The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves, #1)(101)

Beside him, Tristan jerked awake.

“We’re here already?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Tristan hadn’t been sleeping well in the past week. Sometimes, Séverin found him curled up in the greenhouse, a pair of pliers in his hand, surrounded by unfinished terrariums … including one creation where an array of crimped jasmine petals looked unnervingly like milky bones set into the earth.

“Where are the others?” asked Tristan.

“Probably inside,” said Séverin.

Enrique had been giddy to attend the full moon party at the infamous Palais, and Séverin would’ve bet money he’d try to get there early just for the desserts.

“Don’t forget the mask,” said Séverin.

“Oh, right.”

Each of them had been given a wolf mask. He’d wear it, but he drew the line at baying at the full moon or whatever festivity the Palais had planned.

Tristan jumped out of the hansom, then paused, patting one of his jacket pockets.

“Forgot I had this,” he said, drawing out an envelope. “The factotum asked me to give it to you. He said it’s urgent.”

Séverin took the letter. “Who’s it from?”

“Matriarch of House Kore,” said Tristan, his mouth twisting.

He hadn’t quite warmed to the idea of Séverin regaining his House after the inheritance test was reissued tomorrow. Every day, Tristan had to be assured that nothing would change … and every day Séverin reassured him. He wasn’t going to ignore him like last time.

Séverin stuffed the letter in his pocket. “She marks everything urgent.”

It was beginning to get annoying. Invitations to tea? Urgent. Queries about his marital status? Urgent. Thoughts on the weather? Urgent.



* * *



TONIGHT, THE PALAIS felt like a devil’s dream of heaven, full of golden wolves and gleaming teeth and stars white as milk. Inside, the Palais had been redecorated for the full moon festivities. Waitresses darted between tables, trailing burning seraph wings. The obsidian floor looked like a void flecked with stars. Patrons in wolf masks sat in velvet chairs, tossing back their liquor and howling with laughter.

Everywhere he looked, he was surrounded by gilded wolves. And for whatever reason, it made him feel perfectly at home. Wolves were everywhere. In politics, on thrones, in beds. They cut their teeth on history and grew fat on war. Not that Séverin was complaining. It was just that, like other wolves, he wanted his share.

Tomorrow, he would have it.

At the center of the room near the stage, Enrique and Hypnos waved them down. Séverin made his way over and sank into the armchair.

“Where’s Zofia?”

“She decided not to come for some reason,” said Hypnos.

The corner of Enrique’s mouth tugged down for an instant, but he quickly hid it in a smile.

“More strawberries for me,” he said, reaching for the silver bowl full of sweets. “Also. You’re late. You’re lucky L’énigme’s performance got moved to a later slot.”

“What?” snapped Séverin.

He’d timed their arrival precisely so they would miss her performance. When Laila danced, he felt like everyone else in the room when they watched her. As if his soul’s salvation balanced on the turn of her wrist, the lift of her chin. He couldn’t go through that again.

“Why?” he asked.

Enrique shrugged. Even behind his mask, Séverin thought his gaze was a little too knowing. “Ask her yourself.”

Too late, he saw her walking toward them. Unlike the others, she wore no wolf mask but a white headdress fixed with several white peacock feathers. A dress the color of moonlight clung to her. Heads turned when she walked. She smiled radiantly, and for good reason. According to Hypnos, they might have a lead on the ancient book she’d been searching for these past two years. She might finally have a way out of Paris.

Laila didn’t greet anyone, but walked straight for him. She braced her hands on either side of his chair and leaned close. “Laugh,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin. “Now.”

“Why?” he murmured.

“Because the proprietor of L’Eden has never stepped foot inside the Palais, and now you’ve caused quite a stir. More than one of the dancers wants to know whether you’re spoken for, and while I love them, I don’t want them running around the hotel trying to get your attention.”

Heat zipped up his spine. She wanted it to seem like he was hers.

“Jealousy looks good on you, Laila,” he said, smiling.

Laila scoffed, but her grip on his chair tightened a fraction. “I’ve got a reputation to protect. So do you. It’ll draw too much attention. So laugh.”

“Make it worth my while.”

Maybe it was the smoke in the air, or the dimming lights and eyeless wolves, but the words—meant only to tease—slipped out wrong. Laila drew back an inch, her eyes dropping to his lips. Everyone else in this room could have vanished on the spot, and he wouldn’t have noticed. In her eyes, he saw an answering … something. A flash of radiance. And for the first time, he wondered whether she thought about that stolen night the way he did. If it haunted her too.

But then the performance cymbal was struck, and she pulled back from him. He let out a delayed laugh, hoping it would be enough.