon. If you’re careful to stay out of the queen’s line of sight, you might be able to slip away undetected.”
He looks straight ahead as he speaks, making me believe I should do the same.
“What about you?” I ask softly.
The prince looks over so sharply, I’m sure it must have drawn the attention of at least a few people in the room. His dark green eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open.
Startled, I stare back at him, unsure what I did wrong. After a moment, I say, “I’m sorry.”
Looking as if he’s thinking a thousand things at once, he drags his attention to the wall across the room. After a long moment, he says in a jagged voice, “We’ll go together.”
I watch Drake from the corner of my eye, growing concerned. He’s gone pale, and his hands appear to tremble despite the way he clenches them at his sides.
As soon as the queen rises, others follow her lead. Immediately, Brahm leaves his dining companion and turns toward me.
“Brahm,” Queen Marison says harshly, her voice slightly slurred. “Escort Evony into the ballroom.”
“I—”
“Your human will be fine on her own,” she says, stumbling against the table when she loses her balance.
“I’m all right,” I say to Brahm quietly, jerking my head toward the doorway, telling him to go.
Those who are still in attendance pause halfway out of the room, watching the exchange.
Brahm's eyes find mine, their deep brown depths sparking with defiance. I shake my head subtly, begging him not to fight.
Brahm’s gaze moves to Drake. After a long moment, he relents. Turning his eyes away, he stiffly offers his arm to Evony. I watch as she slides her hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling like a part of me is dying.
Satisfied, the queen collects Ian and sweeps Brahm and Sabine from the room, forgetting all about her second son and Brahm’s illanté.