Page 51 of Quiet Burn

“You know Mother and Father have very busy schedules monitoring all the deals, bargains, and punishments our lineage captures. Don’t be a child, Zavvie.”

For a second, I thought I might like this chick, but dismissing her brother’s upset changes that entirely. Zav might have gone along with Jasper at the beginning, but I think it was because the Prince is the one person who cares—even in a twisted manner. “We can’t dwell on those who aren’t here,” I say, steering the conversation back to safer waters. “We’ve got a night of revelry ahead, right?”

“Right,” Zavida echoes, a small smile fighting its way onto his lips. It doesn’t quite chase away the gloom, but it’s a start.

“Nice to see you again, Genie,” Salem mumbles as he joins Zav and me. “But we should get moving to greet the other royals before someone gets offended.”

She doesn’t even respond, simply walks away, waving at some crusty old dowager demon.

Awesome sister. Maybe it’s good I don’t have siblings, after all.

Weaving through the throng of elaborate outfits and sinister grins, we give Anton’s and X’s parents a wide berth. Their indifference during the speech was like a slap; their gaze never once landing on the pair who tried so hard to earn it. I catch a shared look between my companions—relief mirrored in their eyes when the Prince doesn’t insist we pay respects to them.

“Thank fuck,” I mutter under my breath, earning a chorus of silent nods.

Our respite is short-lived as we approach Oriel’s parents. They stand tall and imposing, their elegant attire practically dripping with wealth and arrogance. They’re the kind of demons who wear disdain like a second skin, and it clings to them, suffocating the surrounding air.

“Oriel has been doing exceptionally well,” I interject with forced cheer, trying to bridge the widening chasm of silence as they stare at us. “He’s made president of the Thieves Guild, you know.”

Their sneers are as dismissive as their attention, unimpressed by what they deem trivialities. They turn to Jasper, their words laced with venomous certainty. “You’d do well to lean on Slash in these Games. Some... sacrifices may be necessary.”

A contemptuous gaze slides over Zavida and me, lingering just long enough to stoke the embers of my anger.

Goddamnit, my social battery is quickly depleting and I’m going to have a heart attack, but I cannot let these people be such nasty motherfuckers to my guys.

Before I can retort, Anton steps in, his voice smooth as silk and twice as cunning. “Such an interesting strategy. I’m sure Slash and the Prince will consider it. We should find Salem’s parents next, so they don’t worry that we’ve forgotten them.”

He guides us away before the Bloodstones respond, but we’re not destined for a moment’s peace, it seems.

The King’s entourage stops in our path, a veritable wall of wrath as they glare at us. Jasper’s father stands at the forefront, his presence domineering, backed by Slash’s dad and sycophants who buzz about their leaders’ latest victories. We’re forced tostand witness as the King rambles on about his time in the Games without even saying ‘hello’ to his son.

My expression is schooled into neutrality, but it’s not long before boredom catches up with me. A glance at the other guys tells me they’ve heard all these stories a million times before, so there’s absolutely no reason to be repeating them except to hear himself talk.

“Jasper, truly, your Games cannot possibly compete—” the King begins, his voice powerful enough to drown out the music. He pauses, catching the flicker of disinterest in my eyes. My growing inability to keep my need for recharging has drawn the attention of Slash’s father, who now towers over me, his snarl revealing rows of serrated teeth, his threat tangible even without words.

“Got something to say, boy?” he growls.

“Actually, yes,” I answer, my voice calm. My hand dips into my pocket and retrieves a tin. I pop the lid, select a mint, and slip it into my mouth with deliberate slowness. “Would you care for one?” My offer hangs in the air, insolent yet innocent, a challenge veiled in courtesy.

Jasper’s eyes go wide, his body tensing beside me, but I maintain the facade of helpfulness. To strike now, the King would have to acknowledge the slight to his second-in-command by a tiny male with no powers—tantamount to admitting a commoner can ruffle their feathers.

“Anyone else?” I continue, tilting the tin toward the crowd, each mint glinting like a tiny shield against the tension that threatens to erupt into chaos.

The King’s voice cuts through the din like a serrated blade, every word dripping with contempt. “After you receive glory in theGames, I can choose the appropriate bride for you, Jasper, and you’ll be free of your... current distractions.”

I feel the muscles in my jaw clench as he casts a dismissive glance toward Zavida—the implication unspoken yet crystal clear. Then his gaze lands on me, scorn etched into the crags of his face. “Your little band has its uses, though. The weakling there”—he jabs a finger in my direction—“is it to keep the others satisfied, so you, my son, don’t have to share?”

Excuse the everloving fuck out of me?!!

Heat floods my veins, fury a live wire beneath my skin. I’m teetering on the brink of lashing out when Jasper steps forward, his voice a low growl of defiance that still somehow carries over the crowd. “I’ll choose my mate, Father. And they will come to me by Fate, not by some farcical political arrangement.”

The King’s eyes flash dangerously, and his mouth opens, no doubt ready to unleash a tirade. But Jasper acts swiftly, catching me off guard as he seizes my face between his hands. His lips crush against mine, igniting a storm of terror and indignation within me. For a moment, I’m paralyzed, every sense screaming at the intrusion. Yet as understanding dawns—that this is a ploy, a desperate gambit—I let the kiss continue, my mind already plotting retribution.

Tonight seems to be the night when I ignore every bit of good sense in my head in favor of emotions.

Jasper’s breath is ragged when he finally pulls away, his chest heaving against mine. We’re both panting, our faces inches apart, as the silence around us screams louder than any words. The others—Zavida, Salem, even Oriel—are gaping, shock rooted in their expressions. And as I glance past them, I see the back ofthe King’s ornate garments swishing angrily as he departs with his entourage.

Now, standing here, the taste of the prince still lingering on my lips, I’m struck by a whirlwind of confusion. Twice this week, I’ve been kissed under false pretenses, my cover as a boy straining at the seams. My body is racing with electricity, and my heart is ready to thump out of my chest. When I feel my limbs sparkle, I look over at Oriel, my eyes wide and full of fear.

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