Chapter 2

Behind her walked a young man.

Kael felt his fingers tighten on the wine tray.

The boy was maybe seventeen, slight of build, with the kind of pretty face that wouldn't last a decade of hard living. He wore robes of peach silk that matched the flush in his cheeks, and he clung to Elara's arm like she was the only solid thing in a world of clouds.

“That's him,” Mira breathed. “Zachary. The new favorite.”

“New favorite?”

“Shh!” But Mira couldn't resist gossip. “He showed up three months ago, claiming to be a lost disciple of the Flower Sage. But look at him—does he look like a cultivator to you? The other nobles say he's a pet. A replacement.”

“Replacement for what?”

But Mira didn't answer, because Elara had stopped in the center of the hall, and her gaze was sweeping across the servants like a searchlight.

“Where is the wine?” she demanded.

Kael stepped forward, head still bowed. “Here, General.”

He felt her eyes on him, dismissive and cold. “New blood. What's your name?”

“Kael, General. From the mortal realm.”

“Kael.” She said it like she was tasting something rotten. “Bring the wine to the high table. And don't spill a drop, or I'll have your hands.”

“Yes, General.”

He moved toward the high table, keeping his gait awkward and unbalanced, the way a mortal would walk on clouds for the first time. As he passed Zachary, the boy stuck out his foot.

Kael saw it coming. Of course he saw it coming. He was the Crown Prince of the Underworld, and he'd spent three centuries training in the deepest pits of the Nether Realm. He could have dodged. Could have broken the boy's ankle without breaking stride.

Instead, he tripped.

The wine tray went flying. Crystal goblets shattered against the floor, spraying nectar across Zachary's peach silk robes. The boy shrieked like he'd been stabbed, jumping back and clutching at Elara's arm.

“You clumsy oaf!” Zachary's voice was high and nasal, nothing like the warm baritone he'd used while whispering to Elara. “Do you know how much this robe cost? Do you know who I am?”

Kael scrambled to his knees, keeping his face down. “Forgive me, noble sir. I am only a mortal. I am not used to—”

“Silence.” Elara's voice cut through the hall like a blade.

Kael went still.

He felt her approach, felt the heat of her divine aura pressing against his suppressed powers like a hand against a locked door. She stopped inches away, and he saw her white-gold boots in his peripheral vision.

“Look at me,” she commanded.

Kael raised his head slowly, making sure his eyes were wide and frightened, making sure his lower lip trembled just slightly.