Becka sighed, wishing she’d had more time to let the pain in her head subside. “Well, I knew it couldn’t last.” She downed half her drink, and then turned to go down the stairs.
Saige and Luce stood against the wall to let her pass, careful not to brush against the ruffles in Becka’s ornate deep-indigo ombre dress. Hers was likely the only outfit in the room which wasn’t enchanted in some manner. Except for the shifters who wore tailored, fitted pants with matching shirts in brown tones, which was about as formal as she supposed Vott could talk them into being.
Wolf shifters were anything but typical guards for a fae. Humans? Sure, she’d seen that plenty back in the city. But these wolves were loyal to Vott for reasons she didn’t yet understand. Vott had assigned them to Becka after the Shadow-Dweller attack three months ago, neither asking her opinion nor permission, but she’d been grateful for the protection.
Her attire for this event had been delivered an hour in advance of the festivities with a note from Maura. “I know this isn’t your style, but it’s befitting a lady of your station.” Surely the sheer volume of ruffles paired with the circumference of the skirts might be considered a war crime. But she’d appreciated the indigo hues and was determined to win over at least one dignitary, so she’d relented and donned the dress.
“Could you two teach me to be stealthier? I never hear you coming unless you want me to,” Becka asked.
Luce barked out a laugh. “You can’t learn the innate gifts of shifters. Besides, we don’t need to encourage your sneakiness.”
“Not to mention,” Saige replied, the two following her down the stairs, “there’s no way to sneak about in that dress.”
Said the women who moved with the lithe grace of hunters. Becka figured they’d be graceful and silent no matter what they wore.
Becka turned to Luce. “I know why I answer Vott’s call, but why do you go when Vott calls you?”
“That’s a long story, and it’s not mine to tell,” Luce replied.
Becka opened her mouth to ask more, but Luce had that determined look in her eye, the one that brooked no argument.
Her feet hit the marble floor of the Great Hall, and while she’d snuck away without notice, her return was the subject of scrutiny. Becka downed the rest of her drink, loving the spicy zing of the hot sauce, and then placed her glass on a nearby tray.
House Rowan hosted the annual regional trade delegation, which drew emissaries from not only all the nearby houses but even ones from farther-flung territories. The group wasn’t as large or diverse as those who had shown up for Tesse’s wedding and then stayed for her subsequent funeral. Those few months ago, none of the houses had wanted to miss the grand affair of the heir of House Rowan’s nuptials. Now, the attendees were bent on more pedestrian matters.
Maura had been busy the past couple of weeks preparing to receive the delegations. House Rowan had made space for all the attendees at the manor, as most planned to stay a few days. After losing Tesse, Maura’s concern had turned to strengthening Rowan’s relationships with the other houses. She’d confided to Becka that, with the Shadow-Dwellers being a menace, they needed all the allies they could muster for the days ahead.
The Great Hall was full enough that Becka had to thread her way carefully through the crowd, heading for Vott at the far end of the hall. The last thing she wanted was to run into someone, and their magic, sparking another round of headaches for herself.
A tall, imposing man with deep creases around his eyes moved into her path, and Becka rocked back on her heels, eager to avoid running into him.
“Lady Becka,” he intoned, bowing his head for a moment. “‘Tis an honor to see you again.”
Becka pursed her lips. Who was he again? “Oh, Elder Berkeley of… House Birch.” She remembered him from those who attended her sister’s funeral. “It’s nice to see you again too.”
He gave her another quick incline of his head, assuring her she’d gotten his name right. “This is a more fortuitous time for an introduction. How have you found your return to House Rowan?” The glint in his eyes was filled with rapt interest.
Is he being sarcastic? Becka doubted it, but at the speed of fae gossip, no doubt most had heard things hadn’t gone smoothly. “The past three months have been a challenge, but I’m sure life at the manor will get easier over time.”
“Oh, has it been that long now?” His brows rose, although surely, he could count the time that had passed as well as she could. “I suppose I will receive an invitation to your upcoming nuptials any day now?”
Oh, hells no, not if I can help it!
Becka’s breath hitched in the back of her throat, while she searched for the right words. “You’re always welcome at House Rowan’s festivities.”
“Hmm,” he replied, but he didn’t call her out for dodging the question. “I assume the duchess will be sending you to us for fertility treatments?”
Becka recalled Berkeley’s generous offer of fertility treatments to Maura for her house, but the thought of using one herself gave her a shudder.
“Oh no, I’m not getting knocked up!” Becka blurted out a little too loud.
There were a few raised brows around her. It was as if she could see others’ pointed ears twitch toward their conversation.
“Knocked up?” he asked. “Whatever do you mean?”
Becka pinched the bridge of her nose with her
