He raises his head. “Yes?”
“Are you a top or a bottom?”
Nash chokes while Hart snorts.
Malachi blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You know,” I say, waving my hand vaguely. “Dispositionally. Spiritually. In the grand tapestry of your romantic destiny.”
Nash drags a hand down his face. “Is it too late to drown in the lake to escape this conversation?”
Malachi's grin spreads. “Depends on the company.”
I clap my hands once. “Excellent. I like a flexible knight.” I turn to Nash. “Best to reverse inside to avoid any topping from the bottom disasters.”
Hart winces in remembrance of my shoulder hitting his groin.
I squint at Malachi’s socked feet and then chuckle as he’s wearing the same mismatched socks as his twin. They share everything.
Nash kisses me briefly and then folds his body inside the tent with a soft grunt.
“Warm,” he murmurs.
“Brother,” Malachi drawls. “Why do your feet smell of roses?”
Everyone pauses.
“Must be from Daphne’s bath this morning.”
That still lingered after a whole diurnal of sweaty horse riding and an impromptu lake dipping? I sniff my armpit. While not stinky, there’s also no remembrance of flowers.
Hart tangles his hand in mine and leads me away from the tent to let his brothers rest. As we grow closer to the trees, I let out a shriek at the huge lumps on the ground.
“The horses are dead.”
“Sleeping,” he corrects. That’s right. They can sleep upright, but they need a few turns of total chill to rest up for our trek tomorrow. I step a little closer, and Nash’s horse’s eye drifts half open.
“Also, if my eyes are open and I’m asleep, can I still see? Or is it just the creepy whites-of-the-eyes situation? Because sometimes Gwyneth does that, and I can tell you now, it is deeply unsettling. Like she’s watching you from inside her skull.”
Hart says nothing.
“I once waved my hand in front of her face for a full minute,” I continue. “Nothing. No reaction. Just blank eyes. I nearly fainted from the terror of it.”
Still nothing.
“Maybe we can sleep upright and with our eyes open?” I wonder as Hart pushes on my shoulders, encouraging me to sit on a log.
“No.”
“But the horses do it.”
“We are not horses.”
“That feels like a narrow-minded stance.”
He makes a circle of the camp area, checking for suspicious snails and freaky frogs. Oh no. I jump to my feet and yank down my panties before pushing my hand between my legs.
“What are you doing, Calamity?” he drawls. “If it’s a show, I’m all for it.”
