At least I can pretend that something is actually going to go right for me, for once in my life.
Chapter
Two
SELENE
The pumpkin carving station looks perfect. Every knife, every scoop, every carving tool is arranged in neat rows across the long tables. Orange and black streamers twist overhead, interspersed with the ghost decorations that seem to perplex so many of the alien guests. I’ve done three final supply checks in the last twenty minutes.
My hands won’t stop moving, adjusting a knife here, straightening a pumpkin there. Everything has to be just right. Controlled. Predictable.
“Excuse me, Selene?”
I turn to find Ambassador Thex’nar looming over me. The Ix’thari stands nearly seven feet tall, his body vaguely humanoid in shape but composed entirely of what looks like living crystal. His skin—if you can call it that—resembles polished stone, a deep slate-gray that catches the orange lights and refracts them in sharp angles. Deep crevices carve across his surface like the weathered face of a cliff, giving him the appearance of an ancient golem brought to life.
He moves with deliberate slowness, each gesture measured and ponderous, as if his crystalline form requires extra time to shift. His hands, at least, are properly formed—five fingers each,though they look carved from the same unyielding material as the rest of him.
But it’s his eyes that make my skin crawl. Multifaceted like a bug’s, they fracture the light into hundreds of tiny reflections. I can never tell where he’s actually looking, can never meet his gaze without a shiver running down my spine. No expression crosses those angular features—there never is.
I’ve been dealing with the Ix’thari diplomat all week, and I still can’t read a single thought behind those disturbing, insectoid eyes.
“Ambassador.” I keep my voice professional, pleasant, forcing myself not to look away. “How can I help you?”
“The schedule indicates pumpkin carving begins in fifteen minutes, yet I see no designated seating arrangements.” His tone is as flat and unyielding as his stone-like exterior, impossible to interpret. Is he annoyed? Curious? Making a demand?
My stomach tightens. I can’t tell what he wants, what he’s really asking. The familiar shiver creeps up my spine.
“We designed this activity to be informal,” I explain carefully. “Guests can choose where they’d like to sit?—”
“Choice without structure breeds chaos.” He tilts his head, the movement eerily mechanical. “I require assigned seating. Preferably at the head position.”
I open my mouth, searching for a diplomatic response that won’t offend.
“Ambassador Thex’nar!” Elana’s voice rings out, warm and confident as she sweeps up to us. Her smile could charm a stone statue. “I was hoping to catch you. Prince Rist specifically requested your presence at the VIP table for the haunted house tour later. Would you have a moment to discuss the arrangements?”
The ambassador’s attention shifts immediately. “Prince Rist requested my presence specifically?”
“Oh yes.” Elana links her arm through his with practiced ease, already guiding him away. “He’s very interested in your thoughts on the situation in…”
Their voices fade as Elana smoothly redirects the crystalline diplomat toward the far side of the room. She glances back at me, giving me a subtle wink.
I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
A moment later, Elana returns, squeezing my shoulder. Elana—the woman who’d orchestrated our rescue from the trafficking ship, who’d somehow convinced an ex-assassin prince to help save a dozen abducted human women he’d never met. Her pale skin flushes slightly from the exertion of managing the event, and there’s a smudge of orange on her cheek that suggests she’s already been elbow-deep in pumpkin guts herself.
She’s one of the few people I trust completely. She’s earned it.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the rescue.”
“Anytime.” Elana surveys the perfectly organized station, then looks back at me with that knowing expression she gets sometimes. “You know, Charlotte, Zoe, and I all had a blast carving pumpkins yesterday. The other girls have had fun too. You deserve some time off as well.”
The words hit me unexpectedly hard. When was the last time I actually participated in one of these events instead of just organizing them? When was the last time I did something just for fun, without a checklist or a job to complete?
After everything that’s happened, it doesn’t feel right to just go off and have fun. Running the events… it lets me focus on what everyone is doing, keeping us all safe.
“I should probably supervise?—”
