The moment Diana entered the gala, the temperature in the room shifted.
Not physically—no visible gust of wind, no dramatic swirl of ice magic or fae wind—but somehow, the ambient magic bent in her direction. Like a collective inhale. A single heartbeat of stillness before the crush.
She wore silver.
Of course she did.
It clung to her like moonlight and made her skin glow with that too-perfect quality reserved for paintings, prophecies, and girls who ruined everything without ever meaning to. Her blonde hair had been braided with fine crystal thread, and someone had dressed her like a fae bride walking into the arms of fate itself.
I saw her eyes scan the crowd—curious, bright, hopeful.
That was the worst part.
Hope looked so stupid on her.
I stood at the edge of the ballroom, half-shadowed by an opalescent pillar carved with sigils older than Atlantis, a glass of enchanted water in my hand and a slow burn rising in my chest. The crowd was already shifting, angling toward her like flowers to the sun. The fae were whispering. The vampires were watching. Someone on the Council's security detail tapped their communicator twice.
Here we go.
Her gaze landed on Laziel.
He stepped forward.
I moved.
Before she could take more than two steps toward him, I slid out of the shadow, intercepting with the grace of someone who had absolutely no interest in subtlety anymore.
"Gray!" she gasped, beaming like I wasn't the magical equivalent of a rusty scalpel about to ruin her life.
"Hi, sunshine," I said tightly, taking her arm.
"You came!" she chirped. "I didn't think you'd—"
"Yep. Let's chat."
I turned her bodily and began steering her away from Laziel and into a side corridor lined with ornamental relics. A pair of guards raised eyebrows at us, but no one dared interfere.
"You look amazing," she said, a little breathless. "I mean, really. I didn't know you owned silver eyeliner."
"I summoned it. From the bowels of hell."
She giggled. "Are you being nice?"
"No. I'm being sarcastic with contour."
We passed under a carved archway marked with warding symbols. Once inside, I released her and spun to face her, arms folded.
"Listen carefully. That man over there—Laziel—he is not your friend, not your soulmate, not your magical destiny. He is a walking complication with ears."
Diana blinked. "You mean the Twilight Prince? I've heard stories! He looks sad."
"Yes. That's his entire personality. Tragic poems and bone structure."
She hesitated. "Gray, why are you acting like this?"
I swallowed.
How could I explain? That I'd lived a thousand years with the fallout of her mistakes? That I'd seen her break things she didn't understand, then cry as the world burned? That I'd buried her more times than she could imagine?
I softened my voice. "Because I'm trying to protect you."
Her expression changed, something raw surfacing. "You always say that. But you never tell me what from."
"The consequences."
"Of love?" she asked.
Of destruction. Of prophecy. Of being the Beloved.
But I couldn't say that. Not here. Not now.
So instead I said, "Of stupid decisions made in ballrooms."
Diana exhaled, folding her arms to mirror me. "I'm not an idiot."
"No," I agreed. "You're just the kind of person fate likes to use as a hammer."
She scowled. "This is about the aunts, isn't it?"
"This is about everything."
A door opened behind us. Laziel.
Of course.
"Lady Diana," he said, voice like velvet sorrow. "Forgive the interruption."
She turned, light practically radiating off her in waves.
I nearly snarled.
Then something unexpected happened.
Laziel looked at me.
And paused.
His eyes narrowed, not in suspicion—but recognition.
"You," he murmured. "From before…"
Oh, hell.
My glamour flickered. Just for a second. Just enough.
Diana glanced between us. "You've met?"
"No," I said too quickly.
"Yes," he said, more softly. "In the courtyard of the Fallen Garden. You were holding an obsidian blade."
"Must've been someone else. I don't garden. I have allergies."
Laziel stepped forward. "You interfered."
"No, no, I accessorized."
His aura curled forward like smoke reaching for something it remembered. The silk ribbon charm was still in place, glowing faintly in his coat.
Diana, of course, sensed none of this.
"She's overprotective," she said with a smile. "But kind."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" I muttered.
Laziel's eyes didn't leave me. "You are dangerous."
"I've been told," I replied. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go hyperventilate into a cursed napkin."
