But to celebrate, there must be cooperation.
“I doubt I need to say this but, everything better remain in order during the festivities.” I point my statement around the table. “Your people should know how this works by now. Civil amiability is expected. Any bad blood they may share with another should be left behind the moment they waltz through my doors, and should the slightest notion of a mutiny arise, make no mistake—I will control it for you. I can guarantee my methods will be far from fair or gentle, either.”
No one dares to counter or speak out. They simply hum in agreement, exchanging glances between one another. As appointed heads of their factions, they know better than to cross me. The power, for lack of a better word, they’ve been given is a true privilege. They’re fully aware of the laws set in place and strive their hardest to keep their kind in line; a common goal we all share for the sake of this amended monarchy. And because of their efforts, Rosewood is a peaceful land most of the time.
But every now and again, history serves to reawaken grudges at the worst times possible, and we certainly don’t need that happening during the gala.
“My people won’t be an issue,” says Phillipe. “But I’m sure you already knew that seeing as they aren’t free to roam.”
Soft gasps resound at his candor, drawing stares of all shapes and colors back and forth between us. Even Marlena, who’s known for her smart mouth, seems genuinely shocked he’d speak up in such a manner.
Phillipe, on the other hand, seems pleased with himself. Amber irises gleam almost victoriously, a challenging smirk adorning one corner of his mouth.
I should’ve let him rot in the Hollow.
A low growl builds deep in my chest as I square my shoulders and savor my words. I can be an impulsive bastard at times, especially when provoked, but I refuse to be reduced to such by a noxious ingrate who should be worshipping my feet for his freedom. “If you’d like to ensure you’re no longer able to roam, either—please, do continue with your waggish remarks.”
His face falls instantly.
In seconds flat, his entire demeanor darkens, too. The way his eyes flash, narrowing to slits as the golden markings gilding his forehead come to life, I’m positive the monster within is about to unleash.
I feel my own inner beast unfurl at the possible threat, fangs elongating, veins beneath my eyes engorging and rippling as my vision tunnels on his form.
“My apologies that the truth seems to trigger you, Captain, but do you really expect me not to speak out when my people are starving?” he growls in argument.
“They’re starving of their own accord,” I counter. “One too many times you were warned to keep them in line, and you did nothing but stand there as innocent lives, children’s lives, were lured by magic and taken for sustenance. That’s some sick, pedophilic—”
I’m cut short by his venomous chortle. “Pedophilic, are you serious? You act as though we’re defiling them prior.”
“Whether you are or not, it’s the principle of the matter. Children are off limits and yet your kind continues preying on them!”
Slamming his fists on the table, the Fae Lord shoots to his feet, his chair clattering back several feet. “Can none of you see this logically, from our point of view?” he asks around the table. “Children are pure. Their purity is the ultimate sustenance. It cleanses us, allows us full access to our—”
“I don’t care if it makes you the strongest species on this goddamned island! Children. Are. Off. Limits,” I grit, barely withholding myself from abandoning my seat and tossing him into the nearest wall. “Perhaps this boundary spell will finally teach you all a valuable lesson.”
“Gentleman, please,” Beatrix’s kindly voice erupts before her husband can fire back, grand wings fluttering behind her. “This topic has been and will always be sensitive. It’s not something we’re going to agree on right now, if ever at all.”
“Agreed,” Persia chimes in. “Again, also not what we came here to discuss today. What’s done is done, Phillipe. I understand the situation isn’t pleasant but—”
“Easy for you to say when you’re the one responsible for the spell,” he sneers.
The witch doesn’t react, she doesn’t so much as flinch. Instead, she cuts her gaze my way, questioningly.
Requesting permission to drive the stake further.
Without hesitation, I motion toward Phillipe and tip my head. “Be my guest.”
Probably shouldn’t have, but—he asked for it.
Satisfied, Persia smiles gratefully and returns her fire on the Fae. “Sit,” she commands, tapping his end of the table.
He moves instantaneously, reclaiming the strewn chair to take his place, but the befuddled expression formed on his face reveals it’s not so willingly.
Marlena and I share a chuckle in realization.
Natano, the chief, doesn’t seem too amused by her tactics, but then again he never is. Now more than ever given I have his daughter.
The moment Phillipe plants his ass in place, Persia goes in, her voice deathly quiet. “If you for one moment think you can guilt me, you’re highly mistaken. My daughter’s life was in danger—you’re damn right I’m responsible, proudly so. If you have any hope of freeing your people from damnation, I suggest you demand change and find proper nutrition elsewhere. As the Captain said… Children. Are. Off. Limits. Especially mine, and I have absolutely no problem with maintaining that spell for years to come if it means their safety is assured.”
The severity of her words is so chilling, even I can sense it, and it’s clear Phillipe does, too. Not that he likes it, of course—if the narrowing of his golden eyes says anything—but it seems he may finally understand his plight will continue going unheard until something gives.
“I hate to interrupt, but my time is running out,” Marlena advises. “Can we perhaps revisit this another day and move along before I wither away here?”
“Yes, lets,” I concur, pointing my stare at Phillipe who remains tight-lipped. “As I was saying...little N’Isabelle’s grand celebration. Everything better go off without a hitch, or there will be consequences.”
♫ Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift ♫
“You look so pretty, Tinksley. Like a princess!” N’Isabelle exclaims from her place on the floor of the dress shop.
She has awed, gleaming stars in her big, brown eyes as though I were truly a princess and I can’t help but beam at her. It’s precious and heart-warming.
“Thank you, Izzy. I like this one, too. A lot.” My hands roam the dips and swells of my figure over the emerald lace of the gown. It really is a gorgeous dress and I feel beautiful in it.
I wonder if Peter will like it?
“It fits you seamlessly,” Mrs. O’Malley, the shop owner, agrees with a smile, “but I’m not sure your mother is going to like it very much. The back is quite low, dear.”
I pivot away from the mirror and point my stare over my shoulder at my reflection.
Damn it. It is quite low. Lower than I’d expected when I plucked it from the front of the shop.
Can she really say no, though?