“It’s never too late.”
My phone vibrates like a harsh reminder and I pull it out to check the screen even though I don’t really need to. Mom again. I push her to voicemail and put her away.
“I don’t like that frown,” Ferrok says, slipping his fingers into mine and nipping the back of my hand in what might be a kiss. “What can we do to make it go away?”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Ferrok seems to think about it, but Mooralan blurts. “Ferrok is a prince.”
“That is not true. Don’t lie to her.”
Mooralan leans closer to whisper. “Heisa prince, he just doesn’t like that word.”
“What word do you like?”
He glares at Mooralan, and then his eyes flutter closed in irritation. “I am the three hundred and forty-eighth child of a monarch who probably doesn’t know I exist and would prefer it if he never did.And,” his glare for Mooralan sharpens. “That is a secret we will keep until our bodies are burned for disposal.”
“Three hundred and forty-eight is aridiculousnumber of kids.”
Ferrok nods. “I think the word in your language is ‘bastard?’ He has a lot of those. So I might be further down the list than I know.”
Mooralan leans close. “It’s easier to get higher numbers when you lay eggs.”
“Stop teasing him.” I poke him in the chest.
“If I don’t, who will?”
They share the smile of friends who have known each other for a very long time.
“Well, I won’t tell anyone.” I pretend to lock my lips and throw away the key. “Honestly, I’m kind of glad. If youwerea prince, you might never have come to the booth.”
“And that would have been a tragedy.”
“But you haven’t answered the question,” Mooralan says. “Will you come back to ours after we’ve eaten?”
“Yeah. But, fair warning, we are going to have to set down some rules.”
“Anything you want.”
Notanything. But that’s not their fault.
“I’ll remind you that you said that, later.”
CHAPTER 1
Their apartment is nice. Big enough for two with enough breathing room it doesn’t feel cramped with all three of us in the common space between their bedroom compartments… after we get through the galley kitchen their outer door opens into, that is. The space between the counter and wall is claustrophobic. Even for me.
“We don’t cook,” Ferrok explains, “So we didn’t care about that.”
“We could move,” Mooralan says.
“You are not moving, just because I don’t like your kitchen.”
Ferrok leans down, his beak nipping my neck. “We’d move for less.”
Mooralan picks me up and sits on the sofa, holding me in his lap. “There were other considerations when we chose this place.”
“Like what?” I ask as Ferrok takes off my shoes.
