Chapter-49 The Waiting Game

The office was too clean, too sterile for the chaos Frederique had come to expect from the Courts. Everything about it felt designed to keep you uncomfortable. The pale marble floor reflected the soft golden light above, giving the space a constant twilight glow. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick tomes that looked more like props than anything genuinely useful. At the far end, behind a sleek black desk, sat her.

The director.

She was beautiful in a calculated way, every detail crafted for allure... long, raven-black hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders, a tailored white blouse unbuttoned just enough to leave an impression, and thin-framed glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Crimson lipstick, flawless. Long nails painted a deep scarlet, tapping rhythmically against the desk. The kind of beauty sharpened into a weapon.

Selora had tell whispers about her. One of Solas' wives.

One of many.

Selora stood with her arms crossed, posture stiff but respectful, while Lira lounged in a chair nearby, half-draped over the armrest, her tail flicking lazily in the air. Frederique kept her stance neutral, but the tension in her gut never quite left. She didn't trust this woman. The hunger whispered, stirring faintly beneath her skin.

The director's voice, smooth as silk, cut through the silence.

"I assume you understand the nature of your assignment tonight?"

Frederique exchanged a glance with Lira, who gave a lazy shrug.

"Not exactly," Frederique admitted.

The director smiled, but there was no warmth behind it. Only amusement.

"You're not here to fight. You're not here to hunt. Tonight, you wait."

A pause.

"You're being stationed at The Velvet Veil. It's an upscale lounge we control, frequented by both Night and Day Court members, as well as the occasional mundane. Your job is simple: presence. Stay visible. Observe. Make sure everyone stays...civil."

Frederique frowned.

"That's it? Just... stand around?"

The director nodded.

"Don't underestimate it. Doing nothing is often far more difficult than you think. Restraint requires discipline. You'll be playing the role of ornament tonight. And I expect you to reflect the Court's strength while doing so. Understood?"

Frederique bit back the retort rising in her throat. She could already feel the weight of Frideria shifting inside her, uncomfortable with the idea of being on display.

"Yes, ma'am," she answered tightly.

"Good."

The director's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before moving to Selora and Lira.

"I expect no disturbances. If anything happens, I trust you'll handle it discreetly."

Selora gave a sharp nod. "As always."

Lira grinned, tail curling behind her.

"You can count on us. It'll be boring... but I can be very entertaining when needed."

The director gave a slow, knowing smile, then dismissed them with a flick of her fingers.

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The Velvet Veil was just as extravagant as the name suggested.

A palace of glass and shadows. Dark velvet drapes, swirling candlelight, and a constant haze of perfumed smoke. Music... haunting, slow... filtered through the air like a heartbeat. Patrons drifted through the space in clusters, the rich, the powerful, the dangerous.

Frederique hated it immediately.

She felt exposed here, standing along the second-floor balcony where the director had instructed them to stay visible.

Lira fit in perfectly, lounging against the railing, the slit in her dress revealing just enough leg to draw attention. She made a game of it, flashing grins to anyone who dared make eye contact. Selora, meanwhile, was stone-faced, arms folded as she scanned the crowd below with the focus of a guard dog on edge.

"Stop scowling," Lira whispered, leaning close to Frederique's ear.

"You look like you're ready to bite someone's head off."

Frederique exhaled sharply. "I am."

Lira grinned.

"That's the spirit."

Hours passed.

Nothing happened.

Nothing but the endless parade of wealthy Fey and humans pretending not to notice the shadows moving among them.

The hunger pulsed. Frederique could feel it pressing against her ribs, gnawing at the edges of her control. She focused on breathing, steady, slow, controlling it.

But the scent of wine and perfume didn't help.

Nor did the way some of the patrons were starting to look at her.

The first approach was subtle.

A man. Tall, pale, with sharp features. Definitely Fey. He drifted closer, a drink in hand, his smile too charming to be sincere.

"You're new here." His voice was silk-smooth, predatory without being aggressive.

"What's your name?"

Frederique didn't answer, keeping her gaze forward.

"Not much of a talker? Shame. Someone as lovely as you shouldn't be so quiet."

Lira, from her perch, let out a soft purring sound. "Ooooh, you might want to back off, sweetheart. She's not that kind of girl."

The man ignored her, stepping closer.

"No need to be so cold. I just want to get to know you."

Then... his hand brushed her arm.

It was the smallest contact.

But it sparked something.

Frederique felt the hunger react. The fire roared inside her, the sharp desire to consume surging in a wave so powerful it stole her breath.

Her teeth ached.

Her nails bit into her palms. She could taste the copper on her tongue, the instinct to lash out, to feed.

The man leaned closer.

"Why don't we get out of here... "

A low, warning growl echoed from her throat before she could stop it.

Lira moved first, stepping between them, her feline eyes narrowing.

"She said no. Step. Back."

The man blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. Then he caught a glimpse of Frederique's face... the sharpness of her eyes, the tension in her jaw. The predator lurking just beneath the surface.

He stepped back.

Frederique's pulse pounded in her ears.

The hunger whispered, not satisfied.

Not enough.

Not nearly enough.

Lira leaned close, her voice dropping to a whisper only Frederique could hear.

"You've got to get a grip. You're slipping."

Frederique swallowed hard.

"I know."

The night was far from over.