Lyrik scoffed like an asshole. “Not answering that again.”
Nicu cast me a mirthful sidelong glance and held up his fingers. “Three times.”
I grumbled. So be it. I had inquired enough.
As such, I refused to disappoint my liege, who bounded on his toes in excitement. People. Lots of them. Nicu’s favorite type of gathering.
He dressed for the occasion. Outfitted as a woodland fae with makeshift pointed ears, leaf vines twining up his arms, intricately feathered eye paint that proved he learned well from his father, and the dagger Aspen had forged for him, Nicu exuded otherworldly grace. And impishness.
“A fine choice,” I praised.
My liege blushed while adjusting his collar. “It’s not too much?”
I would have responded, but his decorated eyes flickered over to Lyrik, who gave him a quick, absentminded once-over.“You look perfect to me.” Then he corrected, “Meaning, you look fine.” Grunting, he waved a callous hand in the air. “Decent.”
Nicu’s features pinched. “At least you picked one.”
Without waiting for a retort, he turned his gaze to the constellations. At which point, I caught the rogue’s eyes clicking over to my liege again. This time, his gaze settled longer on Nicu, those black pupils sliding over the young man’s frame and stalling on his moonlit profile while I feigned ignorance.
Contrary to how they must feel, the Royal family had not postponed the kingdom’s festivities. Despite their son’s disappearance, Poet and Briar must have encouraged levity rather than widespread distress. To do otherwise would have harkened to that terrible night of the castle blackout and dimmed the public’s sense of recovery and hope.
A year after that historic event, Poet and Briar renewed the celebration and cemented their bond by getting married on this same night. Since then, the annual revels have signified moral redemption, social prosperity, and unbroken perseverance. So while Nicu might be the center of the jester and princess’s world, as well as the Queen’s, they could not enforce that same level of devotion on their people. Because Royals persisted in times of woe, the family must endure their grief while demonstrating leadership.
However much I respected their position, I did not envy it.
That aside, Nicu loved this celebration. To delay Reaper’s Fest throughout our nation would have dishonored him. Also, our message must have reached the clan by now regarding our whereabouts, the traitor camp, and Nicu’s wellbeing. Hopefully, the latter eased the family’s plight. Doubtless, our fellowship would act soon, if not already.
A pair of hands clamped around Nicu’s eyes from behind. “Guess who?”
That voice pebbled my flesh. I gripped the strap of one scabbard and nailed my attention to the forest.
Don’t look.
Do not fucking look.
I looked. As my eyes flitted in her direction, I regretted it like a punch in the face.
Similar bronze armor to mine clutched her ample curves, except she had improvised. Rearranging the plates created a blade effect, as if a hundred small knives grew from her shoulders. Lastly, Aspen had dabbed scarlet onto her lips, a deep red color that could be mistaken for blood or sin itself.
The image parched my mouth. I stifled an unseemly noise. Letting the offensive sound run freely would only give the impression that I hadn’t feasted or fucked in a decade.
With Aspen’s palms still blocking Nicu’s vision, he chuckled and felt the plates running across her arms. “A fighter of old?”
“How’d you know?” Aspen quipped, removing her hands from his face.
My liege spun toward her, the pair scanning one another’s garb in appreciation. For a vicious second, the performance stalled. While greeting Nicu, her eyes hazarded over to me.
Taken aback, she reviewed my ensemble. We couldn’t have thought closer alike.
A tentative light shone in her irises, but I tore myself away from their resplendence. Preferring to stew in my own rancor and hardly capable of trusting myself otherwise, I refused to give this woman an inch.
The glow of Lyrik’s cigarette illuminated the stubble in his jaw. He puffed the last of his reed before flicking it into the darkness, then stalked between Aspen and Nicu. Slinging his arms over their shoulders, he gathered them close. “Ready to misbehave?”
“Get your arm off me,” Aspen ordered while inspecting his dark horns and crimson face paint. “What are you supposed to be?”
“A devil,” he answered. “Smooch me, and I’ll turn into a prince. Make sure to use a lot of tongue.”
“You’re confusing devils with toads.”
