I paste on a smile I’m no longer feeling and walk away. For a moment, I meander aimlessly, but then I hear my name…well, my nickname, and my mood instantly brightens.
Elio’s mouth grows slack with shock as I wind myself through the thickening crowd, careful not to brush up against any column of fire.
“Isles?” he repeats with little volume, as though worried I were some mirage he may dispel with a puff of breath.
“I heard the news that someone’s getting a pretty, emerald crown. Is it official?” When all that moves are his lashes, I cant my head. “Naeva said your aunts named you Crown Prince.”
He smooths a hand over his springy black curls as though utterly perplexed, which leads me to wonder whether Naeva was pulling my leg.
He takes another pass at his short hair. To think that back in the day, hair length determined one’s status, but not anymore. Or at least, not in Luce and Nebba. I hear Glace still upholds that law.
“Is your little, perfect, round headnotgetting bedazzled by the Nebban crown?” I ask.
He finally snaps out of his daze to grouse, “My head is neither little nor round, thank you very much. Also, you’re here?”
“I am.”
“How?”
“I flew.”
“No, I meant—I thought—Arin?”
“She was feeling better.” Not quite a lie, but granted, not quite the truth either. “So, was Naev lying, or are you the new, official Crown Prince of Nebba?”
“I never lie,” Naeva says, strolling over to us, red drink in hand. It’s probably juice, considering her distaste for alcohol.
“You do lie, mostly to yourself, and not well, but you do.”
Elio cocks an eyebrow. “What did I miss?”
She skewers me with a look. “Nothing.”
Before my cousin’s tusk can surge from her forehead to impale me, I turn the conversation back to Elio. “Heard you were getting hit on left and right since the announcement, and that your virginal body needed guarding.”
The grin that overtakes his lips is so wide it puts all his teeth on display. “I didn’t miss you.”
“Liar.” I fold my fingers around his. “You totally missed me.”
“Wetotallydid.” Arms wind around me from behind and wring a breath from my lungs. “Foursomes are way more fun than threesomes.”
A laugh puffs past my lips at Lachlano’s antics.
“Shit. I think your father just heard me say that,” he murmurs.
“Someone’s about to get plucked,” Elio singsongs.
“If you’re attached to your cock, Lach, I’d let go of Isles right about now.” Naeva drowns her smile in her drink.
Lachlano releases me but doesn’t run off. He does resituate himself next to Elio, though. “Evening, Mórrgaht.”
“Lachlano.” My father’s tone is cordial but entertainingly tight.
“I was jesting…” my friend says.
“About?” Dádhi asks.
“Um. About…”
