Chapter 289: Swoons, Smoke, and the Child Who Offered to Pay
Chapter 289: Swoons, Smoke, and the Child Who Offered to Pay
Elyn’s POV
My eyes widened as I watched Velira swoon.
She didn’t just swoon dramatically — she committed to it. Her free hand flew to her forehead, her bunny was crushed against her chest, and her purple wings fluttered so fast they became a blur of colour against the light. She staggered backward like she had been struck by something invisible, her mouth open in a perfect circle of awe.
"My heart," she gasped, her voice somewhere between a whisper and a scream. "My heart is about to combust. From beauty. Beauty befitting a demon. Beauty befitting the Queen."
I stared at her, trying very hard to contain my laughter. My lips pressed together, my cheeks hurt from the effort, but the sound kept threatening to escape.
Thalira’s eyes had gone wide too, her light blue hair swaying as she tilted her head to take me in from a different angle.
"Your Majesty is so beautiful," she said softly, almost reverently. "The dress. The fabric. Everything."
As she spoke, water began to pour from her.
Not from her eyes, no — she wasn’t crying. It was coming from her hands, her sleeves, the edges of her hair. Little streams of water dripped down her arms and splashed onto the woven mats, and she didn’t even seem to notice. She was too busy staring at me, her expression caught somewhere between admiration and disbelief.
"Thalira," I said gently. "You’re leaking."
She blinked, looked down at her hands, and then back up at me.
"I can’t help it," she said. "You’re too beautiful."
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Brixton finally turned around.
He had been facing the wall since I started changing, his back to me, his shoulders stiff. But now, slowly, he turned.
And I could literally see smoke coming from his head.
I meant actual smoke curled up from his hair, thin and grey, rising toward the ceiling like he was about to combust. His ears were no longer just red — they were the colour of fresh blood, and his face had gone so dark I was genuinely concerned for his health.
"Brixton," I said.
He didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on me, wide and unblinking, and the smoke kept rising.
Thalira noticed, and I watched as she walked over to him, raised her still-dripping hands, and poured water directly onto his head.
The water sizzled against his skin — a soft, hissing sound — and Brixton blinked.
"Calm down," Thalira told him, her voice firm. "I know you haven’t seen anyone as beautiful as the Queen, but you don’t need to overheat. Stone demons don’t overheat."
Brixton opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
"I’m not overheating," he said, his voice cracking.
"You’re smoking."
"That’s— that’s just—" He stopped, swallowed, and then gave up. His shoulders slumped. "I’m fine."
Thalira looked unconvinced, but she stepped back anyway.
I shook my head, biting back another laugh.
Then I took a breath and stepped out from behind the screen.
And immediately, I heard a whistle.
It was loud and sharp and completely lacking in subtlety.
I turned, wondering where it had come from, and found Retheris staring at me with wide eyes and an open mouth, his hands frozen mid-gesture.
The whistle had come from him.
Zorathys’s shadows moved then.
They shot across the room faster than I could track, and before Retheris could react, one shadow closed his mouth and another shadow covered his eyes.
"Hey," Retheris mumbled against the shadow. "I can’t see."
"Good," Zorathys said from his cushions, his voice lazy but carrying an edge. "You’ve seen enough."
Retheris tried to push the shadows away, but they didn’t budge. After a while, he just gave up.
Zayrion, meanwhile, had gone completely still.
His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, but he didn’t push them back up. He didn’t move at all.
Then he wrote on his card and raised it up.
A thousand points.
I had not been expecting that.
Aziren clapped his hands excitedly on Zorathys’s lap. His small flames jumped and flickered with the movement, dancing up and down like they were celebrating.
"Your Majesty is pretty," he squealed. "Pretty, pretty, pretty."
His voice rose with each word, and his flames grew brighter.
Azerion, however, was not celebrating.
He had crossed his arms over his chest again, his blue eyes narrowed, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and something else I couldn’t quite name. His gaze was on Zorathys.
"Close your eyes," he said.
Zorathys turned to look at him.
"What?"
"Close your eyes," Azerion repeated. "You shouldn’t be seeing the Queen in that dress."
Zorathys gave him a blank look.
"I picked the dress," Zorathys said slowly.
"It doesn’t matter that you picked it," Azerion argued. "Close your eyes."
Zorathys stared at him, and Azerion stared back.
Velira stepped forward then.
"I disagree," she announced loudly. "Everyone should behold the Queen’s beauty. Everyone. That includes the King."
Thalira nodded beside her, her hair still damp from her earlier excitement.
"The Queen is even more beautiful than my mother," she said, her voice carrying that same reverent tone from before.
Zorathys made a face at that, one filled with disgust.
"Of course Firefly is more beautiful than Faelyra," he said, his voice dripping with lazy certainty. "She’s more beautiful than every demon in the entire realm."
Azerion nodded, his arms still crossed.
"That’s true," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
Zorathys tilted his head slightly, his ruby eyes moving over me one more time — slow and deliberate, taking in the dress, the way it fit, the way the purple designs caught the light.
"The dress is a thousand points," he said. "And even more than that. It’s perfect."
He turned to the fox demons, who had been watching the entire exchange with wide eyes and twitching ears.
"Add it to our tab," he said.
Azerion made a face before the demon could even move.
His brow furrowed, his lips pressed together, and his small hands clenched at his sides.
"Add it to my tab instead," he said.
The room went quiet.