“I wish Cairn were here,” Lyra says beside me as we make our way through the crowd. This year, she opted for a red dress rather than black, and gold feathers are woven into her wild curls. “He always works the mead booth. It won’t be the same without him.”
“He’ll be home for Yule though, right?” Alina asks. She has her hand looped through the crook of Raelan’s arm aswe walk the grounds together, checking out everything the festival has to offer this year.
“He promised,” Lyra says, but her crimson eyes still flash with a hint of sadness, and her lips are pulled into a pout.
“Come on,” Maeve says. “Let’s go get some of that mead and forget about men for a few hours.”
“Some of uscan’tforget about men,” Lyra says pointedly, looking at me. “Poppy has a very specific one to think about.”
My cheeks heat, and I’m suddenly very aware of the simple black dress I’m wearing. It’s nothing fancy, just a fitted black dress that Alina insisted I borrow, with long lacy sleeves and a skirt that swishes when I walk. Lyra cast a fire spell over me to help keep me warm without a cloak, and it’s keeping me nice and comfortable; she’s gotten much better with her magic since last year.
I feel exposed and pretty and nervous all at once.
“He’s meeting me here,” I say quietly. “We’re going to walk around together.”
Aric asked me if I’d be here, and at first, I was going to tell him no—I usually leave the festival early anyway to go back to the room and drink tea and read a book. But tonight, I’m not in any hurry to leave, and my eyes keep scanning the crowd, looking for a big green orc with an easy smile. So far, I haven’t spotted him.
“How romantic,” Lyra says, but she’s smiling, not teasing. Well, maybe teasing a little. That’s just Lyra though.
Floating candles bob around us, enchanted to stay lit despite the chill breeze, and music drifts from somewhere near the bonfire—fiddles and drums, sounding magicaland ancient in a way that makes my blood move a bit faster through my veins.
“There’s the mead booth,” Lyra says, pointing. “Let’s—oh.”
She stops abruptly, and I follow her gaze to see a familiar figure standing near the booth, talking to another student. My stomach flutters in that way it always does when I see him.
Aric.
He’s dressed simply—dark trousers, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a black vest that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad. His hair is pulled back in its usual topknot, and his tusks catch the firelight as he laughs at something the other student says.
Part of me wants to scurry off and hide, and the other part wants to run right into his arms.
He turns, scanning the crowd, and his eyes find mine.
Everything else falls away.
He goes very still, his gaze traveling from my face down to the black dress and back up again. My skin tingles as if he’s touching me, not just looking at me. And even from this distance, I can see the way his expression shifts—surprise at spotting me, then a narrowing of his eyes, turning his look into something a bit more intense. I shiver, but not from the cold.
He excuses himself from the other student and starts walking toward us, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Well,” Maeve mutters beside me, “I think that’s our cue to leave.”
“Wait—” I start, but my friends are already melting into the crowd, leaving me standing alone as Aric approaches. Lyra makes a kissy face at me right before she’s swallowed up by a big group of first-years, who’re wide-eyed as they experience the festival for the first time.
“Hi,” Aric says when he reaches me, his voice a little rough. “Blessed Samhain.”
“B-blessed Samhain,” I manage.
He just stares at me for a moment, and I start to fidget under his focused hazel gaze. Maybe this dress was a bad idea. Maybe I look like I’m trying too hard.
I run a hand over the soft black fabric. “Is it too much?” I ask. “Alina said—”
“No,” he interrupts. “You look incredible.”
Heat floods my face. “You look nice too.”
“I look like I do every day,” he says with a laugh, his tusks catching the light from the bonfire. “But you look like...” He gestures at me with a shake of his head. “Like something very dangerous to me.”
Butterflies stir inside my belly at those words. No one has ever called me dangerous before. And I think I like it, even if it’s just for this one night.
