Gramlithyn cleared his throat but continued to stare at the floor, blocking Pyxlevir from reading anything on his face.
“Finding your mate changes everything. You know that. You’ve heard everyone around us say that since we were kids. Mates come first, and—”
“Gramlithyn, I know that. I’m saying that I want a mate who understands that you’re my best friend. I’m happy to explain that I want you in my life to the man or woman Fate gives me. I’d love to find them soon. I’ve always envied Drystan and Conley. They met in their late teens. I know they were separated for centuries, but they also have hundreds of years of memories as a couple. I hope I’m spared the pain of losing my other half, but if Fate is listening, I’m ready whenever you find him or her, so please send them my way.”
Reverent Knights Drystan and Conley Gylde-Kempe were part of the ever-growing D’Vaire clan and had met at a dragon fair a lifetime ago. Drystan was seventeen and Conley just a hair older at nineteen. They’d shared several centuries and eventually led the dragons as Emperors. Then, on one horrible night, they were murdered. Now resurrected as fallen knights, they served the Council proudly as leaders of the Order of the Fallen Knights.
They were incredible men and, like most of the couples Pyxlevir called family, their bond was gorgeous and impossible to miss. It was exactly what Pyxlevir wanted in his life, and the sooner the better. It was greedy to ask Fate to be matched before he’d reached his eighteenth birthday, but Pyxlevir couldn’t help himself.
“I’m heading home so I don’t miss dinner,” Gramlithyn said as he turned and walked toward the front door of Uncle Timotheus’s mansion. “Text or call me if you change your mind about going. Colby and I are already planning to work on our trip plans later tonight; we want to get everything finalized soon.”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” Pyxlevir replied, keeping his voice level. “Tell your parents I said hi.”
Gramlithyn gave him a jaunty wave and left the house. Pyxlevir stood alone and wondered what the hell was happening and why fear was growing in his belly. As he closed his eyes, an inner voice insisted that nothing between him and Gramlithyn would ever be the same.
But that dumb part of him was wrong.
Despite the camping trip, Pyxlevir would remain best friends with Gramlithyn. Their bond was so tight that Pyxlevir mused that perhaps Fate herself had brought such a wonderful person into Pyxlevir’s life.
Chapter 2
By Pyxlevir’s eighteenth birthday, a giant pit had formed in his belly. Something was wrong with Gramlithyn. It had been a mere month since his best friend had turned eighteen, but it didn’t feel like such a short time had passed. Pyxlevir didn’t have to question why every day stretched like an eternity.
It was easy to understand. He spent countless minutes and hours awaiting any communication from his best friend. For the past twelve years, they had texted, called, and shared memories in person together. Now Gramlithyn was pulling away, and it terrified Pyxlevir. The last thing he wanted was distance between him and Gramlithyn.
Pursing his lips as he stared at his reflection, Pyxlevir took in the short elf staring back at him and wished he could summon some excitement for the party his family had insisted on throwing for him. Celebrations where Pyxlevir was the guest of honor weren’t his favorite thing—he preferred not to be the focus—but he’d long ago grown accustomed to his parents’ desire to make his birthdays as joyous as possible. And they never embarrassed him or overwhelmed him. Pyxlevir had the best family.
But this year, Pyxlevir was finding it difficult to gather himself. Gramlithyn was acting weird, and he was leaving soonfor a three-month vacation without him. Since Pyxlevir had been invited and declined, he couldn’t be angry with Gramlithyn for his desire to go, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss him and Colburn.
What concerned Pyxlevir were the sudden cracks in his closest friendship. With a heavy sigh, Pyxlevir righted the deep purple-and-black silk tunic Evlithar and Cadlyr had made for him and sat heavily on his bed. A horrid voice in his head reminded him that not every friendship lasted forever. Life had a way of pulling people apart.
