That didn’t stop Nythir from glowering. “What did you do to her?”
He had asked that question before—over different bodies, in other rooms, with various blood on his hands. It had neversounded like this. There was too much restraint in his voice, too much effort not to tear the room apart.
Luna dusted herself off, smug despite the bruises. “Oh relax, mutt. If I wanted your princess romantically, I’d have flirted with her, not straddled her for a prank. She’s cute, but not my type. I like women who bite back.”
Nythir blinked. “I’m a purebred elf, you’re the mutt. Also, Essie literally punched a vine demon yesterday.”
“Yes,” Luna sighed dreamily, “but she didn’t do it on purpose.” Then she added flatly, casually: "Congratulations, she is very safe from me. Vorrik should worry, though.”
“Good,” Nythir muttered, then frowned. “Wait—why congratulate—never mind.” He did not like the knowing look on her face.
“And look,” Luna said brightly, “I only fake-poisoned her!”
“Luna!” Essie squeaked.
“Okay, okay,” Luna waved her hands. “Bad prank. Terrible prank. Possibly war-crime-adjacent prank. I’ll fix it. Come to the tavern later, Cinabun. We’ll talk privately. Just us girls.”
Nythir snapped, “No.”
Essie straightened, chest puffed out. “Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No—”
“I’m not being controlled anymore, Nythir.” Her voice trembled, but her chin lifted. “Not by my father, not by my kingdom, not by anyone.”
That shut him up. He swallowed his instinct to argue. He also swallowed the urge to point out she’d slipped up, mentioning the kingdom. He was going to have to train her to be more sly.
Luna did not feel like a threat in the traditional sense.
That was what unsettled him most.
His instincts screamed loudest around blades and ambushes—clear dangers, honest ones. Luna felt like pressure without impact. Like standing too close to a cliff edge with nothing visibly pushing you forward.
He hated that his magic could not decide what she was.
Luna beamed like a rewarded cat. “Perfect! I’ll meet you there.” She twirled toward the door, her exit interrupted by it slamming open again. Nythir knew it would soon become his job to repair the hinges.
Lyssara strode in first, still in a robe and bonnet, eyes scanning the room like she expected bodies. Vorrik ducked under the frame behind her, his shoulders nearly brushing the sides. Last came Sable, Luna’s half-sister, expression flat as stone. Nobody would guess that the delicate flower and bulldog, as Stonehaven residents fondly labeled them, were siblings.
“What happened?” Lyssara demanded.
“Why does it look like a tornado attacked?” Vorrik added.
Sable’s voice was quiet and exhausted. “Luna, did you terrify another civilian?”
“Civilian?” Luna gasped. “That’s my new best friend! Treat her with respect!”
Essie’s jaw fell open, eyes as wide and glossy as a barn owl. Luna winked at her. Nythir did not like whatever secret the two shared. Essie’s quivering lip had him contemplating murder.
He gently placed his thumb over her wrist. Her pulse raced too fast.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” Esther whispered, unconvincingly.
