The Fae Princes (Vicious Lost Boys #4)(29)

The man turns blue, choking for air. “Sorry.” He can barely get the word out. Each syllable sounds like salt dragged over stone.

“Roc. It’s okay.”

He tosses the man back and the man staggers, caught by his friend, a fairy.

“Move along,” Roc says and the friends dart away.

Roc lights another cigarette.

I search the room for Pan and Vane again, desperate to keep my eye on them now.

Pan is still slinging back glasses of wine. Vane is scowling at him.

The dread intensifies until it sours in my stomach.

Suddenly Pan and Vane both turn to me and they catch my gaze. Then Pan spots Roc beside me and his expression turns stony. He lurches away from the bar. Vane is yelling at him.

“Time for me to go, little girl,” Roc whispers in my ear. He brings with him the scent of smoke and burning tobacco. “I enjoyed our dance and I hope it won’t be our last.”

I turn, unsure of how to respond, but having the overwhelming feeling I should say something. But Roc is already gone.





16





KAS


I’ve aged by years and years and yet my royal clothing still fits. No magic is required to loosen its seams or take in extra fabric when I put it on.

Tilly has brought us to one of many fitting rooms in the royal wing of the palace.

I’m behind a screen carved from teak wood. There are cabochon jewels set into the wood with pixie bugs glowing inside, casting a rainbow of color. I can’t tell if the pixie bugs are real, trapped inside for all eternity, or if it’s just an illusion.

“How does it look?” Bash asks from the room.

“Like it did decades ago.”

Bash chuckles. Our sister makes an annoyed little tsk-tsk.

“If you’re good then,” she says.

I step out from behind the screen.

Bash comes to stand beside me. “We look fucking amazing.”

We’re wearing our royal blue coats. The ones with golden leaves embroidered down the front and around the sleeves, and again on our shoulders almost like armor.

I don’t disagree, but I don’t like being dressed up like a mother’s toy. Pranced around the royal court like a bargaining chip. That’s what I feel like right now, like Tink is using us as a means to an end. I’m just not sure what the end is. Or, even more worrisome, what the means is.

Tilly regards us, head held high. “You look like princes again.”

“We’ve always been princes, Tilly Willy,” Bash says.

Wetness immediately comes to her eyes, hearing our old nickname for her. Tilly Willy, like the willy bugs that we’d find nestled between soft petals of flower blooms.

The willy bugs have vibrant spotting on their backs, but they have stingers too. Tilly had always been willing to sting for the smallest infraction. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she banished us.

“‘Your Grace’ to you,” she reminds me, rocking her shoulders back.

“Of course.”

Callio comes into the room, clearly in a rush. “Your Majesty,” she says and bows and then looks at us.

Banished princes get no formal greetings, but Tink promised us our exile was finished and now in our royal attire, it cannot be denied.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” she adds and bows to us too.

I always hated the pompousness of being royalty and found the ceremony of mundane things such as being greeted by royal titles insufferable.

But it’s not just about being greeted now. It’s a symbol of what has changed.

“You’re needed in the council room,” Callio tells the queen.

“Til,” Bash starts, “if we could just speak another moment longer—”

“Perhaps later,” she says, wringing her hands in front of her. “You both look handsome and… I’m glad you’re here,” she adds, then hastily departs.

Bash sighs.

“What did you want to say to her?”

“I wanted to try to talk some sense into her.”

“You’re wasting your breath.” I stand in front of the gilded full-length mirror and straighten the golden brooch at my collar.

He comes up behind me and bats my hands away, unpinning the brooch to make sure it’s on straight. “I suppose it’s just as well, her leaving us. Perfect opportunity to go to the vault.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.

“No fucking around,” I tell him.

He gives me a salute, but I know it means nothing to the bastard.





We wait a few minutes, just to be sure Tilly doesn’t come back for one reason or the other. When we poke our heads out of the dressing room, we find the long hallway empty at both ends.

“We’re clear,” Bash whispers and slips out.

We’re boys again, sneaking around the palace, on some clandestine mission.

Our steps are quiet on the cobblestones as we make our way down the hall, then cut left. Though it’s been years since we were here last, we know every turn in the wide, arched hallways, where every closed door leads, what secrets might lay beyond the thick, strapped wood.

Glowing lanterns create pools of light on the stone floor as we advance deeper and deeper into the royal wing, passing a long line of oil-painted portraits of our long-gone ancestors in their royal finery, some looking dour, some powerful, some with a twinkle in their eye as if they were trying really hard not to laugh.