“Of course.” How could she forget them? He’d made her repeat them to him on the way over in the Bentley. “Don’t speak to anyone. Don’t eat or drink anything, but somehow manage to convey debauchery while not having any fun whatsoever.”

“You’ll have to maintain control. You’ve never been exposed to a legion of fae auras before. Even going in there might make you susceptible to hedonistic impulses.”

“And you won’t be susceptible to these impulses?”

“Males don’t react to the fae aura in the same way. We’re more likely to get possessive or territorial. All the more reason for you to stick near me, so I don’t have to murder anyone who tries to take advantage of you.”

“I feel like we’re walking into some kind of caveman era.”

“Their culture is different from yours. The women are submissive. They’re only around to please the males.”

She shuddered. What did he mean by ‘your culture’? She made a mental note to ask him about that later. “What century are these people from?”

He shrugged. “The king is nearly a hundred thousand years old. So, yes, caveman era.”

Her stomach tightened. “Are you serious?”

“I’ll need to act as though I’ve claimed you. An unclaimed women can be taken by the king.”

“What does claiming me mean?”

“It means it’s a good thing you find me attractive.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What are you talking about?” she sputtered.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice.” He adjusted his leather wristbands. “Anyway, that’s not important. Abrax will probably be swanning around Oberon. We need to get invited into the king’s inner circle. You’ll have to catch his eye, while making it clear you’re with me, or he’ll try to drag you away to mate with you. The fae are quite keen on redheads.”

“Drag me away to mate? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Just let me do the talking. I know you’ll hate it, but in the fae world, these matters are only handled by men. They respect physical strength.” The frigid wind rippled his dark hair.

“Can we just get this over with? It’s no wonder Zee got the hell out of the fae world.”

Kester pressed the buzzer. Nothing sounded, but after a few moments, the door cracked open. A young man with long, silver hair peered out, the room behind him obscured in shadows.

“Your names,” he prompted. His fingernails were filed into points and painted white.

“We’re on the list under Peele,” said Kester, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Guests of Luis.”

The man’s eyes flicked to Ursula’s red hair, and she tossed it over her shoulder for emphasis.