Page 64 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
“I am so proud of you!” Giselle bounded forward and laced her arms around Quinn’s core, engulfing her in a massive hug.
Quinn bristled, and her body ached. No one ever embraced her like this. She didn’t know what to do. Of course, she’d been touched, lifted, and even intimately embraced while dancing with her pas de deux partner. But that wasn’t real life. That was an act—dancing.
This was different.
After a long moment, she allowed her muscles to relax, and she gave into the hug, even returning it.
“So, what do we do now?” Quinn whispered into Giselle’s hair. “I have no idea how to sneak into a palace.”
Giselle released her arms and pulled away, the smile on herface indecently villainous. “We’re going to walk in like we own the place.”
“You have to be kidding.” Quinn’s mouth almost dropped in her shock, but she managed to pinch it shut and withhold any further amazement.
“You have the council tattoo,” Giselle said. “I was watching, and that is the entry fee.”
“And what about you?”
“I am rather good with a pen.” Giselle flashed her wrist, showing a crooked and sloppy version of the marking. It looked like she had clumsily drawn it on herself, which, of course, was exactly what occurred. “It’s fine. Trust me, if you act like you own the world, then people will think that you do. It is the only decent lesson my mother ever taught me.”
At Quinn’s protest, five minutes later, they were flashing their tattoos at the man guarding the front doors, and to her utter surprise, the man simply muttered his approval and let them inside.
Quinn stepped through the towering double arched doors, which led to a grand staircase and ballroom. Her Mary-Jane heels clicked against the marble as they glided through the palace. Room after room of gilded walls glazed with paintings, colonnades, chandeliers set with diamonds, and statues made of stardust.
They followed voices until they reached a domed room. Standing at the edge of one of the entrances, the girls peered inside.
Chairs and desks were set in a semicircle around the room, and at the front, towered three opulent thrones. The walls were lined with gilded carvings fit for a king, and the room vibrated with grandiosity and the smell of rosemary, mystery, and aristocracy—like the walls were dripping with power and influence. Some of the people in attendance were nobles, while others were industry moguls, but the most fascinating groups in attendance were the gang leaders and Queens of the Night—like Kordiela.The ones who ruled the underbelly of the city with an iron fist—all mixing with the rich elite.
It was jarring.
From the side of the room, three figures entered, decked in finery. They swept in like ice skaters across the floor and gracefully sat on the thrones. Regal and royal, the queen and princess observed the room while Emrys sat with his legs draped over the side of his throne, a bored look painting his face. The crown on his head tilted so far off that it was surprising it even managed to stay atop his head.
“There is a balcony,” Giselle said in a voice lower than a whisper and pointed to the top left of the room. Before Quinn could respond, Giselle swooped from her eavesdropping position and pulled her friend with her up a velvet staircase.
Within a matter of moments, they found the balcony that moonlighted as a spy nest. The queen gently clapped her hands, sending the guards into action. The announcer pounded his staff on the floor three times, silencing the room.
The groups sat down at their respective desks, allowing the girls to see many of their faces for the first time.
All of the air evaporated from Quinn’s body when she spotted a familiar figure.
Directly below the balcony, Uncle Matias sat among seven empty chairs. His group was late . . . or missing.
Her uncle was at the council meeting, which meant he knew about vampires and her parents’ connection to the mirrors. And he’d kept it from her.
Her legs trembled. She was so unsteady that it felt like her bones had liquefied. She backed up into the wall and slid down it into a sitting position as she held her knees. She tried to take a deep breath and calm herself.
He lied to her.
Hebetrayedher.
Someone cleared their throat and said, “As with every meeting so no one forgets, let’s get started with areading of the accords.” From the cadence and majesty in their voice, Quinn imagined it must have been the queen.
As her temples pounded with each beat of her racing heart, a new person spoke. “As signed into law on the Fifteenth Day of Spring in the Fiftieth Year AV . . .”
The timing didn’t make sense. The Blood Rebellion was year zero. Why would it take fifty years to enact the laws, and why did New Swansea’s history say that vampires were completely exterminated during the war if they’d survived?
“The Vampire Accords Agreement reads,” the man continued.
Law 1. Vampires cannot kill a human without forfeiting their own life, unless the human killed was an execution sectioned by the council.
