The worst part about keeping a secret like this is pretending not to notice her.

I have become very good at pretending.

The meeting hall is packed tonight—too many courts, too many High Lords, too many delicate political egos balanced on the edge of whatever disaster Prythian is currently trying to prevent. The circular table is crowded with power, advisors lining the walls, guards positioned like statues behind their respective rulers.

And somewhere along the Night Court wall—

My Mate stands pretending she does not know me.

Velastra keeps her wings folded tight behind her back, black armor catching the glow of the braziers along the marble pillars. She looks exactly as she always does in public: silent, still, and utterly unimpressed with the entire world.

Including me.

Which would be far easier to ignore if I didn’t know exactly how different she is when we are not surrounded by half the ruling powers of Prythian.

I lean back slightly in my chair, fingers tapping once against the polished table as Rhysand drones on about trade routes and border stability.

Important matters, apparently.

None of which hold my attention nearly as well as the faint brush of Velastra’s mental shields still resting around my mind.

She put them there weeks ago.

Never removed them.

Not that I’ve complained.

Lucien says something beside me that I only half register, because across the room Cassian shifts in his chair and Azriel moves a step closer to the Night Court wall.

Closer to her.

My gaze sharpens slightly.

Azriel leans near enough to say something quietly to Velastra. I can’t hear the words from here, but whatever he says earns the faintest flicker of amusement in her expression.

A smile.

Small, it's barely there, but it exists.

And suddenly something hot and ancient snaps tight in my chest.

Interesting.

Azriel straightens again, clearly pleased with himself, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders.

Not threatening. Not even intentional. Just close enough that Velastra shifts slightly where she stands beside the wall, dark wings folding tighter behind her back.

Something in my chest tightens instantly.

Mine.

The thought is not elegant or diplomatic. It arrives sharp and instinctive.

That is my Velastra.

Cassian notices it too and smirks. “Careful, Az. That one might actually stab you if you flirt too hard.”

Azriel mutters something back.

Velastra’s attention flicks briefly toward the table—

Toward me, then away again.

The instinct hits before the thought does.

My chair scrapes sharply across the floor as I stand.

Every conversation in the room cuts off.

Lucien turns toward me with immediate concern. Rhys’s violet eyes narrow slightly across the table.

I barely notice.

Because Azriel is still standing too close to her.

And suddenly I am very tired of pretending.

“That,” I say coolly, gesturing lazily toward the wall, “would be an unfortunate mistake.”

Silence settles across the room.

Cassian’s brows lift.

Azriel goes still.

Rhys leans back slowly in his chair, watching me the way one observes an incoming storm.

Lucien sighs quietly beside me. “Eris…”

But I’m already looking directly at Azriel now.

“Flirting with her,” I continue conversationally, “isn’t a particularly wise decision.”

Azriel’s shadows stir.

“And why,” he asks calmly, “would that be your concern?”

Good question.

For a moment I consider ignoring it.

Pretending.

Returning to the seat and allowing this absurd charade to continue.

Then Velastra looks at me again.

And that tiny flicker of warning in her eyes is enough to snap the last thread of restraint.

I smile, slowly.

“Well,” I say lightly, folding my arms, “because she happens to be my Mate.”

The silence that follows could freeze a dragon mid-flight.

Cassian blinks.

Lucien closes his eyes.

Rhysand does not move at all.

Across the room Velastra remains perfectly still.

Which is unfortunate.

Because judging by the way the entire Night Court delegation is now staring at me—

This meeting has just become considerably more entertaining.