“Sitri,” I groan. “I don’t even like for people to see my face.”
“I know, but you have. It’s not so different than that, really.”
“What even is the point of that?Sky-clad?” I spit in disgust.
“Many of our rituals are sky-clad. It’s tradition. Puts everyone on equal standing and magnifies our connection with nature.”
“Witches,” I scoff. I glance over at him to see him fighting back a smile. I halt in my path. “You think this is funny!”
“No, I don’t.” He wipes at his grin, smoothing the corners of his mouth. “Only a little because you are so uptight,” he admits.
“I am not!” He gives me a pointed look. “Just because I don’t want to gonakedin front of a bunch of strangers that would prefer to see me dead doesn’t mean—it just doesn’t bother you because you’re—you’re—“ My eyes flick down his large form and his already raised brows inch even higher up his forehead.
“Insanely good-looking?”
“Because you’re arrogant!” I snarl. “And you’re not a nought sent here to be a punishment.” That last word comes out little more than a whisper as my throat tightens. I turn on my heel and storm down the hall.
“Pet,” he calls after me, jogging to catch up. “Pandora.” I ignore him, and he sweeps in front of me. “I’m sorry. You know I wouldn’t make you go to this if I didn’t have to.”
Those words are only salt to my wound. Of course, he wouldn’t. He’d rather not be seen with me. “Very aware, Sitri.”
His eyes flare in surprise, which only annoys me further. “It’s not like you’ll know any of these people.”
“I know you!” I choke out.
He smirks down at me. “Yes, you know me. But it’s just me,” he says with a shrug.
“It’s notjust you. It isyou,and I don’t wantyou…“
“Seeing you?”
“Exactly!”
He blinks, gaze searching as he looks me up and down. His brows go up, crumple, and rise again as he squints. “Don’t you?”
“No! I do not!”
He clutches at the back of his neck and frowns at the wall. “Well, I mean, I could not look at you…but that’d hardly be fair,” he says begrudgingly.
“What!” I squawk.
“If everyone else got to see you before I--” Each grumbled word grows quieter and less confident until he breaks off completely.
My temper surges. “Oh, you think youdeserveto see me?”
He lifts a palm, shoulders shrinking. “More than they do.”
“You’re unbelievable.” He’s wise enough not to stop me this time as I step around him. Wise enough not to speak at all as he mirrors me in sulking into his wine glass.
I’ve downed three glasses before I finally work up the nerve to ask, “What exactly does this ritual entail?”
When he speaks, his words are void of emotion. “The Priestess will offer us henbane. You’ll take it and throw it in the fire for your offering. That’s it.”
“We both have to?” He nods. “And, what’s the point of burning henbane?”
He sucks in a deep breath, shifting in his stool. “Burning henbane on the eve of Beltane is a ceremony our ancestors have been performing for hundreds of years. The henbane is meant to call you to the person that’s best suited to produce you the most powerful heirs.”
My eyes widen. “The magic calls you to someone, and then you…” I reiterate, making sure I have the right of it.
