52
Bryce’s blood roared as she sprinted through the Old Square, down rain-soaked streets, all the way to Five Roses. The villas glowed in the rain, palatial homes with immaculate lawns and gardens, all fenced with wrought iron. Stone-faced Fae or shifter sentries from the Auxiliary were posted at every corner.
As if the residents here lived in abject terror that the peregrini and few slaves of Crescent City were poised to loot at any moment.
She hurtled past the marble behemoth that was the Fae Archives, the building covered in drooping veils of flowers that ran down its many columns. Roses, jasmine, wisteria—all in perpetual bloom, no matter the season.
She sprinted all the way to the sprawling white villa covered in pink roses, and to the wrought-iron gate around it guarded by four Fae warriors.
They stepped into her path as she skidded to a halt, the flagstone street slick with rain.
“Let me in,” she said through her teeth, panting.
They didn’t so much as blink. “Do you have an appointment with His Majesty?” one asked.
“Let me in,” she said again.
He’d known. Her father had known there were tests to assess what had killed Danika and had done nothing. Had deliberately stayed out of it.
She had to see him. Had to hear it from him. She didn’t care what time it was.
The polished black door was shut, but the lights were on. He was home. He had to be.
“Not without an appointment,” said the same guard.
Bryce took a step toward them and rebounded—hard. A wall of heat surrounded the compound, no doubt generated by the Fae males before her. One of the guards snickered. Her face grew hot, her eyes stinging.
“Go tell your king that Bryce Quinlan needs a word. Now.”
“Come back when you have an appointment, half-breed,” one of the sentries said.
Bryce smacked her hand against their shield. It didn’t so much as ripple. “Tell him—”
The guards stiffened as power, dark and mighty, pulsed from behind her. Lightning skittered over the cobblestones. The guards’ hands drifted to their swords.
Hunt said, voice like thunder, “The lady wants an audience with His Majesty.”
“His Majesty is unavailable.” The guard who spoke had clearly noted the halo at Hunt’s brow. The sneer that spread across his face was one of the most hideous things Bryce had ever seen. “Especially for Fallen scum and half-human skanks.”
Hunt took a step toward them. “Say that again.”
The guard’s sneer remained. “Once wasn’t enough?”
Hunt’s hand fisted at his side. He’d do it, she realized. He’d pummel these assholes into dust for her, fight his way inside the gates so she could have a chat with the king.
Down the block, Ruhn appeared, wreathed in shadow, his black hair plastered to his head. Flynn and Declan followed close behind him. “Stand down,” Ruhn ordered the guards. “Stand the fuck down.”
They did no such thing. “Even you, Prince, are not authorized to order that.”
Ruhn’s shadows swirled at his shoulders like a phantom pair of wings, but he said to Bryce, “There are other battles worth fighting with him. This isn’t one of them.”
Bryce stalked a few feet from the gate, even though the guards could likely hear every word. “He deliberately chose not to help with what happened to Danika.”
Hunt said, “Some might consider that to be interference with an imperial investigation.”