Mische’s nose wrinkled. “You look disgusting.”

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have taken a bath.”

“No. I don’t think you would have.” She looked him up and down. “Long day, huh?”

The smile softened. “Long week. Long month.”

Then his gaze shifted to me. For a split second, it was just as exposed, revealing just a glimpse of too many emotions. Then the mask was back up, the role reassumed.

“I take it you’re feeling better.”

“Better enough.”

He eyed my wings. His face remained blank, but I still saw the faint glimmer of concern—felt it like I’d felt like his hands on them.

He wasn’t the only one staring.

Vale, Cairis, and Septimus were transfixed by those wings, too, and didn’t bother to hide it. Nor did they hide their wary curiosity, like they were trying to reconcile something that didn’t make sense.

The wings were a symbol of my power. Vincent only left his visible when he needed to remind the world he was the King of the House of Night. And mine were a near-perfect replica of his—that deep black, that blinding Heir red.

I’d made it easy for them to ignore my Heir Mark, hiding it beneath high-necked clothing. But right now, there was no ignoring the wings.

Septimus smiled, taking a puff of his cigarillo.

“You do carry them better when you’re conscious,” he said.

I didn’t like thinking of Septimus seeing me unconscious. Raihn didn’t seem to like it much, either, because he took a step closer to me, as if putting his body between us.

Mische glanced between all of us quietly, noting the obvious awkwardness, before another cheerful grin broke over her face.

“We’re starving,” she said. “Can we eat?”

It took a few solid seconds after Mische’s declaration for me to realize that a vampire had said the word “starving” in my presence and not a single one of them had so much as glanced at me.

Maybe I really was becoming a vampire, after all.

Raihn wiped the blood off his face with the back of his hand, or tried to, largely unsuccessfully. He scowled down at his blood-smeared hand with wrinkles on his blood-smeared forehead, and said, “I’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, too.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Septimus said, breezing by us. “I’ll pass on dinner. Busy night, I’m afraid.”

He paused at the doorway, looking back at me.

“Good to see you doing better, Oraya,” he said. “We were all very worried.”

Sometimes it seemed like the man didn’t even have footsteps. He was simply gone, without so much as an echo behind him.

Raihn didn’t even clean up before we all went to the dinner table. I considered not attending—I still didn’t like to be around feeding vampires, vampire blood or no—but when I realized that Vale, Cairis, and Ketura would be there, the logistical benefit was just too great to pass up. I’d spent far too long wrapped up in my own grief and anger to actually do anything useful. And sitting at dinner with Raihn and his highest-ranking advisors was useful.

I was, of course, directed to a seat beside Raihn, though he barely looked at me when I sat. He seemed to be deliberately paying less attention to me, which was awkwardly noticeable. It had the obnoxious effect of making me more aware of him than I already was.

The others were given elaborate plates of bloody-rare meat, and, of course, enormous goblets of blood, which Mische chugged down immediately—royal table manners be damned. Raihn disappeared for a few minutes as the servants laid the table, then returned.

I eyed him. “Thought you were going to clean yourself up.”

Flecks of vampire blood still covered his face.

He winked at me. “Don’t pretend you’re offended by a little bloodshed.”

But I knew a message when I saw one. Raihn was letting himself be seen as the slaughterer. Someone who killed and didn’t even care enough to wipe the remnants of his victim off his face afterwards.

So… he didn’t trust his own inner circle. Interesting.

A few minutes later, my plate was brought out and set before me. I somewhat dreaded digging into the near-raw meat that the others had been given. But I also wasn’t about to highlight all the ways I was different by turning it away, either.

But at my first bite—

Sun fucking take me. I must’ve been hungrier than I’d thought, because this was incredible. I barely stopped myself from letting out an audible noise—surprise, pleasure, or both.

I could feel Raihn’s eyes on me. I glanced at him. He looked oddly smug. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said casually, and turned back to his food.

The realization dawned on me.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. So he was a good cook. So what.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging aloud how delicious it was.

Didn’t stop eating, though, either.

“So.” Raihn leaned back in his chair, taking a long swig of blood. “Cairis. You had something you wanted to talk about.”

Cairis glanced around the table, then pointedly at me, and then at Raihn. “Here?”

“Here. I think Vale will be interested in your idea.”

Vale looked like he was already dreading whatever this was going to be. His wife, on the other hand, seemed like her interest was piqued. She was a very openly curious person, and I appreciated that. Maybe because it was a deeply human trait. I wondered how much she understood of this conversation—she was a foreigner, and her Obitraen, from what I’d heard, was not very strong yet.

“If you insist,” Cairis said, and turned to Vale. “We need an event.”

Vale stared flatly back at him. “An event.”

“Something big. Something with a lot of flash. Something to provide an excuse for us to invite all the nobles to Sivrinaj and flaunt the king’s significant and awe-inspiring power, and whatnot.”

Vale looked unconvinced, and Cairis leaned across the table.

“Wars aren’t just fought on the battlefield, Vale.”

“Unfortunately not. But I’m not thrilled to hear what any of this has to do with me.”

“The event will be your wedding celebration.”

Vale let out a breath through his teeth and an immediate, forceful, “No.”

“Come on, Vale.” Raihn arched a brow. “You don’t want the best party planner in Obitraes throwing your wedding for you?”

Despite Raihn’s joking tone, I got the impression that no one was really giving Vale—or Lilith, for that matter—a choice in the matter.

Vale gave Cairis a dagger stare. “We’re already married.”

“So what? It’s just the celebration. Besides, does it really count without all the… sparkle?”

Cairis waved his hands in the air, as if to demonstrate the proverbial sparkle.

Vale looked pissed.

Lilith looked around with a wrinkle of genuine confusion between her brows, like she was putting a lot more effort than her husband into understanding this.

“Why us?” she said, in heavily accented Obitraen.

“Wonderful question.” Cairis took a long sip of wine, then set the goblet down hard. “Because Vale, unlike the rest of us dogs, is a true Nightborn Rishan noble. He has a name that commands respect among the Rishan who have the most… we’ll call it apprehension… about the king’s rule.” He smiled. “And a wedding is always a nice, non-political celebration, isn’t it?”

I’d seen the aftermath of enough vampire weddings to know that was certainly untrue.

“No,” Vale said, returning to his food.

“I’m not giving you an option on this one, Vale,” Raihn said. So very deliberately casual, in all the ways that told me nothing was casual about this conversation.

Vale set down his fork. He stilled, staring unblinking at Raihn.

“Lilith is foreign and Turned,” he said, between his teeth. “This isn’t the high-ranking political marriage you seem to think it is.”

“Unfortunately,” Cairis said, “it’s the best we’ve got.”