Lunara couldn’t fathom how she’d ended up at midnight supper with the Demon King of Straelon, three of his cousins, and two and a half Imperial Sons. It was utterly surreal.
She cleared her throat, determined to participate anyway. “Forgive me, Your Highness?—”
“Ach!” Magnus’s outrage was too ridiculous to be genuine, but she froze anyway. “I beseech you, witchling, to never call me that again. Honorifics make me cringe. Fucking confusingtoo, when there’s five of us bastards sitting ‘round a table. I’m Magnus or Mag, and that’s bloody it.”
“They feel much the same as you,Just Lunara,” Nyri said around a mouthful.
“Right, um…Magnus… how did they not know it was Thaddeus? Being naked is about as apparent as it gets.”
Magnus drew his lips in between his teeth, fighting more laughter. “You don’t know how happy you’ve made me, Lunara.”
“Mag, I’m begging you.” Thaddeus threw her a fleeting glance from down the table. “Don’t.”
“You see, what happened was?—”
Thaddeus threw himself over the table, scattering dishes and cutlery as he slapped a hand over Magnus’s mouth. The Wolflord Son grabbed hold of Thad’s forearm, flipped him off the end, and followed him down to the sound of muffled grunts and curses.
Bawdy jokes. Wrestling. A king who spoke to her as if she were any other person. From the time she’d woken up, Lunara had been confused. Especially because they seemed to be doing their best to make her feel comfortable?
It’s the lack of sleep. Soon as you find a bed, you’ll remember you don’t belong here.
Lunara was searching for anything to say, always a chore, when the faintest tingle ran down the side of her face. Again.
She snapped her gaze across to the Demon Son, Brandir, who was pointedly ignoring her existence—just as he’d been doing all evening. Lunara would swear she could feel him peering at her here and there. But whenever she turned, his attention was entirely directed elsewhere.
As if an Imperial Son would waste his time staring at you.
Fair. She probably looked exactly like the only sleep she’d gotten in days had been spent sprawled over a tabletop.
Charming.
Of course, her finger chose that moment to catch on a particularly nasty snarl when she went to nervously twist a curl of her hair.
Get yourself out of here before anyone notices, you bogging halfwit.
Or, maybe she could coax Brandir into saying something. Just to draw his attention and see if that sensation happened again.
“Your High?—”
“You have to forgive them,” Lyriat interrupted. “Wolflords are rowdy at best, and I’m not sure they possess a single manner between all of them in the Westrealm.”
So much for that.
“Please, don’t worry on my behalf,” she murmured, slow to switch her focus from Brandir to the king. “People are at their worst in a sickbed. If I can handle that, I can handle a rowdy meal. Speaking of…” Lunara swallowed, suddenly unsure whether it would be wise to continue.
Lyriat smiled as if he knew her thoughts. “Go on.”
“You all seem very close. I admit, it baffles me. I expected a certain level of rigidity.”
He chuckled. “A fair point. Our relationship with Thodelebor has always been thus. We benefit each other, perhaps, on a more fundamental level than the other realms. Since our needs align and trade is strong, the relationships have become even stronger. Provided we can agree on timing and costs.”
Faldir snorted from her other side. “Don’t let his feigned humility fool you. My cousin is beyond shrewd when it comes to trade.”
“A hobby of mine, nothing more,” Lyriat said, sniffing.
“Bloody obsession, more like,” Faldir grumbled into his plate.
Lunara couldn’t help smiling into her cup when Lyriat rolled his eyes.