But Pyxlevir refused to allow his close bond with Gramlithyn to fade into nothing without a fight. Pyxlevir shook his head, and his gaze landed on the zebra beads he insisted on having added to his braids each time his hair was done. That little reminder of his best friend brought him comfort.
No one but Pyxlevir knew that Gramlithyn’s presence hadn’t always filled him with solace. As Pyxlevir had grown up, his imagination had run wild. Dreams had filled his head both at night as he slept and as he skipped through his days. He’d romanticized his relationship with Gramlithyn and convinced himself that Fate had made them best friends so they could be mates someday.
Pyxlevir had allowed himself to secretly fantasize about it until Gramlithyn announced that the last thing he wanted was a mate. His dear friend didn’t want to be tied down to anyone, including Pyxlevir. Gramlithyn wanted a free, unburdened future. After learning that, Pyxlevir had wept heartbroken tears into his pillow, but he hadn’t allowed his foolish visions to affect his friendship. Gramlithyn hadn’t conjured up a life with Pyxlevir, and it’d torn him apart.
It hadn’t been easy, but Pyxlevir had tucked his feelings into a box and allowed them to wither. He had forced himself to accept that Gramlithyn was his best friend and nothing more.Someday, they would juggle how to remain close while putting their mates first. As Pyxlevir had grown up, he’d grown grateful that Gramlithyn wouldn’t be his mate since his best friend was so opposed to the idea.
Maturity had made him realize that matebonds weren’t easy. Even his own parents—who adored each other—had nearly ended their relationship. The last thing Pyxlevir wanted was to lose Gramlithyn. That was an unacceptable fate. So, being friends was far better for them as it was less fraught with danger.
Surging to his feet, Pyxlevir lifted his chin and strengthened his resolve. His party would be fun, and in the morning, Pyxlevir would focus on Gramlithyn. They’d work out whatever was festering in Gramlithyn’s head and mend this distance. A thought popped into Pyxlevir’s mind, and he narrowed his eyes. Was his best friend upset that Pyxlevir had declined to go on the camping trip? Because if that was it, Pyxlevir was going to tell Gramlithyn off.
It was Gramlithyn and Colburn who wanted to go, knowing Pyxlevir and Crispin didn’t enjoy camping. They were free to celebrate their graduation however they wanted, but they couldn’t expect everyone to fall in line with their plans. And it was stupid and immature to allow that to affect their friendship.
Pyxlevir didn’t like that his closest friends were gallivanting off for three months, but he’d accepted it because that’s what adults did. They were eighteen now, and they needed to stop acting like children. Preferring not to lose his temper, Pyxlevir took a deep breath and reminded himself not to jump to conclusions. He’d talk to Gramlithyn and quit allowing them both to put off discussing the strangeness between them.
It wasn’t surprising that Gramlithyn hadn’t said anything if he was upset. He wasn’t confrontational, and he preferred not to hurt other people’s feelings. His kindness was a lovely aspectof his personality. But it was also annoying that he didn’t charge into Pyxlevir’s face to tell him when he was upset.
With a smile, Pyxlevir wondered if his best friend had rubbed off on him because this strangeness was weeks old and he hadn’t yet forced the issue. The phone on Pyxlevir’s dresser beeped, and he walked over to find a text from Gramlithyn. His best friend wanted to swing by despite the party not starting for another thirty minutes.
Reminding himself not to corner the hybrid and demand answers before a celebration, Pyxlevir sent Gramlithyn a message assuring him he could get his tall butt to the house whenever he wanted. Pyxlevir patted Kalliope’s head as she slept peacefully, then he walked out of his bedroom and found his father standing in the living room with his arms crossed.
Chieftain Valzadari wore an expression that was both exasperated and amused. It took only seconds to understand why. Three of the five centaurs in the house were breathing in helium to make their voices higher and giggling at each other.
“Grown men,” Kalthekor said. “Veterans of wars. Pillars of their community. And this is how they amuse themselves.”
“Dad has been nuts since you met him,” Pyxlevir reminded his father.
