Page 6 of Bound
Chapter 2
Amoret
Flying is not a Fae’s favorite mode of transportation. Neither are most modern vehicles. A train or ship is tolerable, but inside the thick steel can with wings, there is so much technology it drowns out the magick in my veins.
And so does the infernal hotel we are in.
Situated in the epicenter of the human town, the very beams and floor of the hotel seem to vibrate with human electricity and tech. There is nowhere to go to escape it. Every room is more of the same.
The tile floors are cold despite the faux fire rolling merrily in the tall hearth. All around the room, low plush chairs have been scattered over rugs that are surprisingly comfortable to walk on. The guards have already found perches at the low bar and long table, their weapons scrolled over the top in gleaming disarray.
At the rear of the steel and glass chamber, all three High Lords sit just behind that wall of armor-clad bodies. Among them, Branwen, my older brother, is turned to Renvi and Cusnu. Their aristocratic faces are sculpted lines of sharp cheekbones and square jaws in the sunlight and high chandeliers. Flawless shades of skin range from Bran’s creme coloring to Cusnu’s tawny hue. Renvi, by far, is the richest contrast with his pale honey skin and dark, nearly midnight plait.
Bran’s flaxen hair is like spun gold and purer than my own honey strands. All the High Lords are dressed in resplendent tunics of silk and pearl, with crisp slacks over low suede boots. In comparison, the guards are almost shiny in their falnaq. The Fae fighting leathers are riddled with buckles and numerous blades, and each skin tight jacket is dyed to represent their Lord’s colors.
But where the guards are carved from toned muscle, their lords are willowy and lithe. Graceful.
Jarrah adjusts his lapels across from me, his keen gaze fixed out the hotel window. Bran’s lead guard remains quiet, studious. And ever weary of attack. Even so high up.
Wena leans over the counter between us, her dark hair styled atop her head in a river of curls. In her sapphire-blue gown, she looks like a dancer with her lean limbs and soft curves. “They are so calm,” she mutters to me. I follow her line of sight to Bran and the others.
“They are High Lords, Wena. They should be calm in all things.” I am careful not to smile. To not betray my emotion. But Wena being allowed to come with us is still causing euphoric trembles. It’s nice to have my friend with me.
I can feel her eyes on the side of my face. Her focus. “We are in a hotel, Amoret. Now miles from the Sith. This is exciting. How canyoube so calm?” she demands, a note of contagious joy filling her tone.
My hands smooth my skirt, the soft lilac material a pale comparison to my eyes. “The Council chose us to oversee a trial, Wena. Not attend a ball or banquet,” I chide. “We have to go into this with a level head to be fair. Just.”
She huffs and my lips tremor.
Despite my outward calm, my insides are knotting over and over. This is the farthest I have ever been from the Sith, and I count myself as lucky indeed that Bran chose me to accompany him of all the court members available.
His pale lilac eyes meet mine, as though sensing my focus. The triple lines of color are a dead giveaway for his station, his nobility. I offer him a smile. He dips his head in a mild bow before returning his focus to Renvi and Cusnu. Wena shivers next to me.
“Tis so unfair, Amoret,” she murmurs under her breath. “Bran is the fairest under the Sith. And yet, he is your brother.”
My lips spread into a gentle smile. “Bran is fair in all things. Not merely looks.”
And he is. There has never been a more noble High Lord. One as generous or as kind.
“I heard there is a Fae male at the vampire house,” Wena says after another moment.
My attention shifts to her, curiosity piqued. “I have never heard of a Fae working beneath a vampire,” I mutter.
Vampires are primal. Like the beastkin. But at least the shifter folk feel more alive.
For a Fae to subjugate himself to a vampire …
I shift behind the counter, skin tingling. “That sounds … heinous.”
Jarrah moves closer, his silvery eyes darkened to storm clouds as they scour my face. Intense, focused storm clouds. “Though perhaps they have not tainted him over much. It would do well for Lord Branwen to have an ally on the inside.”
A robust knock sounds from the entryway, and he jerks upright, releasing me from his attention. He snaps and the guards advance toward the doorway as Wena urges me over to the others. Bran extends a hand and I sit at his side.
There are murmured voices from the doorway a moment before Jarrah reappears, his expression blank as he bows. “My lords, may I present Councilman Zach Ralf of the Lock Lake government.”
The guards walk back into view, an unfamiliar male between them.
Bran rises to his feet. “Councilman.”
