The Rejected True Heiress (Liora and Callum) novel Chapter 553

The question hung there in the dark. It was strange, even now, after everything we’d been through, to hear him say something so seriously. Despite everything, Zane always had a penchant for being the most humorous person in the room, or at least lightening everything with a bit of levity. This wasn’t like that.

“You won’t be,” Callum said.

Zane snorted. “You, of all people, shouldn’t think that of me.”

“It’s still up in the air.” Callum patted Zane’s shoulder. “But I think you’ve got the potential, if you just put your mind to it.”

“Put my mind to it,” Zane said quietly. He huffed and set the fork down in the box. “I’ve never put my mind to much of anything.”

“Like speeches,” I pointed out.

Zane chuckled, then stood, brushing off his pants. “Well, I guess I can fix that right now.” He pulled a dented flask from his jacket, unscrewed it, and lifted it toward us.

“To Liora and Callum. It took three near-death experiences and one public decapitation for these two idiots to figure out what the rest of us knew from day one. May their reign be long and their arguments short.”

“Beautiful,” I said.

“I’m not done.” He turned to the stone and his voice dropped, all the performance gone out of it. “And to Mia. Who was always too good for this world, and too good for me.” He tipped the flask, poured a little into the grass, and took a drink. “Save me a dance up there, Mia. Wherever you are.”

We left the second slice of cake where it was.

Zane’s headlights followed us the whole way back, and Marcus was scolding me through the mindlink before we even made it through the gates, and the three of us walked back into the reception like we’d never left.

Except something was different.

The orchestra that had been there all evening was gone. In its place, at the far end of the hall, someone had built a stage. There were amps stacked on it. A drum kit. Cables snaking everywhere while the nobility murmured behind their glasses of wine, and a man in a studded jacket adjusting a microphone stand beneath the royal chandeliers.

I laughed. Loud and free, head thrown back, eyes shut. When I was finished, I replied, “For our tastes, yes. For all the Lords and Ladies, maybe not… But then again, Dead by Summer was never made for them, was it?”

Callum’s grin was all the answer I needed. He took my hand, dragging me close to the stage, where all the students were already standing, swaying and jumping up and down with their hands in the air.

He pulled me close, facing him as the lights swirled over our heads, and we began to dance.

We danced until my pins gave out and my hair came down. Until the guards stopped pretending not to bob their heads. Until my father retreated to the dais with his hands over his ears. The band tore through every song off the album, and Callum spun me out and hauled me back in, both of us shouting lyrics about tearing down palaces in the middle of the one I’d bled for, and it was perfect. All of it.

My crown sat crooked. My shoes were still in Shirley’s back seat. Somewhere in the crowd behind us, I heard Zane howling, and above it all, I liked to think that Mia was singing the harmony.

And I sang with her. As loud as I could. As hard as I could. And I didn’t stop until my voice gave out and the last note rang.