This evening, the Solstice ball doesn’t exactly go as planned.

As Des and I descend down to the ballroom, I feel the comforting weight of my two daggers, which are currently strapped to a set of inner thigh holsters and hidden under my dark, iridescent dress. Is Solstice a peaceful festival? Yes, in theory. Do I plan to use these weapons? Not unless provoked. But after yesterday’s events and Des’s encouragement, I’ve decided to come to this party armed.

And I’m not going to lie, I feel like a bad bitch tonight, which I totally dig.

Des and I have barely entered the subterranean ballroom when Mara falls on us, and just from one glance alone, the Queen of Flora is out for blood.

She grabs the Bargainer’s lapels. “Where are they?” Mara growls. She shakes him like a madwoman, the floral scent of her power filling the air “Desmond Flynn, where are they?”

“What are you talking about?” he says, his voice low.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. I swear to the Undying Gods I will do everything in my power to break our vow of peace if you don’t tell me where my harem is.”

The Bargainer pries her hands off of his clothing. “Pull yourself together, Mara, your subjects are watching.”

They are in fact watching us, drawn in by the latest drama between rulers.

Many of them, I notice, have their wings on display. Apparently, the Night King and his human mate have had some effect on Otherworld fashion, despite—or perhaps because of—our taboo relationship.

I turn back to Des, watching him with fascination. I’m half convinced by his performance that he really has no idea where the queen’s consorts are. But of course, he’s already all but admitted to me that he’s not innocent.

“You have been nothing but trouble since you entered my kingdom,” Mara growls, “from attacking Janus, to your human wife questioning my authority in front of my own people.”

At this, the room begins to darken, no doubt because Des is vividly recalling just what happened when I questioned her authority.

“Not to mention,” she continues, “that the Fauna fae want you dead, and several people think you’re behind the missing soldiers. And now my men are gone—”

The Green Man joins us then, lovingly brushing the Flora Queen’s hair off her shoulder as he does so. She shudders at the touch, not so subtly shrugging his hand off. Her gaze flicks to him, and she gives the Green Man a tight smile.

Okay, that whole interaction was not normal. Mates aren’t repulsed by each other’s touch, and they don’t just bear each other’s company.

The Green Man smiles at Mara, then us, completely oblivious to his queen’s reaction. “Why don’t we take this somewhere quieter?” he says.

“Fine,” Mara hisses, spinning on her heels.

“I’m not going anywhere with either of you,” I say. Not after yesterday’s events.

Mara gives me an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter,” I say.

The groups around us are falling quiet, shocked by my words.

“You may be their queen,” I say, motioning to the room, “but you are not mine.”

I hear some quick inhalations of breath.

God it feels good to tell this woman off.

“Desmond,” the Flora Queen says, “tell your ma—”

I step in front of Des. “No,” I say. “The King of the Night is no message boy, and I can understand your words quiet clearly, so if you have something to say to me, say it to my face.”

The ballroom is serene for all of five seconds. Then Mara’s power begins to build, shaking the very walls of her palace. The plants in the room come alive, twisting and snapping.

“You idiotic waste of—”

Desmond steps to my side. “Careful, queen. Any offense given to my mate, is an offense given to me. And I do not tolerate slights.”

That’s the closest Des will come to admitting he’s behind the disappearances of Mara’s men. The Flora Queen reads between the lines anyway. Her eyes blaze as she takes in the Bargainer.

“You son of—”

The Green Man lays his hands on Des and Mara’s shoulders. “Privacy,” he emphasizes.

The room continues to darken. I can feel Des’s magic coiling around me, steeping me in shadow. Around us, the guests have gone utterly silent.

“Say it,” Des goads her, a smile drawing the edges of his lips up. “Finish the statement.”

A chill slides over my skin.

“Say it,” he says, quieter.

The plants are whipping about, and Mara’s sharp green eyes are flinty. “You son of a whore. You’ll never be more than a bastard king, and your mate, a slave. You and your ilk disgrace my halls.”

Des smiles, and the world goes dark.