“There are too many people.”
“You should feel honored. It’s for you, after all.”
The frown deepened. “We were born twenty minutes apart. It’s your birthday, too.”
“Perhaps, but I’m not the heir aesling. You are.”
It was an awful truth, a cruel blow by fate. If he’d been born second, a lifetime of unwanted responsibility could have belonged to someone else. Someone far better suited for the role.
August wrinkled his nose as he stared at the crowd. None of this was actually for him. Or her. Their birthday was just an excuse for the city to throw a party. They did the same for hismother. And even for his father, who had been dead for four years.
But these people didn’t know them. Not really. They apparently couldn’t even pick them out of a crowd.
Then again, in every painting of his family, the artist would make tiny corrections to his likeness. They’d thin his face, wrangle the wild curls of his dark hair, plaster the appearance of confidence on his physique that was as fictional as the novels his sister loved so much. And they’d always leave out the silver that ringed his pupils—a trait his mother attributed to misfortune, not magic. As far as anyone knew, there were no powers that caused silver rings.
In truth, August and Lottie were relatively plain-looking, with soft, unassuming features. They had matching raven hair and golden-brown skin, both passed down from their Jivanten father. There were people in the crowd with similar traits. But he still felt like they were going to be found out. It seemed impossible that no one had recognized them yet.
“I’m going to dance,” Lottie said. “Join me?”
This wasn’t her first time out here. Unlike him, she wasn’t confined to the castle.
“I’m good here,” he answered. He may have known how to dance, but that didn’t mean he was willing to do it in public.
He thought she might press him, but she only shrugged. “Fine, I’ll check in with you later. Try to enjoy yourself. It’s our birthday. Celebrate a little.”
“We already did.”
She tilted her head. “Didwe though?”
Thatwasa bit of a stretch. They’d all eaten dinner together, but it was hardly a celebration. It was uncomfortable and tedious. The cook had made him his favourite dessert—apple tarts with fluffy cream on top—as he did every year, but his mother insisted that one piece was more than enough.
“Your face will never lose that boyish roundness if you keep eating like a child,” she’d said.
To spite her, August had secretly taken two more on his way to his room, without the cream, unfortunately, devouring one on the way and tucking the other beneath his pillow for later.
As the musicians began a new song, Lottie kissed him on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Auggie.” A graceful twirl sent her skirt billowing around her like a flower. She flashed a quick smile and then vanished into the heart of the boisterous crowd.
“Happy birthday, Lottie,” he said after she was gone.
How in the hells had she convinced him to come here? He usually had no trouble telling people no.
August stayed put for a few minutes until his curiosity got the better of him, then he traced the border of the market square, surveying the items for sale at each stand. A short woman with half-moon glasses peeked up over the counter of a structure that looked more like a tiny house than a stall. Behind her, shelves displayed an array of lamps, lanterns, and chandeliers, their pink flames casting a soft halo around her.
He lingered for a moment before the enticing scent of spiced meat dragged him away, sending him weaving through the browsing customers, pace quickening as he searched for the source.
He rounded a stall and crashed into someone with enough force to send him stumbling backward.
“Look where you’re going, yataesan!” a voice snapped.
“Sorry,” August muttered as he caught his balance. A subtle vibration, like a silent hum, drew his gaze up.
The boy stood a head taller than August. He was lean, with light hair and fair skin, his face twisted in an irritated scowl. When his storm-blue eyes met August’s, something flickered across his expression, and the hardness melted into a warm smile that set August’s insides on fire.
“No harm done,” the boy responded.
August swallowed hard. “I-There’s—” He blinked, then turned and hurried away, heart in his throat as he edged around the square. He followed the market stalls, pretending to peruse until he was sure he’d broken the line of sight.
Real smooth, August. Not suspicious at all.
