The prince’s empathy is an unexpected blade. Kindness honed to a razor’s edge. Seren extends it even to the mother who hid him away, the queen who ruined Nevander’s vow. Resentment would be fair, and Seren feels that too. But compassion is his driving force, even though he’s seen more of Elladar’s shadows than its wonders.
Nevander keeps meaning to change that, but the timing is never right. Maybe he should stop planning the perfect day and seize a moment. Any moment.
Now.
Nevander extends his hand. “May I take you somewhere?”
Seren should ask where. When. Instead, he takes Nevander’s hand. “Yes.”
Nevander could detour to the armory to select a transport talisman. But in that delay, he might reconsider the wisdom of this venture. Leading Seren down gold and marble hallways, Nevander chooses from the talismans already in his carryhold.
He does pause to tell Idalia they’re leaving intentionally. A missing prince would rightly cause panic. Then he whisks Seren upwards, to a high balcony open to the golden afternoon. The railing is low, designed for launches and landings.
“Are we flying again?” Seren asks nervously, though his grasp doesn’t falter.
“Just until we clear the wards.” Nevander plucks a talisman from his carryhold. The paper is so heavy and soft it feels like fabric, covered in golden runes. A week’s worth of work from a skilled enchanter, to be used only for important travels. Like this. Nevander hands it to Seren. “When I say so, tear this in half.”
Seren inspects it, not as thoroughly as usual. His gaze keeps darting to Nevander. “All right.”
Nevander inhales, and the breath tingles between his shoulder blades. He exhales, and his wings unfurl with a whisper. Not crowding the balcony, built wide for this purpose. Instead, Seren’s the one who seems to take up space, leaning closer, captivated. Like Nevander is far more wondrous than the talisman.
“Your wings will be much more impressive,” Nevander says, embarrassed by how much he enjoys the attention.
“Maybe.” Seren steps into Nevander’s offered arm. “That doesn’t make yours any less.”
Making this flight at Seren’s side would be a dream. But Nevander’s glad Seren hasn’t come into his full power yet. Just for this moment, when he gets to lift Seren into his arms. And for this, stepping onto the railing, and leaping into the air.
Nevander didn’t properly enjoy their last flight. Now, his wings strain joyfully with the welcome weight. Seren clutches Nevander’s shoulders, and his gasp tickles Nevander’s throat. Hair streams past their faces as wingbeats and magic lift them higher.
He wants to show Seren the wonders of Summer, but he can’t deny this is a selfish venture.
Magical boundaries brush past like a dry waterfall. “Was that the wards?” Seren asks beneath Nevander’s jaw.
“You’re getting good at this,” Nevander says. “You can tear the talisman now.”
“You flatter me,” Seren accuses, though he doesn’t sound displeased.
Nevander’s so distracted by the warmth in Seren’s voice, he forgets he hasn’t yet explained the talisman. Not until the paper tears, and magic sparks.
The landscape changes. Instead of the shimmering palace, swathes of gray forest ripple below. Specks of blue and green dance among the silver trees.
Seren claws painfully behind Nevander’s neck. “Gods’ mercy, gods’ spite, gods’ twisted fucking humor!”
“You’re all right,” Nevander soothes.
“Am I?” Seren’s grip tightens. “What happened?”
Nevander angles his wings, drifting slowly downward. “We used a teleportation talisman. We’re above Spiritwood. Not as drastic as hopping realms, and you were fine with that.”
“Was I?” Seren demands.
Nevander laughs. He can’t help it. Seren squeaks again, even though nothing has happened except Nevander’s laughter, and tucks his face against Nevander’s neck.
Spirits. No armor could defend against that. Nevander needs to land before he does something presumptuous.
“Do you want to visit the village or the woods?” Nevander asks. “I can glamor us in the village.”
“Let’s start with the woods,” Seren says, as Nevander hoped. He doesn’t want to share.
