And the gossip in court is that Giselle and Holt—eldest and second eldest Remaldi siblings—are either trying to fuck each other or kill each other.
Really I think it could go either way.
When I enter the starboard dining hall, I find Giselle at the head of the family table, a goblet of brandy in her hand. She’s wearing a gold dress stitched in crystals that glimmer in the light. Giant Summerland diamonds hang from her ears and more hang around her neck.
Giselle is the type of woman who is made beautiful by her wealth. I think if she were born in the Umbrage under the smoke and ash of the factories, her nose would appear just a little too big for her face and her eyes too close together.
“Roc,” she says and smiles at me.
Because I’m a dutiful asshole, I greet her with a kiss on her bare knuckles and she blushes beneath the attention.
Two nights ago, I shot a rope of cum on her face.
She wasn’t blushing then.
“Your Majesty,” I say to her. “You look ravishing tonight.”
“As do you. I see you’re wearing the gift I bought you.”
The gift is a three-piece suit tailored specifically for me. It’s the same dark shade as the Remaldi velvet but made of mohair. It hides most of my tattoos save for the crocodile mouth and sharp teeth that half wrap around my throat and the ink on my hands.
“It looks divine,” she says.
“Thanks to you.”
She demurs.
“Sit,” she orders and gestures to the chair on her left. Holt usually sits there. I see tonight she’s chosen violence.
I sit.
She flicks a finger and one of the servants brings me a tumbler of Summerland whisky. It’s one of the sweeter blends and tastes like caramel and spice.
“Is it too early to talk business?” she asks.
“Is it ever with you?”
The laughter that bubbles out of her throat is not amused. “Not when the future of my island is at stake. But you know that.”
“Of course.”
The rest of the family files in. Holt comes to a jarring halt when he sees me in his chair. His jaw flexes. I smile innocently at him.
I have not fucked Holt. Holt hates my fucking guts.
Sometimes I fantasize about liberating him from his.
Giselle holds his gaze for a second too long and then he sits in the chair on her right.
Holt is just one year younger than Giselle, but he thinks he’s the one in charge because he’s a man.
Clearly Holt knows nothing about the might of women.
Amara takes the chair beside me and leans in close. “You look so fucking hot in that suit.”
“I know.”
On the other side of the table, the two youngest cousins of the family share a laugh. There’s Julia, whose parents are dead. And Matthieu whose parents are not.
Julia is destined to be married off to one of the Darkland viscounts. I actually like Julia. We play chess when the mood strikes. She’s spectacularly bad at it but I let her win.
The servants bring out the first course—toasted bread with cheese and slivered roasted vegetables drizzled in balsamic vinaigrette.
“Have you decided how you’ll approach your brother?” Giselle asks as she cuts into the bread with a knife. The bread cracks, then crunches beneath the blade.
“It’s best if I approach him alone.” I drain my whisky and gesture for another.
“You think we’re just going to let you wander off on Neverland without us?” Holt asks. “So you can warn Vane? And Peter Pan? Absolutely not.”
“Come on, Holt.” Amara is talking with her hands, waving her silverware around. “Roc has been with us longer than he was with his brother. He no longer holds allegiance to Vane.”
Giselle is watching me.
I drain the second whisky the servant brought over.
If anyone can spot my lies, I think it would be her.
“Time means nothing to blood,” Holt says.
“Time means everything, Holt,” I counter.
Speaking of which…
I check my pocket watch.
I have an hour and three.
We’re only on the first fucking course.
“Once we’ve visited the fae queen to find out what we’re dealing with, I suggest you all stay in Darlington Port,” I tell them. “Do not wear your royal crests. Stay inconspicuous. Don’t flaunt your wealth. And for the love of god, do not provoke Peter Pan or the Lost Boys. When the time is right, I’ll call for you.”
“How about instead you bring Vane to us?” Holt fingers the giant rock hanging from his neck. It’s about the only remaining magic in the Remaldi family, and it’s both Holt’s line of defense and his last hope.