“Right. As I was saying…Luscia, I’d also like to introduce Zaethan Kasim,” Dmitri continued, motioning to the second man. “He serves as Alpha Zà over the Darakaian prydes, as well as being the al’Haidren to Darakai and one of my dearest friends.”

Unlike Ira, Zaethan Kasim did not bombard Luscia with questions. In fact, he made no attempt at social etiquette whatsoever. He kept his distance as he scrutinized her, like a hunter might a rabid animal. A hint of disgust took hold of his otherwise handsome features. Despite the softer shade of his cinnamon skin, the definition of his full mouth, and a slight depression in his chin, Kasim’s entire demeanor emulated that of his father—a man who was both Darakai’s Haidren and had been gifted command of the Orynthian forces decades past.

Their likeness even fostered the same tension in his upper lip, which showcased evidence of a recent altercation where it split. The scent of camilla root wafted in her direction.

Very recent indeed.

His sable braided locs had grown longer over the years, but his eyes were as arresting as she remembered. Tonight, the al’Haidren’s chartreuse stare seethed with an unfamiliar wrath, which explained the tautness of his jaw and the alertness of his limbs. Luscia detected his latent aggression under the clean leather pants and the plain, formal jade jacket that hugged his chest and narrowed with his hips. Nothing she couldn’t easily subdue. Much had changed in the years apart, and her bones would not break so easily again.

“The Lady Sayuri Naborū-Zou, al’Haidren to Pilar,” the herald’s voice resounded over the music.

“How timely,” Dmitri muttered in relief, glancing between his other three al’Haidrens.

A willowy young woman, draped in frothy tiers of scarlet, entered the hall dripping every bit of the rumored elegance attributed to her. Admirers rushed to surround the al’Haidren to Pilar, who was the famed daughter of not one but two Shoto Prime. With vicious, glittering eyes locked on her prey, Sayuri Naborū-Zou sauntered past and disregarded them, the train of her bloodred gown rippling in her wake, like the trail of an insatiable predator moving from one hunting ground to the next.

Slowing for only one man, she slinked toward their grouping. A manicured hand reached out and languorously descended the length of Dmitri’s arm as she greeted him alone.

“Dmitri, I do hope you can forgive my tardiness,” Sayuri purred through a round set of small, painted lips. The gilded detail of her tight bodice accentuated the richness of her western skin, revealed where the fabric fell off her bare shoulders. “Being tied into a dress this unforgiving takes time, but I hope you’ll agree it was worth the trouble.”

“Of course, Lady Pilar, you look—wonderful.” Dmitri swallowed uncomfortably. “Sayuri, if you remember from years past, finally with us is our al’Haidren to Boreal, Luscia Darragh Tiergan.”

Unhurried, Sayuri broke eye contact with the Orynthian prince. “I suppose you couldn’t stay in the woods forever,” she remarked coolly, angling her head as she beheld Luscia’s wild mane, strung with precious stones. Such a contrast to the sleek, midnight tresses descending Sayuri’s back.

Sayuri’s inky gaze, splintered with topaz, darted aside when the prince asked Kasim to step away with him. The al’Haidren slyly watched them through her lashes, the corners of her eyes lifted alluringly. Curious what had caused the men’s whispered argument, Luscia tried to listen as they wandered off, but was thwarted by the al’Haidren to Pilar and her penchant for unwanted conversation.

“You’re much prettier than the Unitarians expected,” she stated bluntly. “They said you’d come robed in grisly furs with feathers sticking out of your head.”

“Personally, I’ve always found northern women to be quite exotic,” Ira noted smoothly, inching closer and brushing a hand against the small of Luscia’s back.

“That may not be a wise choice, Lord Bastiion,” Luscia advised, adopting the formal Quadrennal address. She’d have to work hard to discourage this one.

At her lycran’s snarl, Lusica felt Ira jerk his hand away. Even Unitarian ears could hear the low snicker from her robust Najjan, paces away.

“Amazing how the Boreali can cure nearly everything but their own complexion, isn’t it?” Sayuri’s rouged lips curled into a smirk. “I’m curious to see what Boreal presents as an offering tonight. A chest of dead rabbits, perhaps? I do hope it’s as impressive as the cart of Soairse pearls Pilar sent to my reception, though those probably weren’t as soiled as whatever you and your aunt dragged here.” Sayuri pretended to search the room for Alora. “Is that why she hasn’t joined you? Too embarrassed to show?”

Luscia wanted to punch Sayuri Naborū-Zuo in her beautiful face. Unfortunately, breaking her fellow al’Haidren’s nose would likely prove more problematic than simply refusing to respond. The vivid imagery aided Luscia’s resolve, at least.

A high-pitched squeal pierced Luscia’s ears from across the hall. From their limited view, a young courtier was seen throwing herself into Kasim’s arms in a fit of giggles.

“My, Ira, your sister is persistent,” Sayuri remarked drily.

“I’d thought you would know by now how persistent we Hastings can be.” He shared a telling look with the Pilarese beauty.

Luscia was grateful when a metal clash thundered over the crowd, the sound of a giant cymbal being struck upon the center dais, silencing the room. The king’s voice echoed from where he stood on a higher platform before the Throne of Thoarne. On either side of a plush, indigo seat, winding antlers of sculpted byrnnzite reached toward the vaulted heights of the room and sparkled in the torchlight. A magnificent illustration of Unitarian artistry.

“Friends and guests! My family and I invite you all to join in celebrating the Ascension of the al’Haidren to Boreal. Her presence brings us into a new age as she takes her seat and completes my son’s Quadren! Please, eat to your content, drink ’til your limit, and revel in the evening’s entertainment!”

The room clapped and advanced to the series of tables around the room, buried under platters of choice cuisine and flagons of wine. Declan offered Luscia his arm to escort her to Dmitri’s table on the platform, positioned a row lower, in front of their predecessors.

From the end of the king’s table, a slim Pilarese man surveyed Luscia as she climbed the steps. With waxy skin and thinning black hair knotted at the base of his neck, he stood out from Korbin’s other guests. His plate remained empty, except for a pile of seasoned, withered beetles. The man punctured one with a sharp, decorative metal finger-piece and leisurely brought it to his cracked lips. She heard him crunch down as Declan pulled out her chair, placed between Dmitri Thoarne and Ira Hastings.

“I haven’t yet told you how lovely you look, Lady Boreal.” Dmitri said under his breath once she was seated. “Thank you…for coming tonight.”