“Her poor daughter. Who needs enemies with a mother like that?”
“Indeed. No doubt she’d sell her daughter off toyouif it meant securing a place for herself in Ingara.”
“I can’t say she’s my type.”
Fyar snorted. “Yes. She neither has a cock nor is she a younger brother.”
Killian jerked, wondering if he heard that right. “What?”
“You like bratty, younger males.” Fyar stared him down, but cocked his head innocently. “What? Did you think I meant something else—someoneelse?”
Trapped under the king’s eyes, Killian felt exposed.
Fighting down panic, Killian tilted his chin higher. “As if you don’t have the same inclinations.”
“It’s a flaw,” Fyar said easily. “We both have bad taste.”
“We should work on that.”
“We should.”
Killian left it alone for all of one second. “Maybeyoushould marry Lady Fiora’s daughter. Save her from her mother. Finally pop out an heir.”
Fyar’s lip curled. “I know it must be surprising to you, butduring the rare occasions I crave the company of a woman, I want them supple and soft.”
“Such strange tastes you have.”
“I don’t want to hear that from you.”
They eyed each other, lips pursed and judgement written all over their faces before they remembered where they were and who they were. Fighting back smiles they laughed. Fyar shoved Killian, shaking his head.
Suddenly, Fyar straightened and turned his head slowly. Killian followed his gaze. Across the hall, stood Lyra, swarmed by well-wishers and consoling touches. As if he felt them watching, Lyra looked up, meeting Fyar’s eyes head-on.
The prince’s face was hard, his jaw clenched tight. There was a finality in his eyes, the promise of an end.
Something incomprehensible to Killian passed between the two cousins. An understanding, perhaps.
Then, Fyar turned his back on the last living member of his family. He inclined his head towards the glass doors to their left, and spoke to Killian, a sad smile marring his face. “Join me?”
Fyar led them out onto the terrace overlooking the back of the estate, out of earshot and away from any prying eyes. The labyrinth groaned into the night as it shifted, ever alive and changing.
Stepping out into the open set Killian on edge. They were too exposed.
Taking a deep breath, Fyar leaned against the banister and turned his face towards the stars. He looked younger, more carefree. “It’s a beautiful night. Yes. It’s perfect.” Startingforward, he descended the steps that led out toward the looming labyrinth.
Their path was illuminated by the bright waxing moon aided by the torches that were lit along garden throughout the estate.
Killian followed more cautiously. “We shouldn’t be out here. You do remember there are elves that are actively trying to kill you?”
Fyar only grinned.
Every step they took across the grass needled at Killian. The shadows played tricks on him, making him see and hear things—elves—that weren’t there. One hand reached up behind his back to grip the hilt of one of the twin swords on his back. Just in case.
Fyar barely seemed to notice Killian’s concern, he just kept walking, not a care in the world. They were near the edge of the labyrinth now, and they could see the hedges moving, twisting and twisting and twisting to form endless passages and dead ends.
It felt like a lifetime ago, the last time they walked this path together, back when things were easy. No Lyra. No Porthos. No Kade. Just Killian and Fyar. While Killian wouldn’t trade his time with Kade for the world, he missed when things were simpler.
The fog that surrounded the labyrinth settled heavily around them, obscuring them from view. They were far enough from the palace they wouldn’t be seen.
