My mouth opens slightly as I glance sideways at my sister.

“Damn it, Mira,” Brennan growls.

The flier’s mouth curves into a toothy smile. “I can respect that.” He glances up at the gryphon above him, and the trio parts, revealing the figure waiting directly behind them.

A figure dressed entirely in black.

His jaw flexes, his hands curl at his sides, and his beautiful face… Well, he hasn’t looked at me with that much anger since discovering my last name at Parapet, back when he wanted to kill me. Guess I should be careful what I ask for, because I’m so fucked.

“You aren’t where I left you, Violence.”

Having refused every proposal from the isle kingdoms, Queen Maraya has named her distant cousin, Viscount Tecarus of Cordyn, as her heir. As the viscount is living in his fifth decade and has no direct heirs of his own, the decision has not been a popular one.

—ON THE ARISTOCRACY OF POROMIEL

BY PEARSON KITO

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

“Where you left me?” I whisper under my breath at Xaden as we walk across the guarded lawn, passing by a half dozen more fliers on our way to a row of open doors made entirely of glass. How utterly impractical and sublimely gorgeous. “Like I’m some kind of pet who should stay curled up on your bed because you said so?”

Fuck him.

“The thought isn’t entirely unpleasant,” he fires back.

I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth to keep my power from rising, refusing to unpack the conduit from my bag.

“Save it for behind closed doors, lovebirds,” Brennan orders from directly behind us. “We need a united front.”

“I can’t believe you brought her here,” Xaden retorts, shooting an icy glare at Brennan.

“I can’t believe you think you outrank me,” Brennan says, his tone sharpening.

“I do in every way but one.” Xaden looks forward, anger radiating from every line of his body.

“The one is all that matters,” Brennan counters.

“They really grow grass ornamentally?” Mira changes the subject as we approach two guards in crimson uniforms near the door.

“You should see the butterfly garden,” Xaden says, nodding to the guard on the right as we pass through the open doorway.

Wait. Why aren’t we being escorted by fliers? And how the hell does Xaden know this place has a butterfly garden?

“How long have you been here?” I ask, entering the palace.

And holy shit, what a palace.

Every surface seems to shimmer, the white marble interior reflecting not only natural light but a soft glow of white mage lights far overhead and deep into the structure, where I can make out several seating groups of low-backed furniture. The ceilings are the height of Sgaeyl, the space divided by not only columns thick as Tairn’s legs, with murals intricately carved into each circular block, but a wide staircase that must lead to the next story.

Pretty sure if I were to call out my name loudly enough, it would echo back in here, if not for the crowd of people in many different forms of attire milling about near a set of graduated pillars in various shades of black. Brown is definitely the dominant clothing color, and we are definitely the topic of conversation as we pass by.

“We landed a few hours ago,” Xaden answers. “We changed direction as soon as Sgaeyl felt Tairn on the move.”

You will not be happy with the welcome we’re about to receive. That’s what Tairn said when we landed.

“You and I are going to have a discussion,” I send his direction. “You promised.”

“I promised not to tell, not that she couldn’t sense me.”

Fucking dragon semantics.

“Is that…a pool?” Mira stares at the winding turquoise path that curves around the staircase and disappears out onto the terrace.

“You get used to them,” Xaden remarks, leading us over a flat, marble bridge wide enough for two people. “Just be careful if you’ve been drinking. No railings.”

“We won’t be here long enough to drink.” Brennan’s words slow with our steps as a group of a dozen people descends the staircase in front of us.

But Xaden’s been here often enough to drink? To have fallen into this pool?

“Here we go.” Xaden’s voice lowers. “Try not to set the place on fire.”

Two crimson-uniformed guards station themselves at opposite ends of the curling bannister, and a tall, dark-haired man in a deep blue tunic with gold brocade walks forward, looking over us with rapt fascination. His uniform is tight about the waist, his flushed cheeks soft and round.

“Viscount,” Xaden addresses him. “This is Cadet Violet Sorrengail and her sister, Lieutenant Mira Sorrengail. I believe you and Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh are already acquainted.”

“We are.” He flashes impossibly white teeth as he smiles at me, etching deep lines into his forehead and at the edges of his eyes. “But it’s you I am most curious about, Violet.” The unnerving amount of glee in his gaze makes it nearly impossible to stand still as he studies me, drawing out his words until he finishes his perusal. “Is it true that you call lightning from the sky?”

“I do.” I keep my focus on the viscount, but I feel the weight of his entourage staring behind him.

“How wonderful!” He clasps his hands in front of his chest, his rings twinkling with heavy gemstones.

“Shall we—” Brennan starts.

“It’s poor etiquette to discuss business until dinner. You know the rules, Riorson,” Tecarus says, glancing Xaden’s way. “They certainly can’t attend as they are. They’ll need to be dressed suitably, as will you.”

Xaden nods once.

“You know the rules?” I ask Xaden. “Exactly how many times have you been here?” And what part of our uniforms isn’t suitable for dinner?

“I don’t exactly keep count.”

“Don’t worry if you haven’t brought anything fit for the occasion,” Tecarus says to me. “I took the liberty of having a selection of clothing pulled from my best collection once Riorson told me you were inbound. My niece will see you properly attired, won’t you, Cat?” he calls back over his shoulder.

My stomach hits the sparkly marble floor.

You have to be fucking kidding me.