My lips split into a grin. I moved to speak, then halted as the figure turned, sensing my arrival.
Not Poet. Only now did it occur to me, the lean young man swerving in my direction lacked the jester’s muscled height. But he did possess the same sculpted jaw and verdant green irises. Only these wide-set eyes gleamed with less mischief. By contrast, his aura radiated with curiosity, enthusiasm, and pure wonder.
A decadent trickster did not stare back. A visionary dreamer did.
Belatedly, I registered the log-shaped animal lounging across his shoulders, the ferret perking up at my entrance. The fireplace threw light across the lad’s expectant face, his fae-like features stalling my breath.
I had one second to process. Then the young man gasped and charged at me like a slingshot.
“Aire!” he shrieked, barreling into me so fast, we staggered backward.
Tumble, the ferret, scurried down his body. The creature pawed at my boots in excitement, then flew across the rug, likely to expel his energy. The extensive lifespan of fauna compared to humans rarely ceased to amaze me.
Meanwhile, the young man’s unfiltered merriment seeped into my pores like sunshine, elated shock warming my soul. I never chuckled. I rarely mustered a forsaken smile. But in this moment, a weighty laugh barreled from my chest as I embraced him, welcoming the Royal Son’s crushing grip.
Not as strong as his father. But getting there.
Cedarwood wafted from his clothes. We tipped from side to side, mirthful until he pulled away. A jubilant smile raced across his countenance. Newly eighteen and on the cusp of manhood, he had inherited Poet’s beauty, only from a different angle, a uniqueness granted only to him.
“Nicu,” I marveled, shaking my head in awe.
“You came back!” Nicu rejoiced, his bright pupils shimmering. “You followed the ribbons home.”
Garlands hung from the rafters. Glancing from the ribbons, I grinned. “I’ll always come back to you, my liege.”
Never get attached. Never risk loss.
That rule, I upheld. Nonetheless, this young man remained my sole priority, and I would honor that pledge until my dying breath, regardless of time and distance. And because my liege remembered every word verbatim, I emphasized my reply, making sure he committed this vow to memory.
Nicu beamed. The striking picture wrought another to my head, a second set of youthful eyes flashing in my consciousness, so long lost to me. Grief cut a gash into my heart. This feeling would never abate, but the image of Nicu rejoicing alleviated the clouded memories of my brother.
I spoke past the lump in my throat. “And how you’ve grown. With your speed and strength of grip, you will outshine your father soon enough.”
“Tsk, tsk,” murmured a suave voice. “He already does, sweeting.”
8
Aire
Not merely a suave voice. No, the owner of that intonation exercised a tongue wrought of spun black silk. Lavish. Sleek. Dark.
His tall, athletic silhouette filled an open archway, unkempt layers of mussed hair brushing his sculpted shoulders. From behind, a corona of firelight poured around him, illuminating his physique.
I would never call myself a soldier who took note of someone’s wardrobe, except when it came to this man. His decadent style demanded attention whenever he appeared, for this celebrity dominated any space he occupied. Seasons, the fiendish bastard still knew how to make an entrance.
An unbuckled coat spilled down the man’s frame, landing at the heels of his raven boots, and corresponding leather pants clung to his toned limbs. Beneath the vestments, a low ivory shirt exposed the outlines of his pectorals, in addition to a collection of overlapping necklaces.
The atmosphere sketched half of his features in darkness, so that only two sources of color radiated from this figure. A set of cunning irises cut from emerald glass, with a dripping onyx spade painted under the right eye, and a scarlet band knotted around his wrist.
He leaned one shoulder against the entryway, the negligent pose matching the devious tilt of his lips. Decadesago, I would have scoffed at such a flagrant display. Now, this pageantry inspired a different reaction.
Amused, I sketched a bow. “Court Jester.”
The man flicked his digits in the air, the fingernails enameled in black. “Try again.”
Straightening, I lifted an eyebrow. “Poet.”
And he returned the gesture. “Aire.”
