I took the blade from his hand and my leg from his chair, but his thighs only spread wider. “Lucky for the both of us, my title isn’t the only thing women find impressive.”
I gave Aemonn an amused look, then glanced down to his groin and back to him. “Let’s hope House Corbois has more to offer me than that.”
Snickers and whispers skittered around us. With lightning speed, I whipped around and slammed the point of the dagger into the table beside my wine.
The crack of the blade splitting wood and the rattling of dishes from the impact silenced the room. I slid smoothly into my seat and gave a casual, one-shouldered shrug. “Just in case I need it.”
The Corbois cousins assessed me with new, curious eyes.
It was an effort not to look at Luther or Eleanor to see what they thought of my antics. I forced myself to stay focused—tonight, I needed to stand on my own.
Aemonn jumped in quickly to introduce me to the cousins in talking distance. I felt a little bad about insulting his manhood after he played along so well, though it was fair play for blackmailing me into taking him as my escort to the Ascension Ball. Now we were even, and the real game could begin.
“That’s a lovely dress, Diem,” one of the cousins—a redhead Aemonn had introduced as Ethaline—said with a sneer. I immediately regretted giving them all permission to address me so informally. “Almost as lovely as your attire this morning.”
“And the night she arrived,” another cousin murmured, only mildly attempting to conceal his voice as he sipped his wine.
More giggles and whispers arose, this time at my expense.
I sighed overdramatically and leaned back against my chair. “As you all know by now, I was raised by a mortal family.” I paused, remembering Iléana’s presence. “After the untimely death of my father, Harold Corbois, that is.”
A few knowing chuckles flitted around the room.
“In the mortal world, we wear black to a funeral to show respect for the dead. I only intended to do the same for King Ulther.”
“We?” Ethaline interrupted. “So you see yourself as a mortal?”
“Of course I don’t,” I said quickly, hating the lie. Hating that I wasn’t sure if it even was a lie. “I’m a Descended Queen, aren’t I?”
“And what of the lighting of the pyre?” another cousin asked—Tyris, a handsome male with a mop of dark blue curls. “We were hoping to see a show.”
“I’ll be sure to let Sorae know you found her insufficient,” I said curtly. “Perhaps she’ll give you a personal demonstration to show you what she’s capable of.”
“It wasn’t Sorae we found insufficient,” Ethaline said, sharing a smug look with Tyris.
I shot her a sizzling glare. “Then perhaps I’ll show you what I’m capable of.”
She raked her eyes over me without even an ounce of intimidation, but a deep, commanding voice had her expression going cold.
“Having been on the wrong end of Her Majesty’s power myself, I can assure you, Ethaline, there’s not a soul in Emarion that would find it insufficient.”
I steeled my hammering heart and fought to keep from turning to the source. A servant refilled my wine, and I took it into my hands, managing to restrain myself to a sip.
“High praise, coming from you, Prince,” Ethaline said, her lashes fluttering prettily. I rolled my eyes.
“It wasn’t praise,” Luther said flatly. “It was fact. Only someone with a death wish would think of Challenging her.”
My attention started to drift toward him. Aemonn pulled it back with an exasperated groan.
“This conversation is a bore. For once, I am in agreement with cousin Luther. Diem hardly needs to prove herself to us.” Aemonn raised his glass and tilted it to me. “House Corbois supports you, Your Majesty.”
I answered his flirtation with a thankful smile. Selfish as his motives may be, he had decided to stand by me tonight, and I was grateful for it.
“Your eye color is quite unique,” Tyris cut back in. “They almost seem…”
“Grey,” I answered. “They’re colorless.”
“And the mortals you grew up with never thought that was strange?”
“Oh, they did. The children used to tease me for it. They said grey eyes meant I had no soul and ate newborn babes to stay young.”
A cousin far down the table leaned forward and called out, “Were they right?”
I smirked back at him. “Cross me, and you’ll find out.”
A loud ripple of laughter followed. I dared a glance at Eleanor, who was beaming at me proudly. Our strategy was working. My face lit up with renewed courage.
“So where do those grey eyes of yours come from?” Tyris asked.
“From Blessed Mother Lumnos,” Luther answered.
Everyone at the table turned to him. I had no choice but to do the same, but now it was Luther who refused to look at me. The blade he’d left in my heart twisted even further.
He stared into his wine glass as he rolled it in his fingers. “Lumnos had grey eyes. She gifted her offspring with blue eyes at the Forging, but hers always remained grey.”
“How do you know that?” I asked softly—so soft that I wasn’t sure he’d heard me, until his own slate blue gaze finally lifted to mine.
There was an answer written in his features, but it wasn’t one I understood. It was an answer loaded with secrets and hard truths and pain he had yet to share. A door he had locked up tight, welded closed, and covered in chains.
A door he was daring me to open.
“Luther is our resident expert on all things Mother Lumnos,” Aemonn jeered. “He’s always been such a devout little disciple. I heard he even has a full-body statue of her in his bedroom. How scandalous.”
“It’s only a bust, not a statue.” The words came out of my mouth before I realized what I had done—what my words had implied.
The room went quiet.
“You were in his bedroom?” Iléana demanded, her glare so sharp it could draw blood.
I spent the night in his bedroom, I wanted to say, but my liquid boldness had thankfully not yet hit that level of shit-starting.
“Curious, indeed,” Aemonn murmured. I glanced to see him watching me, his expression markedly cooler than it had been earlier.
Luther’s voice turned venomous as he shifted his focus to Aemonn. “Mind what you say about the Blessed Mother, cousin. Heresy is a crime punishable by death.”
Aemonn smiled. “You are certainly the expert on that, Keeper of the Laws. So many lives have met their sad end at your hand for such infractions.”
I couldn’t stop it—the doubt that crept in. The suspicion. The judgment.
I knew Luther hadn’t killed the half-mortal children under the progeny laws, as Aemonn had once suggested. But there were other unjust laws, more flimsy excuses to execute mortals at the King’s whim. And those victims hadn’t escaped. I had seen their bloody bodies. I had attended their funerals.
Luther’s expression darkened. I could feel him begging me not to give up on him, not to take Aemonn’s bait and believe the worst.
I looked away.
The cousin sitting across from me, pin-thin and androgynous, whose name I remembered to be Velis, leaned forward on their elbows and gestured to my throat. “Is that a scar?”