“Agreed,” Darby said. “I’m out, aren’t I? If this isn’t a reason to overindulge, I don’t know what is.”

Darby’s midnight skin was coated in a gold shimmer, and her long black tresses gleamed in the dying firelight. She technically wasn’t even supposed to be out with them now that she was a member of a royal Bryonican family, but she’d flouted authority and gone out to celebrate.

It wasn’t every day that a Dragon Blessed from the House of Dragons became a full-fledged member of the Society—the governmental body of the city of Kinkadia and all of Alandria. Actually, it had never happened. It wasn’t even supposed to happen. The House of Dragons was a feeder program for underprivileged Fae to move up in the world. It had worked for Hadrian and Darby, but Kerrigan wasn’t like her friends. She was only half-Fae, and no one had wanted her.

“Seriously, you need to let the last forty-eight hours go and have another drink,” Clover said, pushing an ale toward her. “Everyone else is buying anyway.”

Which was true. The dragon tournament was the most lauded event in Alandrian history. The winners were treated like heroes, and everyone wanted to celebrate, which meant drink after drink after drink. She could feel that she had overindulged.

“My head is already spinning,” she said with a laugh.

Hadrian rolled his eyes. “When has that ever stopped you?”

She raised a pint to him. “Fair point.”

Kerrigan tipped back the ale and took a long drink. It was the good stuff. Not the swill she and Clover normally drank in the Wastes. No, tonight, they’d had to forgo the underground pit, where Clover worked as a card dealer, for a more reputable tavern. They’d ended up in The Dragon Scales on the Square in Central Kinkadia. It was fancier than anywhere but a royal home but still just a tavern. The same sort of customers and the same sort of drink.

Kerrigan set her half-finished drink on the bar and forced down a yawn. She was about to suggest that they all join the dancing outside when a man sent her drink sprawling.

“Scales,” Kerrigan gasped. She jumped away from the spilled ale, but it was too late. The drink coated her dress and down one side of her body.

“Hey, watch what you’re doing!” Clover snarled.

The man stood to his considerable height, more than a head taller than Kerrigan. His ears were severely pointed, a clear indicator that he was full-blooded Fae. His skin was creamy white and eyes the darkest brown, and he was currently glaring at Kerrigan, having already discarded Clover’s comment.

“Your kind isn’t welcome in this establishment,” he said coldly.

Kerrigan straightened up. “My kind?”