I pivoted and walked away without looking back.
Laziel wouldn't try to spark the bond tonight—not now. The delay spell was working, and more importantly, he knew I was watching.
Laziel's eyes didn't leave me. "You are dangerous."
I tilted my head slightly, as if amused. "Then let me do you a favor, prince-to-someone's-tragedy. Three things. Free of charge."
He arched a brow, but didn't interrupt.
"One—if you think the Court of Whispers is quiet because they trust you, you've already lost the game."
His brow tightened, just slightly.
"Two—don't drink anything with silverleaf in it. Not tonight. There's a reason your aura's pulsing off-key, and it's not love. Someone's nudging fate harder than you realize."
A flicker of real confusion passed behind his eyes.
"Three—if you value your crown, your magic, or your extraordinarily pouty lips, you stand grounded tonight. Don't test me, Laziel. You might not like what I become when pushed."
His gaze turned cold—but not in a threatening way. It was calculating now. Like he'd been handed a puzzle and didn't like how many pieces were missing.
I leaned forward just enough to lower my voice into a whisper that only he could hear. "This isn't about you. You were a footnote last time. Try to be less than that."
And before he could answer, I spun on my heel and looped my arm through Diana's.
"Come on, sparkles. Let's get a drink before you accidentally break the timeline."
Diana followed, blinking in confusion. "Gray—what did you say to him?"
"Nothing. Just some skincare tips."
"He looked like he wanted to kill you."
"Most people do once they realize I'm immune to their nonsense."
I guided her smoothly through the crush of overdressed immortals and arrogant sorcerers until we reached the far end of the ballroom—specifically, the bar. Tucked just beneath a curtain of golden ivy, it was the least romantic part of the room, manned by a tired-looking dryad in a black tux and an eyepatch.
Perfect.
Neutral zone. Low visibility. Minimal bond-triggering ambiance.
The dryad gave me a faint nod of recognition. We'd worked a vampire wedding together once that had ended in a duel and three broken chalices. Good times.
"I'll take something strong, bitter, and full of regret," I said.
He slid me a glass filled with a dark blue concoction that shimmered like disappointment.
Diana ordered something fruity with sparkles.
Of course she did.
She leaned against the counter and looked at me sideways. "He's not evil, you know. Laziel."
"He's not good either," I said, sipping my drink. "He's a chess piece wrapped in a poem. And he doesn't even know whose board he's on."
Diana sighed. "You think everyone's a threat."
"Only the ones that glow."
I glanced back toward the crowd. Laziel had retreated, but his gaze lingered on us, cautious now.
Good. He was learning.
I turned to the bar and rapped my knuckles once on the wood, catching the dryad's attention. "Two drinks," I said. "One for me—dry, bitter, something that says 'I've survived a civil war and still do my own taxes.' And one for my cousin—light, sparkling, and irresponsibly optimistic."
The dryad blinked his one good eye, nodded, and went to work.
"I can order for myself, you know," Diana said beside me, arms folded but smiling.
"Sure, but then you'd end up drinking something sweet and aphrodisiac-laced, and we're already on borrowed time."
"Gray—"
"Nope. My tab. My rules. No drinks that might trigger soulbonds, visions, or regrettable poetry."
The dryad returned a moment later and set down two glasses.
Mine was a moody indigo cocktail served in a sharp-edged tumbler, rim salted with something I didn't ask about. Hers was a frothy pink thing that sparkled and popped softly, like a love spell with stage fright.
Diana picked hers up carefully, eyeing it with delight. "This smells like strawberries and starlight."
"It'll keep your aura neutral for the next hour," I said, sipping mine. "You can flirt without triggering destiny. You're welcome."
She blinked. "You tampered with the drink?"
"I fortified it. There's a difference."
"Is this what protection looks like now? Sabotaged beverages?"
I raised my glass. "Cheers to harmless sabotage."
Diana rolled her eyes, clinked her glass against mine, and took a sip.
For now, she was safe. For now, the path hadn't forked.
But the weight in the air shifted again—subtle, electrical. Like the scent of ozone right before a lightning strike.
I knew that feeling.
Malek had arrived.