Asher’s fierce loyalty was a thing to study. The mont Lila explained the spell, he stepped forward without blinking.
"Do it on first," he said. "If I’m fine after breakfast with the queen, the others can take it."
Violet opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her a look that said this wasn’t up for debate. She closed it again, squeezing his hand instead. He squeezed back with assurance.
To be honest, Asher expected they would invite so priest and that it involved so ritual, you know, witch style.
Instead, Lila only moved closer, "Hold still," she said.
Then she breathed a string of soft, old words against his skin. A small prickle ran under Asher’s flesh, as if a veil brushed him from crown to heel. The hairs on his arms stood on edge, then settled. Just like that, the tingling faded like the after-spark of a touch.
"That’s it?" he asked, stunned. He had been looking forward to a little pain.
"That’s it," Lila said. "It should blunt glamour, shield you from charms, and let your body accept our food. If anything feels wrong, tell imdiately."
"It won’t," Violet hoped to the gods. Still, her eyes stayed on Asher, searching his face for any sign of discomfort.
He rolled his shoulders once. "I’m good."
"Good. Let’s go."
Griffin and Alaric stayed behind to babysit Roman—and really, to babysit each other—while Roman paid a very noisy price for pixie nectar.
Asher and Violet took the central corridor with Lila and Rhara leading the way, vines stirring along the walls as if gossiping about their passing.
They were brought into the breakfast hall, and it felt like walking into morning itself.
The room was long and bright, set beneath a dod ceiling laced with trailing ivy and thin panes of colored glass. Sunlight broke through the glass in soft strips, painting the floor in blues and greens.
The floor was smooth stone, but warm underfoot, and tables curved along either side in elegant arcs instead of harsh lines—Fae didn’t like straight things, apparently—and each table was draped in cloth that looked like it was woven from mist.
At the head, on a dais of pale wood, stood a narrow, graceful table. Queen Seraphira rose from it the instant she saw them.
"Daughter," she called out.
Violet’s breath caught.
The queen looked effortless, as always, wearing a gown the color of riverlight, and a golden circlet on her head that marked her place.
Her long, braided hair fell like a banner down her back. She crossed the space between them with a pace that seed slow and yet arrived all at once, taking Violet’s hands in both of hers, her eyes shining with delight.
"Mother," Violet said the na with less effort than yesterday.
Queen Seraphira lifted her gaze to Asher. "Alpha Asher," she greeted with a soft smile that didn’t pretend.
Asher was taken aback by the respect in her tone. Since arriving here, all he’d been called was beast, as if he were so lesser creature. Maybe the queen was different.
No. He caught himself. She wouldn’t win him over that easily.
So he dipped his chin respectfully, but not submissive. "Your Majesty."
"Co," the queen said, gesturing to the head table. "Let’s eat and talk."
Violet kept Asher’s fingers tangled in hers as they climbed the short steps. When they reached the dais, they all sat together with Violet between them.
"I heard about the incident last night," the queen began. "I’m sorry your first hours here were troubled."
Asher didn’t sugarcoat. "For a princess of a realm, the pixies do not show much respect to your daughter."
"Free Fae aren’t open to outsiders. They aren’t open to most things," Queen Seraphira said, honest as a cut. "In ti, they’ll warm to her. To you all."
Violet exhaled, so thread in her chest loosening. "I’ll hold you to that."
The hall soon was filled with activity. Servants entered with platters of food, each one stranger and more beautiful than the last.
Bowls of thick cream swirled with honey. Trays of sliced fruits Violet knew—peaches, figs, berries—and fruits she didn’t, with skins like glass and soft, sweet steam when cut.
There were herbs with dew still clinging to them, roots roasted until their sugars sang, and round loaves whose crusts cracked to reveal tender, fragrant crumb. A carafe poured milk that sparkled like late dew; another poured sothing pale green that slled of mint and pear.
And then there were thin, seared slices of at with a dark glaze, set beside bowls of jewel-bright compotes.
Asher’s brows lifted. "I didn’t think Fae eat at."
"So do," Seraphira said, breaking a loaf and setting a torn piece onto Violet’s plate. "So are vegetarian. So are of the stricter path. We are many, not one. We argue about it at tables like this, too."
Asher picked up a slice of the seared at between his thumb and forefinger. "Seems odd. The people who live as one with nature, killing others for their plates."
Yes, he wasn’t trying to be polite; he was trying to see what lived behind her eyes.
Queen Seraphira t that challenge without flinching. "Order must be kept," she said. "We don’t hunt for sport. We don’t waste. And we don’t murder. When it is needed, the animals are offered, and they are sent with calm and prayers. Death is not a stranger here. We treat it like truth, not entertainnt."
"So," Asher said, tasting the edge in his own voice, "You all are gentle killers."
Across the table, Violet coughed into her cup, the sound thin and awkward. She shot Asher a warning look. Please don’t start a fight over breakfast.
Seraphira didn’t bristle. She laughed lightly, not a stitch of poison in it.
"If that is the na you choose," she said, amusent in her tone. "You have doubts about , Asher Nightshade. That’s wise. But do not doubt this: all I do now, I do for the safety of my daughter."
Of course, Asher didn’t buy that. Henry had also claid to do what was best for him — while breaking him in the process.
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