Alba and I huddled together over our mediocre ales at a high-top near the bar. We bumped shoulders and giggled as we conspired, making up stories about the strangers in the room.
“Pickpocket,” I whispered, nudging Alba and nodding in the direction of a sun kissed, slender man. He moved like wheat in the breeze, free flowing and light. His nimble movements avoided contact as he slunk through the crowd to his group of friends.
“Oh, absolutely!” Alba giggled. I caught myself staring at her smile. I’d seen the way her eyes lit up from beneath her chambermaid robes, but seeing those blue irises paired with ale-flushed cheeks and gleaming teeth made it difficult not to stare.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed either. A few brave Day Guards had approached us, offering to get us refills or stools. We declined and sent them on their way.
The room warmed as more and more patrons entered the hall. We’d long discarded our riding cloaks. Alba wore a light blue bodice over a cream chemise. She was like a summer day in human form, from her gleaming hair to her sky-toned clothing.
I resembled her perfect opposite. My embroidered black corset left my neck, shoulders, and arms bare. The dark fabric matched my black linen skirt and featured a slit up one side, offering a view for onlookers up my thigh. I was the velvet night to Alba’s golden day, but other thancontrasting each other, we fit in with the fashion of the few women in Last Light.
Alba nudged me. “What about that one?”
“Hm?” I searched, but the mass of men had doubled in the last ten minutes.
She subtly extended her pointed finger from the hand clutching her mug and I followed the line to the gaming loft.
Muscled, ebony arms were raised in triumph, framing a square jaw that was host to a wide, winning smile. Thick locs were held at the base of his corded neck by a leather knot. Extensive tattoos flowed from beneath his cream shirt and I wondered how much pain he’d endured for his art. He was collecting his winnings when his gaze found mine.
Rougish, brown eyes flicked between myself and Alba before he excused himself from the gaming table.
“Good trouble,” was all I said into my mug as we watched the man, who appeared to be friends with everyone he passed, make his way across the loft and down the stairs toward us.
I almost spit out my swig of ale when I heard Alba mumble, “He’s courting me.”
“What?” I hid my whisper underneath a curtain of my own unkempt hair.
She nodded with a sheepish grin. “For a few months now.”
“Albaaaaa.” The ale rode on the vowels of her name and I leaned into her playfully like we’d known each other for years and years. “How did you—when did you—how long—who is he?”
My questions tumbled over each other, begging to be asked first.
She giggled and hid her words behind her mug. “His name is Shaw.”
“Well, this is impossible.” Silky words flowed from the upturned lips of Alba’s suitor.
I watched as my chambermaid cocked a brow and held back a smile that begged for release behind her tight lips.
“What is?” I replied on her behalf.
Shaw’s gaze graced me for a moment before returning to her. “I thought the sun had gone down...yet, here stands this blazing beauty among mere mortals.”
Alba and I exchanged a glance rather than audibly groaning. And despite our unimpressed expressions, Shaw pressed on, “May I bask in your glow or have you come to burn us undeserving wretches down?”
With his final word, he leaned, brawny arms folded on our table.
Alba matched his stance, leaning closer to him before saying, “Bask at your own risk.”
They shared a charged moment, lost in their silence despite the rising sound of chatter, laughter, and upbeat music filling the space.
“And who accompanies my radiant sun tonight?” Shaw’s warm brown eyes turned to me.
“This is Lyra,” Alba offered before I could speak up. She knew well enough to lie and I treasured her for it.
I gave her an appreciative smile before leaning toward her suitor. “Consider me the moon.”
A wide grin spread across his face. “Well, Lyra, moon goddess. May I steal away this beauty for a dance?”
