Though the witch-queen had already come to speak with them. He’d had a hard time meeting her gaze throughout the awkward conversation, while she could see how stupid he’d been in tying himself to this female. But Hypaxia had been kind to the River Queen’s daughter, who herself had been all smiles. Tharion hadn’t dared call her Pax.
“My friends have a lot of glad-handing to do,” he hedged.
“Oh.” She fell silent, lurking on the edge of the dance floor as couples swept past. Maybe it was all the champagne, but he really looked at her: the dark eyes full of longing and quiet happiness, the eager energy buzzing from her, the sense that she was some creature crafted into mortal form only for this night, and would dissolve into river silt as soon as the clock struck one.
Was he any better than her mother? He’d been stringing this girl along for ten years now. Had held her back tonight because he didn’t feel like enjoying himself.
She must have felt the weight of his stare, because she twisted to him. Tharion offered her another bland smile, then turned to one of the bodyguards lurking in the shadows behind them. “Hey, Tritus, can you take over for this dance?”
The guard glanced between them, but Tharion smiled down at the River Queen’s daughter, whose brows were raised. “Go dance,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.” He didn’t let her object before handing her off to the guard, who was actually blushing as he extended his arm.
And Tharion didn’t look back as he strode off into the crowd, wondering how much shit he’d be in for this. But … even if he was flayed for it, he wasn’t going to string her along any further.
He paused on the outskirts of the crowd, finally turning to see the guard and the River Queen’s daughter dancing, both of them smiling. Happy.
Good. She deserved that. Mother or not, temper or not, she deserved someone to make her happy.
Tharion made his way over to the nearest open bar, and was about to order a whiskey when he noticed a curvy female—a leopard shifter from the scent of her—lounging against the counter beside him.
He’d always noticed a good ass, and this female … Hel yes.
“Come here often?” he asked her with a wink. The leopard turned her head toward him, light brown skin radiant in the soft lights. Her eyes were thick-lashed, utterly gorgeous above high cheekbones and full lips, all of it framed by golden-brown hair that fell around her heart-shaped face in soft waves. She had the ease and grace of a movie star. Probably was one, if she was important enough to be here. That full mouth curled in a smile. “Is that your attempt at a pickup line?”
He knew that sultry tone. So Tharion ordered his whiskey and said to the stranger, “You want it to be?”
61
“Are you all right?” Ithan asked Hypaxia as the clock neared three thirty in the morning. She’d complained of some stomach cramps and had left the party for about twenty minutes, returning pale-faced.
The witch-queen now tucked a dark curl behind her ear, then adjusted the fall of her jet-black robes, having pulled them over her gown moments before. Even standing in the small clearing of an olive grove nestled in the hills beyond the city, the sounds of revelry reached them: booming bass, cheering, strobing lights. A far cry from the whispering leaves and dry ground around him, the stars glinting beyond the silvery canopy.
Another world away from that glittering party where so many powers had come together tonight. Where Bryce had somehow outmaneuvered the Autumn King and had declared Hunt her prince. He hadn’t known what to think in that moment.
He’d done his best to stay the fuck away from Sabine and Amelie tonight. Thankfully, they had been present only long enough to see the Asteri speak, then left. He hated himself for being so relieved about it. The Prime hadn’t attended—he usually avoided such functions.
“So this is it?” Ithan asked Hypaxia, gesturing with a hand to the seven candles she’d arranged on the ground. “Light the candles and wait?”
Hypaxia drew out a long dagger. “Not quite,” she said, and Ithan kept a step back as she used the knife to draw lines between the candles.
Ithan angled his head. “A six-pointed star,” he said. Like the one Bryce had made between the Gates this spring, with the seventh candle at its center.
“It’s a symbol of balance,” she explained, moving away a foot, but keeping the dagger at her side. Her crown of cloudberries seemed to glow with an inner light. “Two intersecting triangles. Male and female, dark and light, above and below … and the power that lies in the place where they meet.” Her face became grave. “It is in that place of balance where I’ll focus my power.” She motioned to the circle. “No matter what you see or hear, stay on this side of the candles.”