I had barely taken a bite of the stupidly overpriced dessert when the doors to the VIP section burst open. A hush fell over the room as every head turned toward the entrance. I froze mid-chew, the creamy texture of whatever "luxury mousse" I'd ordered turning to dust in my mouth.
Ananara, perched smugly in front of me, narrowed his eyes—or at least I think he did. It's hard to tell when the eyes in question are carved into pineapple skin. "Well, isn't this dramatic," he said, his voice thick with disdain.
Enara straightened in her chair, her midnight eyes narrowing into slits. "What now?" she hissed.
A figure strode in, dressed in what could only be described as trying too hard. A floor-length coat of shimmering gold, boots polished to a mirror shine, and a hat adorned with feathers that could've come from a particularly flamboyant peacock. The man's smirk was visible even from across the room.
