“Anyway, my cousins are all that is left of my own family, and the Imperial Wolflords seem to have taken it upon themselves to ensure we are never lonely. Besides, we Demons do not thrive on formality as some of the other realms do. It suits us better to be relaxed. Quite unlike Starkeep, if I may be so bold.”
“Ah, yes. The luminous capital of the Evesong,” Lunara said, barely keeping her tone light. “I would have to agree. It’s almost too formal.”
Careful.
“I’ve only been a couple of times, but the vision stuck with me. For a realm that boasts no sunlight, it’s very bright.”
She nearly choked on her wine. He wasn’t wrong. From plants to pathways to Sorcerit themselves, every last thing in the city glowed, as if each was solely responsible for combating the dark.
Wretched place.
Lunara had to tamp down the urge to run and hide, to scream until she forgot that heap of garish, glowing rock existed. She was already too damned tired. The last thing she wanted was to sit and talk about a place that made her skin crawl.
That’s what you get for lying and not escaping when you had the chance.
“Are we talking about Nachthelliae?” Magnus said, breathless and practically shouting. Apparently he and Thad had finished their grappling. “I’ve got a story about the Evesong Realm that you might enjoy, witchling.”
Lunara donned a polite mask, though she felt anything but.
Just change the subject.
“That’s the second time you’ve called me that. Is there something I’m missing?” She was proud that only a speck of her true irritation colored the words.
Then again, she’d do just about anything to avoid the subject of her home and anything that went on there.
Including, apparently, being rude to those who possess more influence in their pinky nail than you could ever hope to boast.
Right. He was an Imperial Son, no matter how ludicrously he behaved.
Magnus blushed and, against all odds, some of her annoyance dissipated at the sheepish look.
“Ach, no. It’s just, you’re a witchy—Sorcerit—spell caster—thing, and you’re so small. Wee witch is too tongue twisty. Wee witch, wee witch, wee witch.” His rich baritone snagged between the words and, that time, she did choke on her wine. “See? Ridiculous!”
“Magnus likes to remind everyone how tiny they are compared to him,” Hedda said, a twinkle in her eyes even as she scowled at him.
“Why don’t you go all ragey and prove me wrong,” he growled low, waggling his brows. “I’d love to be thrown around for a change.”
Nyri flopped onto the table, gagging.
Magnus reached over and ruffled her perfect hair, making her screech. He dodged her clumsy slap, and said, “If it makes you feel better, I called Araxis a witchling once. He got all broody and shite, and then, well… let’s just say it was only the one time and I didn’t try again.”
Lunara froze.
Araxis. Youngest Imperial Son and High Ambassador to her realm.
If there was anything Lunara had taken away from the total handful of minutes she’d spent in his presence, it was that the bastard probably didn’t enjoy any form of teasing.
Reel it in.
Unfortunately, it seemed possible that Brandir might have more in common with his younger brother than with the older one.
Too bad, really, with a face like that.
No, no. Don’t even go there.
King Lyriat threw a crumb of something across the distance, hitting Magnus square in the face. “I thought you were going to tell us a story about Nachthelliae.”
Damn it. They were supposed to have forgotten.
