Gawain landed a punch to Dorian’s face that snapped the bigger fae’s head back. Blood sprayed from Dorian’s nose, splattered across the pale stone. A gasp rippled through the watching crowd. Before Gawain could scramble away, Dorian roared and was back on him.
“Dorian tried to kill him,” Faun said. “For what Gawain did to his family.”
I didn’t take my eyes off the fight. “His family?” I only knew of the cottage, his mother, the tunnel out into the forest.What happened to his mother?
Dorian’s hands found Gawain’s throat. He squeezed, and Gawain’s face went red, then purple, his fingers clawing uselessly at Dorian’s wrists.
“Stop him,” someone shouted. “He’ll kill him?—”
The world disappeared in a flash of light.
I squeezed my eyes closed, dropped my knife. I thrust my hands against my face before I realized they were in motion. I tried forcing my lids open, but the fucking sun might as well have risen right here in this ballroom.
“Release him, Unseelie.” Theia’s voice, deep and lethal. “Release him or I’ll whip your hands from your wrists.”
“Do it, Dorian.” Faun’s voice nearly broke on the words.
A beat. Then a noise erupted through the ballroom—a snarl that became a roar. Dorian. That was followed by the thud of bodies separating. A ragged gasp—Gawain, drawing air.
“Get him up,” Theia said. “Bind him.”
I couldn’t open my eyes against the light. My hand went out to Faun, and she gripped it and squeezed. “He’s okay,” her quiet voice said near my ear. “Dorian’s okay.”
It was the softest thing she’d ever said to me.
Footsteps sounded. Rustling, and Dorian’s faint grunt. Murmurs from the crowd—shock, excitement, scandal.
The light began to fade, and finally my eyes opened. Dorian stood awash in solaire, his form barely a shadow within it. Two handmaidens flanked his tall frame, golden ropes of magic binding his wrists behind his back. Gawain knelt on the marble, one hand at his throat, blood dripping from his face onto his golden suit.
The ballroom was a ruin of overturned chairs and scattered masks. Every eye was on us.
“Explain yourself.” Theia’s voice carried through the silent room. “All of Highmark is watching, Unseelie. Make it good.”
“He’s Maeronyx’s spymaster,” Dorian rasped. “He was going to kill Eurydice.”
I stared, heart thudding.
“What’s your proof?” Gawain straightened slowly, his voice a croak. “Oh, right. You have none.”
Dorian lunged against his bindings, and the handmaidens’ light flared brighter. He stilled, but his eyes stayed fixed on Gawain. He’d murder him even now, if he could.
Dorian’s face was covered in blood; it dripped off his chin onto the pristine floor. Around us, the cream of Feyreign’s courts watched in horrified silence. Iseris’s pink curls peeked from the edge of the crowd. Somewhere behind her, I knew Maeronyx watched too.
This would be the talk of every court by morning. Eurydice’sveyre, out of control.
“The mirror wraith was your doing,” Dorian spat.
“You did always jump to conclusions,” Gawain said. “And fists.”
Theia yanked on Dorian’s bindings. “Charming. Both of you.” She jerked him toward the door. “Move.”
“Wait.” I stepped forward. “Where are you taking him?”
Theia seemed to see me for the first time. “The dungeon, Your Grace.” Her tone found some of its former reverence, but not all. “We don’t treat with violence before the Dawnmaker.”
Liora stood only a few paces away, her face unreadable. She’d been there the whole time—watching. She met my eyes, then inclined her head a fraction.
Not to me. To Theia.