One
Stardust Night at the Grand Cru meant two things—Everinne Auvyre was going to be covered in iridescent glitter before the night was over, and she was going to find a male to warm her bed.
Lucky for her, the options were endless.
The Grand Cru was alive, pulsing with magic and extravagance. It was one of the most dazzling parlors in Starysa, Prava’s capital city, where immortals and mortals alike would gather to dance and drink their cares away. Violet and navy blue lights swirled overhead, bouncing off the decadent crystal chandeliers like shattered starbursts and casting the packed dance floor in an ethereal glow. Spiral staircases rose on either side of the massive space, leading to soaring balconies, safely tucking away the exclusive lounges where one might attempt to sell their soul for a peek inside one of the premier rooms. Not that Everinne had ever tried. She knew how to have a good time, and it never involved mingling with the city’s elite.
A mahogany bar wound itself along the outer walls of the club, offering some of the finest indulgences. Anything from shimmering alcohol and candied cherry shots to frothy ale and bottles of sparkling wine that cost more than her most expensivepair of shoes. But the shining star of the Grand Cru was its ceiling. A splendid glass dome stretched over the entire interior, showcasing the dazzling night sky and winter’s first crescent moon.
Her fae blood hummed in response.
“Everinne!”
She spun at the sound of her name being called above the blaring music and spied Zoryana Daleth moving through the crush of bodies toward her. Zoryana was Everinne’s best, and quite possibly only, friend. Her long brown hair fell in tiny spirals around her, and she’d clipped half of it back to showcase the navy beaded earrings dangling from her ears. She wore a short satin dress that spilled around her like liquid gold, setting off the rich bronze of her skin, and a pair of spiky black boots came all the way up to her knees.
“Zory!” Everinne squeezed through the crowd of dancers and reached with one arm, finally grabbing her friend’s hand.
Zoryana pulled her in close, and though they were pressed against one another, she still had to shout to be heard. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the palace tonight?”
Everinne groaned. The last place she wanted to be was at the damn palace. It didn’t matter if it was a sprawling castle with hundreds of rooms, had a pool the size of a small lake, or was situated on a lush cliffside and offered some of the most stunning ocean views of the Ladova Bay. The imperial palace of Prava was cold. Forbidding. Charged with a kind of strained tension that made her skin crawl with unease. She hated the way she always felt like she was being watched, like the walls whispered whenever she walked past their obsidian surfaces.
Veros, her older brother, had requested her attendance there tonight, and though she initially agreed, she had no intention of going. Being surrounded by haughty nobles and other excessively wealthy members of society might sound likea dream to some, but to Everinne it sounded like torture. There was nothing worse than being surrounded by those who thought the world of themselves and enjoyed spreading malicious gossip.
If that wasn’t bad enough, she would be forced to play nice with Atlas Skye, the Imperial Prince of Prava.
No, she would much prefer to be here, where the thrumming music and swaying bodies kept the chaos of her emotions locked away.
“The palace is overrated.” She gave a flippant shrug, then swayed her hips to the rhythm pumping around them. Already, beads of sweat gathered at the back of her neck as the swarm of dancing bodies pitched to a frenzy.
Zoryana plucked two glasses of spiced wine from the tray of a passing server, and when he flicked her a look of disapproval, she smiled sweetly, then tucked a gold piece into the front pocket of his shirt.
There was the faintest current of power, coupled with the teasing scent of sage and juniper. The server’s brows furrowed, then smoothed, as though he hadn’t considered scolding her. “At your service all night,milazk.”
That was the purely fantastic thing about Zoryana’s witch magic—she absorbed emotions. The kind no one liked to feel, the types rarely ever spoken about or expressed calmly. Anger. Grief. Jealousy. Hate. The heavy, damaging ones that darkened souls and blackened hearts.
Zoryana turned back to Everinne and handed her a glass. “Dravska.”
Everinne clinked her glass against Zoryana’s, then smiled. “Dravska.”
“You know,” Zoryana drawled, swirling her drink, “Veros is going to be furious you didn’t go tonight.”
At that, Everinne downed the contents of her spiced wine. It was a drink only served when the chill of winter replaced thejewels of autumn and was meant to be savored. But she refused to let talk of always disappointing her brother sour her mood, and the warmth of the wine helped ease the thought of knowing she’d face another lecture tomorrow.
“He’ll get over it.” She shoved her dark hair back from her face, wishing she’d worn it up instead of down. “He always does.”
“Yes,” Zoryana began, tilting her head in that way she did whenever she was trying to make Everinne see reason. “But Veros?—”
“No more talk tonight of how I constantly fail to meet my brother’s expectations.” Everinne grabbed Zoryana’s free hand, luring her further into the swell of dancers. “Let’s dance before the stardust falls.”
Everinne couldn’t be sure, but she could’ve sworn she heard her friend sigh.
Suspended above them, looking as though they were floating in the moonlit sky, were sparkling chandeliers dripping with star-shaped crystals and stained-glass moons. The violet and blue lights darted all over the nightclub, flashing in time with the music and splintering through the stars and moons like dozens of prisms. Any moment now, stardust would fall from the glass ceiling like rain and cover anyone on the dance floor in iridescent glitter.
It was one of Everinne’s favorite themed nights at the Grand Cru and she’d specifically dressed for the occasion, despite the chilly temperature outside. Her dress was entirely too short, but she didn’t care, it was lavender, strapless, and covered in dozens of silver beads. Hanging from her neck was a silver chain with a round black diamond pendant and a dark gray leather choker studded with polished amethysts. The thin, ice-pick heels she wore pinched her toes, and she knew she’d have blisters in the morning, but she ignored the dull ache in favor of dancing. Shelet the tempo overtake her, throwing her arms up over her head so the stack of silver bangles tumbled down her wrists like a sparkling waterfall.
Every so often, a phantom hand would caress her stomach or hip. She brushed it off on the fact that the Grand Cru was absolutely packed and there was no other way to make it through the crowded dance floor without accidentally touching someone within a five-inch proximity of their personal space. But if a male lingered a little too long with a touch, she simply cut them down with a glare and usually they were smart enough to back off. At least the mortal men could take a hint. Immortals, on the other hand, took a bit more convincing. Mostly by force.
Unfortunately for one unlucky male in particular, Everinne wasn’t in the mood to be groped.
