“Barnaby showed up early to congratulate them.” I watched Hazel physically step between the two Heralds as their argument intensified. “Reynard saw an opportunity.”
“Efficiency.” Isengrim’s smile showed just a hint of fang. “I do appreciate that quality.”
We stood in comfortable silence while Hazel made increasingly desperate attempts to redirect the conversation. The reception hall around us was packed with supernatural beings. Fae and forest spirits swayed gently on the dance floor. Several minor nature deities clustered around the open bar. No one seemed that surprised by the arguing Heralds. If anything, the guests were enjoying the sight.
“How is Mrs. Roth?” Isengrim suddenly asked. “Still warming up to you after the gala incident?”
A few months ago, that might have made me tense. I could have taken it as a dig, especially considering Isengrim’s history with both Beatrice Roth and Hazel. But now, I understood the comment for what it was. A subtle offer of assistance.
“Hazel’s grandmother is… processing,” I replied. “Hazel says she appreciated that I was trying to protect her. Even if my methods were, quote, ‘catastrophically misinformed’.”
“Ah.” Isengrim’s smile widened, his snout twitching with amusement. “She’ll come around, then. Beatrice respects strength, even when it’s misdirected. Give it time. She’ll adjust to everything in the end.”
Once we figured out how to tell her I was an orc, he meant. That would happen, too. I’d created countless strategies, most of which Grix had approved. I just needed to settle on one.
“Stop overthinking it,” Isengrim advised me. “Beatrice will welcome you once she sees you truly appreciate her granddaughter. Perhaps a celebration at The Cocoa Bean? I understand it has become quite popular with the supernatural community.”
He wasn’t wrong. After the challenge, word had spread through the supernatural world about the human chocolatier who’d helped fix the Herald of Spring crisis. Suddenly, Hazel’s clientele had expanded to include beings who’d been alive for centuries. Hazel had, of course, embraced it. Now, she treated fae dietary restrictions and werewolf metabolism needs with the same professionalism she’d once given to gluten-free wedding cakes.
“Santa’s a regular now,” I said, unable to keep myself from bragging. “Comes in every Tuesday for his standing order. And Hazel trades recipes with Mrs. Claus.”
In front of me, Hazel finally threw her hands up in defeat. Barnaby and Reynard’s argument reached new heights. Isengrim eyed his spouse with obvious affection, then turned toward me. “And you’re terrified of adding Beatrice into the mix?”
“Maybe a little,” I admitted. Hazel’s grandmother was formidable. Knowing her, she’d try to recruit Santa for her Rescue Paws Gala. She'd probably succeed.
Isengrim’s tail swayed, and he opened his mouth to respond. Before he could say a word, a flash of rainbowlight exploded over the wedding cake. Barnaby yelped and dove under the nearest table. Reynard stumbled backward into Hazel, nearly tripping over their own heels.
Grix materialized in front of the cake, his kobold form crackling with residual magical energy. His suit was even more expensive than Isengrim’s, if that was possible. He was holding what looked like a remote control covered in glowing runes.
“Attention!” His voice carried across the entire reception hall with supernatural amplification. “The ceremonial cake cutting will now commence! Clear the area! This is not a drill!”
The assembled guests immediately gave the cake a wide berth. Grix’s reputation preceded him.
Isengrim moved with the fluid grace of a predator who’d spotted his prey. He crossed the distance to Reynard in three smooth strides and offered his paw. “Come, beloved. Let’s give them their show.”
Reynard’s entire demeanor shifted. The sharp-edged Herald of Spring dissolved into someone who looked almost soft. Their amber eyes turned bright with something deep, unique, and profound. It was the same feeling that bubbled in my chest whenever I looked at Hazel. Happiness, love, and utter… rightness.
Isengrim and Reynard didn’t bother with a knife, because why would they? Instead, they entwined their clawed paws, Isengrim’s larger, darker grip coveringReynard’s more delicate one. Together, they cut into all five layers of Hazel’s masterpiece, far more smoothly than any blade could have. Herald of Spring or not, Reynard was still a predator.
The crowd applauded. Grix’s light show exploded into another rainbow cascade. Somewhere in the back, a string quartet started playing a joyful melody, though it was quickly drowned out by enthusiastic cheering.
Isengrim leaned down and nuzzled his spouse. Reynard melted into the touch, their free paw coming up to cup Isengrim’s face. The whole thing was so private and intimate that I looked away on instinct.
Hazel made her way to my side, finally free of the entire production. “That went well,” she said, leaning against my shoulder.
“You stopped them from destroying their own wedding reception.” I pulled her against my side, needing the contact now more than ever. “That’s more than well.”
“It was a close call.” Hazel reached to rub her eyes. She stopped herself just in time, remembering she was wearing makeup. “I half-expected the cake to melt before they even cut it.”
“Your cake is perfect,” I said into her hair, breathing in her familiar scent. “They’re going to remember this wedding because of what you made.”
“They’re going to remember this wedding because the Heralds of Spring decided to turn it into a negotiation.”She huffed, half-exasperated, half-fond. “But thank you.”
Across the room, Isengrim was leading Reynard toward the exit. Stealing his spouse away, as Hazel had somehow foretold. Reynard was laughing at something Isengrim had said, their whole face bright with joy. Isengrim looked at them as if they were the only thing in the universe worth his attention.
At the last moment, Reynard yelped. “Wait!” They pulled away from Isengrim just long enough to grab the bouquet from the side table. “The bouquet! Can’t leave without the bouquet toss!”
The bouquet was an elaborate arrangement of red roses, white lilies, and something magical Oberon himself had provided. Reynard turned, scanned the crowd with predatory focus, and threw it directly at Hazel.
