There's something suspicious about tea that's too warm.
Not suspicious in the poison kind of way—though, yes, that's always on the table—but suspicious in that someone is definitely trying too hard kind of way. Miko only makes jasmine tea when he's either trying to impress someone or distract me from a crime he committed. Considering I didn't see any bodies yet, I figured it was the second one.
I took a slow sip.
Delicious. Infuriatingly so.
I lounged in the parlor, Jules resting sideways across my thighs like a lapdog with better cheekbones. Roderick sat opposite me, back straight, hands folded like he was about to pitch me an assassination contract.
"We need to talk," he said.
"About the new church agents?" I asked.
"No. About Salem. I'm pretty sure he knows about our operations."
I paused. The name had been sitting under my tongue since yesterday, bitter and warm. Salem of the crested jacket. Salem of the fire-orange hair. Salem who knew way too much for someone who claimed he was just a transfer.
"He's cute," Jules offered lazily.
"He's dangerous," Miko added, entering with more tea. "But so are you."
"Exactly!" I said, raising my cup. "It's mutual danger. That's just foreplay with extra steps."
The townhouse wasn't just a hideout anymore—it was headquarters. Three floors of creaky floorboards, dusty spellbooks, vintage underwear, and increasingly erotic alchemy. The basement now served as a training chamber, the attic held Roderick's collection of enchanted belts, and the common room had become something of a… harem lounge.
I didn't force the lifestyle. They stayed because they wanted to. Probably.
Elian—our newest recruit—was currently redecorating the walls with silver-threaded curtains and sultry lighting spells. Apparently, ambiance was key to loyalty.
"Makes everyone feel pretty," he said, snapping his fingers to shift the lights into a deep red glow.
It also made it hard to tell if anyone was blushing. Strategic.
I was still shirtless when Salem knocked.
Of course he did.
I answered the door with a towel slung around my shoulders, hair damp, half of my chest glistening like a romance novel illustration.
He blinked.
"Am I interrupting something?"
"No," I lied. "Elian was just massaging my shoulders with a dagger."
He arched an eyebrow.
"Kidding," I added. "Mostly."
We sat in the candlelit dining room, sharing a plate of sticky buns. Literal ones, unfortunately.
"So," he said, watching me closely, "what's your plan?"
I smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know."
So he had known after all, go figure.
"I would. That's why I asked."
I leaned forward. "How do I know you're not a spy?"
He licked icing off his thumb. I tried not to bite my lip.
"You don't," he said. "But you haven't turned me yet. That counts for something."
He was right.
I only turned those who wronged me. Or tried to humiliate me. Or mocked my handwriting. That's just personal code.
Salem hadn't done any of those things. Yet.
But he was dangerous. I could feel it in the way his aura coiled, tight and precise. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was waiting for something.
Like a trap being set.
He stood, walked behind me, and placed his hands on my shoulders.
"I could be useful to you," he murmured.
I chuckled. "Everyone could be useful. It's whether they are."
His fingers pressed into my skin, slow and exploratory.
"You're tense."
"I live with five femboys who steal my comb and keep forgetting pants. Of course I'm tense."
He laughed. His breath grazed my neck. I shivered.
This was dangerous territory.
"You think you're the only one who wants to change this city?" he asked.
I paused.
"You're not," he whispered. "But your way is… different."
I leaned back against his chest. Just for a second.
"I prefer elegant solutions," I murmured. "With bows and lace."
"Sounds messy," he said.
"Sounds divine."
Suddenly the window exploded.
In a fury of motion, Roderick crashed through in a swirl of velvet and aggression. "Inquisitors!"
I leapt to my feet, knocking Salem backward. Miko was already casting a shadow ward.
Elian screamed. Jules unsheathed a pair of knives from his thigh-high boots.
Within moments, Hollow's men were in the streets.
I peeked out the cracked glass. White gloves. Iron visors. One held a glowing censer that burned with red mist.
"They're purging the district," Miko said. "Anyone with non-sanctioned magic."
I turned to Salem.
He was pale.
"Is this you?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I swear. I didn't lead them here."
Jules narrowed his eyes. "How'd they find us then?"
I clenched my fist.
"I'll ask them myself."
We dropped into the tunnel beneath the parlor rug. A trapdoor led to old alchemist escape routes beneath the city—another of Miko's little additions.
My thoughts churned as we ran. If Salem didn't betray us, someone else did. Or they were tracking me.
I pulled out my feathered pen. It gleamed blue under the tunnel lights.
"Time for another go," I muttered.
Roderick nodded. "Target?"
"One of them. Alive."
He smirked. "Finally."
We emerged in a ruined courtyard behind an abandoned chapel. One inquisitor stood there, scanning the alley. Perfect.
I moved quietly.
Jules threw a pebble.
The man turned.
Too slow.
I struck, slashing his leg with a binding rune from my pen. He stumbled. I pressed pen to his chest and whispered a single word.
"Submit."
The pen glowed.
His eyes widened.
His jaw slackened.
And then the change began.
It was slower than usual. More sensual. I could feel his resistance, his discipline cracking under my influence.
His hair lightened. His armor shifted. His cheeks flushed as his body reconfigured, skin smoothing, voice softening into a moan of confusion and… relief?
When it was over, he fell to his knees.
"W-What… what did you do to me?"
I crouched before him, brushing his hair behind one pointed ear.
"I gave you a choice," I said. "And your body made it for you."
He looked up at me, trembling.
"You'll be safe here. With us. If you choose it."
Behind me, Jules whistled. "Dibs on training him."
Roderick slapped him behind the head.
Back at base, we sealed the tunnel and began fortifying. The inquisitors would be back. Hollow wasn't stupid.
Neither was Salem.
He stood in the corner, arms folded, watching everything.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
"Good," I replied. "Expectation is the enemy of pleasure."
He chuckled.
Then his expression hardened.
"But you'll need more than pleasure to win."
I sighed.
"I know," I said. "That's why I'm forming the Court."
"The what?" Jules asked.
I smiled.
"The Velvet Court," I said. "A council of my most trusted. My lovers. My generals. My stars."
Elian sparkled. "We get titles?"
"Thigh High Commander," I offered.
He squealed.
That night, we huddled together in the common room.
I sat with my new recruit—formerly an inquisitor—curled against my side. He described how a spy hidden within one of my favorite local bakeries had been tracking my movements for the past month or so.
A shame, they had the most exquisite sticky buns.
"Do you regret it?" I whispered.
He shook his head.
Good.
Salem leaned in from across the room.
"What are you really after, Cecil?"
I looked at him.
Then at the others.
"My own kingdom," I said softly. "Not built on fear. Or war. Or faith. But on adoration. On devotion. On the freedom to be beautiful."
My words brought Salem's face into a sly smile.