House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2) by Sarah J. Maas

Hypaxia Enador was as beautiful as he remembered: luxurious, dark hair falling in soft curls down to her slim waist; brown skin that glowed as if moonlight ran beneath it; large, dark eyes that noticed too much. Her mouth, full and inviting, parted in a lovely smile as she stepped into the foyer.

The witch touched a knot in the wood on her broom. It was a stunning piece of art: every inch of its handle carved with intricate designs of clouds and flowers and stars, each twig in the base carved as well and bound together with golden thread.

But with the touch on that knot, the broom vanished.

No, it shrank. Into a golden brooch of Cthona, the earth goddess ripe with child. Hypaxia pinned the brooch onto the shoulder of her gauzy blue robes and said, “A convenient bit of witch-magic. I found that carrying a broom around the city is … cumbersome. And attracts the notice of many. Especially a broom such as mine.”

“That is … really fucking cool,” Ruhn admitted.

She began to answer, but her eyes slid to the dragon sitting at the foot of the stairs, and she stopped. She blinked once before turning to Ruhn. “A friend?”

“Yeah,” Ruhn lied, and then Flynn and Declan and Ithan were there, sprites in tow, gawking at the queen.

Ithan cleared his throat, likely at the stunning beauty of the witch.

Ruhn hadn’t been much better when he’d first seen her. Yet she’d hardly given him the time of day at the Summit. Even if she’d helped out majorly during the shit that had gone down in this city. Had been willing to fly here to help save its citizens—and Bryce.

Ruhn straightened, remembering himself. That he was a prince, and owed her the respect due to her rank. He bowed deeply. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”

Flynn smirked, and Ruhn threw him a warning glare as he rose. “Allow me to introduce my … companions. Tristan Flynn, Lord Hawthorne.” Flynn sketched an irreverent bow—a mockery of the one Ruhn had made. “Declan Emmet, super-genius.” Dec grinned, bowing with more gravitas. They’d both been at the Summit when Ruhn had formally met Hypaxia—as a queen, and not the medwitch he’d believed her to be—but had never officially been presented to her. “Ithan Holstrom … wolf,” Ruhn continued. Ithan gave him a look as if to say, Really, asshole? But Ruhn moved on to the sprites, the dragon. “And, uh, our guests.”

Hypaxia gave the dragon another wary glance. Flynn stepped forward, slinging an arm around Hypaxia’s shoulders. “Welcome. Let’s talk about all those times Ruhn tried to talk to you at the Summit and you ignored him.”

Declan chuckled, taking up a position at Hypaxia’s other side. She furrowed her brow, as if the two males spoke another language entirely.

The queen seemed to note the details of his house as she was escorted to the sectional. His disgusting, beer-soaked house. Solas, a half-smoked mirthroot blunt sat in the ashtray on the coffee table a mere foot from Hypaxia.

Ruhn said to Ithan, Get that fucking mirthroot out of here.

Ithan lunged for it.

Not right now! When she’s not looking.

Ithan caught himself with that sunball player’s grace and relaxed against the cushions as Hypaxia sat, nestled between Flynn and Declan. If Ithan had to pick one word to describe the queen’s expression, it would have been baffled. Utterly baffled.

Ruhn rubbed his neck, approaching the couch. “So, ah. Good to see you.”

Hypaxia smiled in that wise, knowing way. Fucking Hel, she was lovely. But her voice darkened as she said, “I’d like to have a word with you. Alone.”

Ithan rose, subtly swiping the mirthroot from the table. “Room’s yours. We’ll be upstairs.”

Flynn opened his mouth, presumably to say something mortifying, but Ithan grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him up, shoving the mirthroot into the lord’s hands. The sprites fell into line behind them as Declan joined the fray, and then they were all gone, Ariadne stalking up the stairs after them. Ruhn had no doubt they’d try to eavesdrop.

He took a seat on the stained, reeking couch, reining in his cringe as Hypaxia adjusted the folds of her blue robes. “So … how are you?”

Hypaxia angled her head. She didn’t wear her crown of cloudberries, but every line of her radiated grace and calm and care. She was about fifty years younger than he was, yet he felt like a whelp in front of her. Had she known her fiancé lived in a place like this, had a lifestyle like this?

“I wanted to ask you for a favor.” Ruhn stilled. She went on, “I’ve come to Lunathion for the mating celebration in a few weeks. I’ll be staying at the witches’ embassy, but …” She twisted her hands, the first sign of doubt he’d ever seen from her. “I was wondering if you might spare me an escort.”

“Why? I mean, sure, yes, but … everything okay?”

She didn’t answer.

Ruhn asked, “What about your coven?” They should protect their queen at any cost.

Her long lashes bobbed. “They were my mother’s coven. It was one of her last wishes that I inherit them, rather than select my own.”

“So you don’t like them?”

“I don’t trust them.”

Ruhn considered. “You want me to give you an escort to protect you from your own coven?”

Her mouth tightened. “You think I’m mad.”