Kris is blotchy from holding back tears but he laughs so hard he chokes. “You haven’t found any of them yet?”
The goddamn Elf on the Shelf goes limp in my hand. “You actually hid one in my room?”
“Four. Four of them.”
“Kristopher.”
“I told you I don’t fuck around with grammar.”
I throw it at him. It smacks off his chest but he’s laughing again, eyes tearing for a way better reason now, and I can’t help it. I laugh too.
Even with that fucking possessed Christmas doll staring up at us.
Emotional hangovers are definitively worse than alcohol hangovers.
Headache. Dry mouth. Slight nausea. Intense exhaustion. The next day, I let Wren and her stylists doll me up for the Christmasevent while I sink into my stupor, mind blank like I’m in a meditative preparation state.
I truly have no idea what version of me will appear at this event. I don’t remember what the eventis—something outside, because I pull on layers the staff left out for me, finishing the outfit with a double-breasted red wool coat and stylish black leather gloves.
Sure enough, I’m led out front, joining Kris and Iris where they already wait on the palace’s front lawn with a few larger sleighs. Most are burdened with various members of our court under thick, cozy blankets; Dad’s in the lead sleigh with Iris’s father.
It’s another perfect arctic day, the dark sky clear but the lights so bright I duck my head and wince.
“That’s what you get for hiding in your room,” Iris says.
I jostle her with my shoulder. She’s in black tights and a long, chunky purple sweater, and I recognize the purpose of that outfit.
“Ice skating,” I say.
“I will be expected to participate again, I assume?”
I spin around.
Hex is coming out of the palace, the doors closing behind him.
I have to ask Wren whether he has a stylist or makes his own fashion choices, because I need to know who to blame for how goddamn distracting every single piece of his clothing is. He’s in a long leather jacket, black again, form-fitting and sleek and the collar is popped, which makes him look so much like a sexy goth vampire that I get hit with wicked visions of him biting my neck.
He slides his hands into his pockets, tugging the jacket down, showing a tie on his black button-up done with tiny jack-o’-lanterns. In Santa hats.
My lips pinch in a smile. “What—”
“Oh, it looks great!” Kris smirks at me. “Appropriate, right? I couldn’t resist.”
I start to laugh, then realize with a flash of concern that thoughIknow the truth now, we’re playing my dad’s game with the press—and if anything, Hex should be wearing something that symbolizes Halloween andEaster. What if photos of him in that tie get back tohis autumn allies? He’s probably considered that risk. So this tie is an intentional choice?
But I can’t scrounge up too much worry, because I like seeing him wearing something of Christmas.
I grin. “My brother gave you crazy Christmas clothes. You’ve officially been initiated. Congratulations.”
Hex weighs my words. Thinks about our kiss? I can’t figure out what’s going on in his head, but he finally lets half his lips rise up.
“I’ve been marked by you, it seems,” he says, and it sucks the air out of my body so fast that my ears pop. “By your Holiday,” he amends, slowly, enough that I know he intended the insinuation.
Holy shit. Isthatwhy he took the risk of wearing this tie? To flirt with me? Mr.Don’t Risk Your Responsibilities for Me?
It could be a middle finger to this whole arrangement. A subtle way of saying,I know what Christmas is doing with this blackmail shit.
That’s gotta be it.
