A golden-skinned fist shot between us and seized his wrist.
“Hands off, asshole,” Taran growled.
He leaned his broad chest into his brother to force him back onto uneasy footing. Aemonn returned his glare, their foreheads dipping toward each other like wild rams.
Their different personalities often made it difficult to remember that these two were brothers, but in this moment, it had never been more clear. It wasn’t just their sun-kissed skin or their sandy blonde hair, but the years of hatred that simmered in their eyes—the kind of deeply personal resentment that only family could provoke.
Aemonn turned his focus back to me. “You really shouldn’t ignore me, Diem. I’m not the only one with a vested interest in keeping our relationship cordial, am I?” The corner of his lip quirked up, pleased at his own subtle threat.
Taran snarled in response. “You foul, lowlife, slimy piece of rotten garbage, you—”
“Taran,” I said calmly. “Let go of your brother.”
His eyes snapped to me. “Diem, don’t let him push you around.”
“Let Aemonn go,” I repeated. “Please.”
Taran grunted loudly and released his brother’s hand with a shove, but he didn’t move from his imposing position.
Aemonn gave him a victorious smirk. “You heard the lady. Shoo.”
Taran puffed his chest forward, sending his brother staggering back another step.
“Taran,” I warned.
His glare shifted to me, now mixed with disbelief and a touch of betrayal. He huffed and turned away.
The moment Taran was out of reach, I acted.
I spun my forearm in a circle, knocking Aemonn’s hand away with a heavy thump, then locked his elbow with my own so his arm twisted into an unnatural angle at his back. He arched backward and barked in pained surprise.
I leaned in until my mouth brushed his ear. “I don’t care what you’ve done for me or what secrets you know, Aemonn—you’re not entitled to any part of me,” I hissed. “And if you ever grab me like that again, I’ll use my blades instead of my hands.”
A group of unfamiliar faces began to trail into the room, then froze at the sight of us. Remis and Garath shot me matching scowls as they crossed to greet the new arrivals, and I quickly released Aemonn from my hold.
“That was a big mistake,” he seethed.
“I accept your apology,” I said dryly.
Before he could sputter another veiled threat, I turned my back to him and walked away.
Taran gaped at me in delight. “I take back everything I said,” he breathed. “I’ll never be mad at you again.”
“Highly doubtful. Taran, what’s going on? Why is everyone whispering?”
His amusement vanished. “Remis is an ass.”
My breath caught. “Lily—is she alright? Did he—”
“Your Majesty,” a voice called out from behind me. I whirled to see a man striding toward me with arms extended. He was dripping with gilded finery—golden chains hanging from his neck, golden studs lining his ears and eyebrows, and golden thread embroidered into his clothing. Even his hair seemed plated in the yellow metal.
“Welcome, House Ghislaine,” I forced out as we embraced.
Remis gestured toward the assembled chairs. “Shall we get started?” he said warmly, ever the diplomat.
“We’re missing Luther,” I said. “We should wait until he arrives.”
“No need,” Remis said. “My son won’t be attending today. Everyone, please, take your seats.”
A cold chill crept along my skin. I tried to catch Remis’s gaze to push for more, but he was carefully avoiding eye contact, his focus entirely on the visiting Descended.
My attention shot to Taran, who had already stepped back to sink into his chair. All he offered was a silent shake of his head. I held my stance, debating how much of a scene I was willing to make, when he mouthed a single word: “Later.”
Reluctantly, I slipped into my seat. Surely Taran wouldn’t let me sit through hours of political posturing if Luther was in danger.
Or would he? Did he believe I cared so little for Luther that I would place a trivial meeting over coming to his aid?
Then again… had I given him any reason to think I wouldn’t?
The next two hours were torture.
Keeping my eyes on the members of House Ghislaine—and not on the open door that I kept hoping Luther might walk through at any moment—was an effort. As I smiled and offered bland platitudes, my mind invented explanations that grew increasingly catastrophic. My fingers trembled with the need to put my arms around Teller and Lily and ensure they were unharmed.
And Luther, too.
I cursed myself for allowing my own inner circle to be seated out of my line of sight. As often as I dared, I jumped from my chair to refill my goblet for the chance of a stolen glance. That, at least, offered some comfort. Alixe’s panic had faded to resignation, while Taran scowled, and Eleanor looked nearly as lost as I felt.
As she had predicted, the final House Reception was innocuous and forgettable. House Ghislaine offered the usual gushing praise, which Remis met with equal sycophantic energy. Not a word was spoken about the mortals or the half-mortals, much to my relief, and by the time House Ghislaine finally, finally, rose to leave, I had hardly uttered more than a handful of sentences.
Not a second passed after the last Ghislaine disappeared into the corridor before I wheeled toward Remis.
“What have you done? Where is Luther?”
Remis pulled his shoulders back. “This meeting is for the Crown Council and your advisors only. My son’s presence was unnecessary.”
“Luther is on the Crown Council.”
“Not anymore.”
“He stripped Luther of his titles,” Taran muttered, joining me at my side.
I gaped at him, then at Remis. “You had no right. Those titles are mine to decide.”
“Not until you’re coronated,” Remis said coolly. “Until then, I decide who sits on the Council.” He smoothed down his doublet. “As I understand it, you declined to appoint my son as an advisor despite his best efforts, and you’ve refused his counsel for weeks. You should be grateful—our positions are now aligned.”
My fingers curled, furious breaths rumbling in my throat, though my loathing was largely self-imposed. Remis was, infuriatingly, correct. I had little ground to object to him doing what I had effectively done myself.
“Who holds Luther’s titles now?” I scoffed. “Let me guess, you?”
“Me.” Aemonn stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest. “I had hoped to share the news with you myself earlier, if only you had deemed me worthy of your time.”
“Blessed fucking Kindred,” Taran spat. “Him? You’re going to make some sniveling courtier High General? He’s never even served a day in the Royal Guard.”
“Watch your tone, little brother,” Aemonn said. “That sniveling courtier is now in charge of where you’re assigned to serve. Both of you,” he added with a glance at Alixe. “I hear the western coast is quite dreary. Perhaps a few years in the swamps would do you both some good.”
Taran’s face flushed red with fury. My hand shot out to grab his in a silent plea to wait.