He paled.
“What?” I said. “Realizing now you picked the wrong side?”
I was only half joking, because Cairis really did look like he was questioning everything he’d held as truth. He had played by the rules of Neculai’s game, right up to the end, thinking it was the only strategy that could ever win.
And here we were, crowns on our heads, having blown the entire board to bits.
He said softly, “Yes. I am.”
“You’re lucky for it,” I said. “Simon would’ve had you skinned by now.”
I started to turn away, but he again called out, “Wait.”
Now I was getting impatient.
I turned back, brows raised expectantly.
“Septimus isn’t done,” he said, then raised his hands, as if in preemptive defense. “I’ve told Ketura everything I know. I don’t have any more facts. I just… It’s a feeling. I know it. He’s doing something big, Raihn. I don’t know what it is. But don’t let your guard down.”
My smirk faded. Oraya and I exchanged another glance. She raised her brows in a way that said, See? Didn’t I tell you?
I gave her a flat stare that said, Yes. You told me.
“Well,” I said to Cairis. “We’ll be ready for him. Whenever he decides to show up.”
The truth. What else could we offer?
I closed the door behind us as we left, leaving Cairis alone in the dark.
78
ORAYA
I was nervous.
I stood in front of the mirror for a borderline embarrassing amount of time.
I could admit that I looked good. A small army of servants had seen to that, painting my face, smoothing my hair, pinching and prodding my body so that every swell swelled and every dip dipped in all the right places in this dress. Though, I definitely couldn’t take credit for making this thing look good. It was nothing short of a work of art. Even more magnificent, somehow, than the one I’d worn at Vale and Lilith’s wedding.
It was dark purple, nearly black, and tailored close to my body. It was scandalously revealing—cut low enough to reveal the dimples at the base of my spine, and plunging in the front, the bodice dipping between my breasts. It was designed to frame both my Marks, and it did that very well, the shape complementing every curve and point of the tattoos. The bodice was boned with deep red that echoed the color of the Marks, and those bones, at my hips, gave way to dots of scattered silver that resembled stars, growing thicker as they reached the skirt.
It rivaled the craftsmanship of every weapon I’d ever held.
And I did look every bit a queen. As I should.
The first few weeks of our joint reign had been tense, uncertain. But over the last month, Raihn and I had worked hard to cement our rule over the House of Night. The traitors had been sentenced. The Bloodborn had been expelled. Rebellious nobles had been deposed.
No one had come for our heads.
Yet.
But tonight was the first major festival to take place since the end of the war. Raihn and I would appear before the most respected of vampire society, and we’d make our offering to Nyaxia for the new lunar year. We’d need to be…
Royal.
Fucking royal, when one year ago, I’d spent this holiday barred up in my room, forbidden by Vincent to come to the festivities. It had been just a few short weeks before the start of the Kejari.
Little did I know, then, how close I was to everything changing.
I knew Raihn was approaching before I heard his footsteps. I often did, now.
He appeared behind me in the mirror, peering through the open doorway. He let out a low whistle.
“Really?” I said, turning around and examining the dress from the back. “You think so?”
“What the hell else would I think?”
He approached, and I watched him through the mirror. Goddess, the tailors were damned artists. His outfit complemented mine, cut from the same shade of deep purple cloth, the cuffs and the collar adorned with the same star accents.
It was also incredibly flattering. The jacket was shaped impeccably to his body. The buttons started low, leaving the top open to reveal deliberate glimpses of his Mark. Along with a decidedly noticeable expanse of muscled flesh.
“You know,” Raihn said, “it’s very easy for me to tell now when you’re doing that.”
“Doing what?” I said innocently.
He was one to talk. As if I didn’t also feel his eyes on my chest.
I turned around to face him. My fingertips ran down his throat, tracing the lines of his Mark all the way down to the soft hair of his chest. I thought of the night of the Halfmoon ball, when he’d opened his jacket for me and practically offered up his heart.