Page 121 of A Song of Air
Welcome to the Wildlands
Music reverberatedagainst the night sky, though it felt like it wasn’t coming from instruments at all. Rather that nature was belting out song into the world, weaving it into being, mixing magic and sound to create a symphony that Bryson felt down to her bones.
The air was sharp and fizzled with a drugging magic similar to when Fae wine was created. It immediately made her dizzy and lightheaded, and she tried not to sway on her feet as everything pulsed through her in a single, forceful shove.
Weylyn reached out to grasp her hand. His firm touch steadied her, and she found a brief second of comfort in it before he was pulling away. Almost like he was afraid of who was watching. She hated that, which was strange considering she hadn’t wanted him touching her at all.
But as far as Bryson was concerned, her rules went out the window when it came to being in the Unseelie Court. There were no rules here, or at least if there were, they didn’t apply to this situation. She wanted Weylyn to touch her. She needed him to.
If only so she didn’t feel quite so alone.
But this was a dangerous game they were playing, and she wasn’t going to desperately reach for him and let everyone scent her fear. She wasn’t going to be prey here.
She was going to be a predator.
“Stay by my side.”Weylyn’s voice flittered through her mind, beating frantically. She wanted to reach for him, but closed her nails into her palms instead and swallowed the rising lump in her throat.
Bryson focused her attention back on the party. Things had quieted down a fraction as the queen all but floated towards her throne. The same one she’d sat in when they first arrived. The difference this time was there were more bodies. There was the scent of food and drugging magic in the air, and things didn’t seem as tense as they’d been before.
But they did feel equally dangerous.
There was a beat of silence. And then the queen called out, “Feast and party, my subjects. For we celebrate my son and his mate tonight.”
There was a roar as sound crashed through the night once again. Bodies swarmed them, jostling Weylyn and Bryson apart. She turned, blinking blindly, letting her nose follow his scent. But it was useless. The bodies shoved at her, pulling her into the fray of the party. Music hummed and all manner of hands and arms reached for her.
She found herself clasping down on fingers as though to steady herself. But those fingers yanked her onto the grass and twirled her, over and over again until she felt like she was losing control of her own body. She looked up into the air, finding floating lights above her. Golden dust rained down over her face, trickling up her nose. Bryson sneezed to expel it, but all it did was invade her senses and cloud her vision.
“Weylyn!” She looked around, losing his scent and his form in the fray.
She caught sight of him, his long braid and dark skin and gold gleaming on his body. She reached out, grasping his hand in her own, and was shoved from behind. She landed against the solidity of his chest and gasped as a strange scent filled her nostrils.
Not of sweet and spice, but of something far, far different.
Golden-clad fingers gripped her hips, pulling her against the hard press of a tall, lithe body. She looked up, blinking, gasping, as she met a pair of eyes that glared down at her, so in contrast with the smile curving that mouth. A smile that was familiar but didn’t belong to Weylyn at all.
Curved black horns adorned with gold sat on his forehead. The man, the prince, one of Weylyn’s brothers, held her close. His palms closed over her hip, the other grasping at her hand.
“How very forward of you, little Fae.”
This wasn’t the brother who had found them and brought them to the queen in chains. This was a different one, and she tried to rack her memory for his name but came up blank.
“I thought you were Weylyn,” she defended quietly.
He chuckled low and his voice enveloped her. “An innocent mistake,” he purred. “One you will regret if you make it again.” His fingers dug into her skin, and she bit the inside of her cheek to avoid crying out. A moment later, he was twirling her, round and round and round until her head spun with dizziness. Her feet skidded against the ground as she tried to keep up with him but failed.
More of that golden powder sprinkled from the sky and coated her skin like a layer of dust. She had the urge to swat it away, but the prince was holding her too tightly.
She could feel the hatred in his very touch. In every word that dripped from his tongue. It was venomous, this poison he felt for his brother. So obvious that they all hated Weylyn. Even if her mate hadn’t told her that he was estranged from his own family, it would have been so very obvious. And that hatred, it seemed, extended to Bryson as well. Just by her association.
