I should feel comfort that Eve is speaking to someone at all, even if that someone isn’t me. Instead, jealousy sinks bloody thorns into me. I want Eve to talk to me the way she used to. I’m truly a fool, because I want the connection we shared to be real. It’s obviously not on her end; it never was. Even if she’d held some small fondness for me, I annihilated the chance of that growing into more when I brought her here. “I’m not in the mood to entertain this conversation.”

“Azazel.” Ramanu’s tone is uncharacteristically serious. “If there’s danger that stretches beyond the human realm, I should be apprised of it.”

I’m not fucking sure it extends past the human realm. Every step I’ve made has ensured that my enemies will find no traction in the other territories here. But mine? There’s plenty of bargainers who would rather go back to the way things were when Caesarea ruled. When we took what we wanted and damned all the rest. When we didn’t share power. “Brosh has graduated from posturing to actual threats. I have it on good authority that he was in New York, and there’s only one reason for him to be there.”

They sigh. “You should have told me. I’m entertaining, and a delightful asshole, but I’m good at my job.”

It’s true. They’re the one who will be checking in on the other humans in the various territories over the next seven years. They’re the only one I trust to hold the other leaders to the same standards I would. “Do you have everything lined up for the Shadow Market?” As much help as it is to have Ramanu here, I can’t keep them from this particular trip.

“Of course. She’ll summon me before the event, without a doubt. She’s so desperate, I can taste it across the realms.”

A witch will be a valued addition to the territory, which is to say nothing of the fact that Ramanu clearly has a soft spot for her. “Just be careful.”

They grin. “Darling, I’m never careful.”

I stand slowly and stretch. I’ve been at my desk for most of the day, and my back feels like it’s compressed into an unfortunate curve. “Try to act against type for once.” Something in my spine pops. “And good luck with your murderous witch.”

Their grin widens. “I don’t need luck. She’s all but mine.” They start to turn away. “It’s been days, Azazel. You should stop avoiding your human. She’s furious and determined enough to try to descend the side of the tower if left to her own devices for too long.”

“I already asked the castle to lead her to dinner tonight. I’ll take care of it.”

Ramanu is still for several long seconds. Finally, they shrug. “It’s your funeral. I’ll let the kitchen staff know to expect a mess.”

“You are such a pain in the ass.”

“Want to fire me?” They laugh. “Oh wait, I’m the best at this job, and part of said job is telling you things you don’t want to—but need to—hear.”

I wave that away. “Go.”

“Consider me gone.” They pause. “I know you’re trying to go easy on her, Azazel, but I think she may surprise you if you’re just honest with her.”

I don’t answer. What is there to say? No amount of honesty will detract from the lies that brought us to this place. My lies. “I’ll talk to her.”

Ramanu snorts. “Good luck.”

I wait a bare five minutes after they leave to make my way to my bedroom. The castle isn’t particularly pleased with me either; it takes me three times as long to reach my destination. I pause outside my door. “I’m working on it. I’m sorry.” There’s no response, but why would there be?

Within an hour, I’m in the formal dining room, staring down at two places set. There’s no reason for my stomach to be tying itself in knots. I’ve dealt with so many stressful meetings with greater potential consequences and never once let something as mundane as nerves affect me.

But the personal stakes have never felt higher.

I hear Eve’s footsteps before I see her, angry heels clicking on the stone floor. Seconds later, she walks through the doorway looking like a fucking dream. She’s wearing a red dress that ties around her neck; the V shows off her generous breasts, making it seem like one wrong move will free them entirely. It’s also short—shorter than anything I’ve seen her wear, barely covering the lower curve of her ass and also showcasing her thick thighs and gently curved calves. Tall heels complete the image.

Her blond hair is loose around her shoulders, styled in waves I want to sink my claws into. Her lips are the same brilliant red as her dress, and her eyes are smokey . . . and furious.

She stops just inside the door and takes me in with a long sweep of her gaze. She crosses to the table and grabs the bottle of wine sitting there. “I was wondering about something. You speak English here. That seems odd.”

Guilt pricks me, but there’s no point in avoiding this. It will just be worse in the end. “We don’t.” When she pauses, I force myself to continue. “While you were unconscious, I put a translation spell on you.”

“Put a translation spell on me.”

I swallow hard. “I tattooed it. It’s on the back of your neck.”

Her eyes flash. “I see.” She pours the wine into her glass, filling it nearly to the brim. “I want to go home.”

“That’s not possible.”

She drains half the glass in a single gulp and refills it. “Then I want to know why. You owe me the truth, don’t you think? You lied and manipulated and had me sign a contract under false pretenses that took me away from my life, my friends, my fucking realm, apparently. The very least you can do is tell me why.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. But telling her the truth is going to make things worse. There’s no other option. I watch her lift the wineglass to her ruby lips. “Slow down.”

“I don’t think I will.”

Guilt pricks me, sharp and condemning. “You have a one-drink rule.”

“That was for clients, a group that you no longer belong to. I think you’ll find that, if I can’t control anything else in my life right now, I can control this.” She holds my gaze as she takes another long drink. It’s from one of the cases we imported from the human realm rather than the faerie wine we brew here in this realm, so at least she’s not falling-down drunk after a single glass. Even so, I have no idea how often Eve drank or what her tolerance is. So much in so little time is worrisome.

“Eve.”

“Answer the fucking question!”

I lower the hand I was lifting to grab the wine bottle. “You’re in danger.”

“Danger.” She sneers. “Do better. More details. I know how well you like to talk, Azazel. So talk.”

“Time moves differently in this realm than it does in yours.” I hold up my hand again, this time to forestall more angry words. “I’m answering your question. This context is necessary.”

She pulls out her chair and sinks into it, crossing one leg over the other. “Get to the point.”

“The point is that I’ve been leader of this territory for five years. My predecessor had a markedly different way of doing things; her priority was to gain humans, which resulted in gaining power for our territory. It didn’t matter how bargains were made, only that they were. I put a stop to that when I took over.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Until me.”

Guilt stabs deeper, but I muscle past it. “There are those among my people who aren’t happy with the changes. They think I weakened us, that I’m making the other territories strong at the expense of our own. Caesarea is gone, but many of her supporters remain.” I take a breath. “The primary threat is Brosh. He’s always been vocal in his criticism of me, but he’s decided to take action.”

She blinks. “What does that have to do with me?” Before I have a chance to respond, she makes the leap. “It’s because you’ve been one of my clients. A regular. This Brosh decided to get to you through me.”

It feels like I’m being suffocated. Fuck, I didn’t want to tell her like this. I didn’t want to tell her at all. “Yes. The moment I learned he was in New York, I went to you. To protect you.”