Inside, all eleven of them were already there. Perched in their stiff, proper little seats, radiating self-importance like candles dripping wax. Waiting. Watching. Judging. The second I stepped through the doors, an audible sigh rippled across the room. Half exhaustion, half immediate regret. Music to my ears. Naturally, I preened. Smoothed my jacket. Straightened my shoulders. Flashed my grin.
"Oh, my darlings," I crooned, "you look positively miserable without me." From the corner of my eye, Annie hid a smirk. Oh, she was entertained. She'd never admit it, but she was. She is brilliant.
I carried the comically oversized box in both arms, strutting forward like I was presenting the Ark of the Covenant itself. Every step purposeful. Every movement theatrical. When I set it down before Aerion, I positioned it with painstaking care, centered, symmetrical, perfectly placed.
"A gift," I declared with a flourish, "for our fearless leader."
Aerion didn't even look at me first. No, of course not. He went straight for the box. Eyes narrowing, suspicion dripping off him like sweat. "What is this?"
I sighed. Loud. Suffering. The sigh of a man burdened with an idiot. "Aerion, you dense fool, I said it is a gift." I gestured wildly at the package. "You unwrap it. Discover the surprise. That's how this works."
His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. Delicious. "Do I have to open this?"
I gasped. Clutched my chest as though he'd driven a sword through it. "Aerion, yes! What kind of monster refuses a gift?"
The way his temple twitched nearly sent me into hysterics. Gods, he hated me. And gods, it was glorious. Annie stood off to the side, the picture of a woman pretending she wasn't amused. But I saw the glint in her eyes. She liked this. Finally, Aerion gave in. With all the melodrama of a martyr, he tore the paper off, lifted the lid, sifted through the tissue. The whole room watched in silence. Breathless. Suspicious. And then he pulled it out. My masterpiece. A miniature replica of the Pantheon's own formal office, crafted entirely of glue and popsicle sticks. Intricate. Precise. A ridiculous, beautiful waste of my divine time.
Silence. Thick. Absolute. Delicious. Aerion stared at it. Then sighed, pressing his fingers into his temples as though my very existence caused migraines. "What. Is. This?"
I gasped again, clutching at fresh, imaginary wounds. "Aerion, you tragically simple-minded tiny sword polisher, this is your gift! I made this. With my own two hands. Do you like it?" I grinned like a boy caught with a frog in his pocket. Mischief glittering in my eyes.
He studied it like it might sprout legs and eat his face. "What is wrong with it?" he demanded. "Is it a prank? A trap? Will it explode? Transform into a chaos beast? Spew glitter? Unleash a storm of sentient frogs? Curse my entire bloodline?"
The longer he listed, the wider my grin stretched. Oh, beautiful paranoia, how I love you. "My honorable yet hopelessly dense embodiment of a lecture," I purred, leaning onto the table, "this is just a gift."
His eyes narrowed to slits. "I don't believe you."
And I beamed. "You shouldn't." But oh, the truth of it. For once in my eternal, riotous existence… it was just a gift. No frogs. No curses. Just a perfectly detailed popsicle stick model.
Aerion looked at the model. Looked at me. Back at the model. "…Why?"
I shrugged, grin sharp enough to cut marble. "Because I wanted to, Aerion sweet cheeks." This entire waste of my divine time. It was worth watching his annoyance.
He stared. Silent. Then dragged his hands down his face like a man resigning himself to death by irritation. "I hate you."
I preened. Glorious. Victorious. "I know."
I strolled to my place at the grand table with every ounce of languid arrogance I could muster. Which, naturally, was all of it. With a snap of my fingers, my chair appeared, no, not a chair. A throne. Plush, upholstered in red so rich it would make mortals weep, grander than anything the rest of these dullards had. I held it out for Annie with a flourish, brows waggling, waiting for my gratitude parade. She rolled her eyes. Sat anyway. Smoothed her cranberry-red dress like the regal little thing she was. I grinned. Already winning.
Turning back to the room, I stretched, arms behind my head like I was bored already."This is Anastasia," I drawled, waving a hand at her as though she were an accessory. "My sacrifice from the other day."
Oh, the faces. That flicker of shock, of judgment. Aerion stiff as a spear. Delicious. "Feel free to chat with her, introduce yourselves," I added lazily. "I won't do it for you."
Aerion's glare could have scorched marble. Which, of course, only fed me. Gods, I adored that look. If annoyance were wine, I'd be drunk already. But then Maximus looked at her. Predictable Maximus. Eyes gleaming, already leering, his hunger dripping off him like sweat. He always noticed beauty. Always wanted the rarest thing in the room. And Annie? Oh, of course she caught his gaze. I didn't even bother looking at him. I knew what was coming. The lazy, lewd comments. The shameless appreciation. The wife who didn't bat an eye. Always the same, always pathetic. So I let him. Let him drool. Let him think he was winning. And then Annie smiled at him. Radiant. Perfect. One of those smiles that could topple kingdoms.
I would have enjoyed it. If I hadn't known the truth. Because that smile wasn't real. It was armor. Polished. Flawless. A mask that hid every scar underneath. I hated that Maximus thought he could touch it.
"If you want to spend time with me," she told him sweetly, "every minute of my time belongs to My Lord and Keeper Malvor, God of Chaos."
Oh. Exquisite. She sounded composed, untouchable. Mine. She gave me the briefest glance, so quick the others missed it. But I caught it. That look told me more than her words ever could. For a heartbeat, I almost dropped the act. Almost let the lazy grin slip. Almost. Instead, I turned to Maximus with my most insufferable smirk. "We can discuss a transaction together," I purred, as if she were a bottle of wine instead of a woman. "But Anastasia is every bit as wonderful, special, and amazing as the priests promised."
Gods, the hunger on Maximus's face. He wanted. Perfect. Exactly where I wanted him. But beneath my smirk, something dangerous curled in my chest. Because he was lucky. Lucky he couldn't touch her without standing. Lucky, because if he laid a single greedy hand on her, I'd shred him apart and smile while doing it. Mine. The word slipped through me before I could stop it. Heavy. Certain. Real.…Mine. I shoved it aside before it rooted too deep.
Aerion cleared his throat, dragging us back into the boring part. Numbers. Profits. Priests. Blah blah balance. Rules. Gods above, kill me now. At some point, they looked to me for input. Fatal mistake. "Yes, yes, terribly important," I said, grinning. "We should invest all excess funds into a floating circus. No! An interdimensional floating circus. Fireworks. Dangerous animals. Mortal acrobat sacrifices."
The silence that followed was worth every second of the scowls.
Ahyona, sweet little Ahyona, clasped her hands like she was praying. "We should help the less fortunate," she said softly. I tuned her out immediately. Compassion. Aid. Yawn. Instead, I slipped my hand under the table. Onto Annie's thigh.
Ah. There it was. The smallest stiffening. The tiniest hitch of breath. She didn't move, didn't react outwardly, but her body noticed. Oh, this could be fun. My fingers trailed higher, slow, deliberate, utterly unseen by the others. Only her. Only me. And gods, she let me.