Magnus winked and took a bite of what looked to be a roasted lamb chop, then gasped, his eyes widening as he examined the piece of meat.
Instantly alert, Brand darted his gaze around. It was uncommon for someone to target an Imperial, but not impossible. Sisters knew most of his uncles had met mysterious deaths. Poisoning was a real concern, no matter that they’d likely survive it. It still sent a message.
“Mag, are you well?”
“This smells like one of mine,” his brother finally said, leveling him with a penetrating glare as his nostrils flared. “For the love of the stars, tell me you did not cook my Ilsa.”
Brand blinked. “Ilsa?”
“My newest wee kid.”
“A… goat.”
“Aye.”
For a minute, Brand was worried—until he remembered Magnus was an absolute arsehole when he wanted to be.
Most of Straelon’s food came from Thodelebor, the Westrealm happy to trade their harvests in exchange for lumber and stone, and the use of Demon warriors when needed. While the Wolflords were fiercely capable of protecting their fields and livestock from the creatures of the Ghostwood, they were simple farmers at heart.
Years ago, Magnus had strolled through the portal in the great hall during supper, claiming his favorite dairy cow had been sent by mistake. He’d taken one look at the table, laden with beef, and clutched his chest. It was the whispered‘Fiona?’that had nearly made Brand empty his stomach right there. He hadn’t been able to eat red meat for… Well, about the same amount of time it had taken Mag to confess the entire thing had been an elaborate prank, weeks later.
“No way. Not again,” Brand said, laughing. “You’ll have to think of something else.”
“I’m fucking serious,” Mag growled. “She was meant to be a gift! Did you not see my note?”
Brand narrowed his eyes. “Why would you send a goat as a gift if not to eat it?”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? You don’t eat a baby goat! They’re fucking pets.”
“I…” he swallowed, suddenly unsure. “If it… Magnus…”
Brand’s stomach churned, every piece of meat on his plate suddenly having a name.
Faldir and Hedda chose that moment to arrive, never far from each other’s side. The rare sight of her in a dress stunned him even further. It was strange, and oddly unsettling, and stole any possibility of words from his mouth. Even Faldir had cleaned up, his hair combed neatly around his horns, the rosy hue of drink infusing his cheeks and making him look something akin to happy.
“Your Highness,” Hedda said with a nod. Her voice dipped lower when she turned to Magnus, though not at all flirtatious. “Your other Highness.”
“Ach, Hedda. When will your bonny arse accept we’re meant to be?”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin, pretending to think about it. “Nope, still never, cousin.”
Mag tsk’ed, completely irreverent of their distant relation.
“Let me guess,” Faldir said, leaning in. “You’ve convinced Brand, again, that he’s eaten a beloved companion.”
“Aye, he has!” Mag cried out. “My poor, wee Ilsa!”
Hedda punched him in the arm, and his brother’s entire demeanor changed, eyes shining and face going red. Magnus tried to keep it together, pinching his lips between his teeth, but the laugh exploded out of him anyway. “Damn you, Faldir. I almost had him. You should have seen his face. He wasthis closeto swearing off meat forever.”
Brand opened his mouth to tear into Mag, but was stopped by the sight of a striking female approaching the opposite side of the table, teeth sunk into her plump bottom lip. Hazel eyes peeked at him from behind a curtain of ebony hair, her tawny horns catching the lantern light as she grabbed this and that.
He didn’t recognize her, but she was beyond beautiful—which inevitably meant that all Brand could manage was to stare at her while he tried to think of anything to say.
She gave him a lingering look and sauntered off, glancing once over her shoulder with a soft smile, and Brand watched her disappear into the crowd, heart pounding.
Sisters, he was such a fool.
“Right,” Magnus said. “I’ll, uh… go and find us a seat.”
