Seren feels unfairly frustrated at Folly’s rambling. “Tansy’s already been stolen between realms. He deserves a choice.”
“As long as he makes the choice you want?” Folly asks.
The contradiction prickles. Seren inhales the discomfort but doesn’t let it sway him. “Edith and Alard miss him. Their grief is… agonizing.”
Folly isn’t fae. His control over his mental boundaries is messy at best. But the sudden surge of compassion doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t pity Seren. He just understands what it’s like to grow up different.
“He won’t listen to me,” Folly says. “But I’ll talk to him.”
Seren exhales. “Thank you.”
Folly shakes out his starry robe, like he’s shaking off the awkwardness, and picks up the silk bundle. “I brought a gift! It’s from me and Yarrow, and Hummingbird would throw a tantrum if I forgot to mention her. Be sure to name her if anyone asks—if it pleases Your Highness, and so on.”
Seren accepts the bundle with some trepidation. “Hummingbird is the seamstress I was supposed to meet?”
“That’s the one.” Folly grins. “You obviously have plenty of fancy clothes, but you need something special today. Festivals are a performance.”
“I don’t have your knack for theatrics,” Seren says, with growing alarm. Especially thinking of everything he’s seen fae courtiers wearing. Or not wearing, as it were. “I’m barely used to these clothes.”
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy,” Folly says earnestly. “Hummingbird knows you’re not a carnival dropout like me. Besides, Nevander gave strict orders not to make it slutty.”
Nevander’s involvement is a relief. “Oh, that’s good.”
Folly’s eyes narrow. “You don’t sound surprised.”
“Why should I be?” Seren asks.
“Royal guardians don’t usually supervise the king’s wardrobe,” Folly says, like it’s obvious.
Seren has become so swiftly, completely accustomed to Nevander’s involvement in his life. Sometimes the dependence is frightening. Sometimes it’s nice. Seren’s never had the chance to depend on someone before.
“There’s nothing usual about my position,” Seren says, chin lifted so he doesn’t look away bashfully. “Nevander has been very helpful.”
After a pause, Folly simply says, “That’s good.”
Folly doesn’t push. They’re not friends. Just old neighbors, mostly strangers. Misfit village brats, now the fae-touched Lord of Elsewhere and the changeling Prince of Summer. Pushing would be impolite.
Seren’s confession spills out. “We’ve been involved.”
Folly lights up with glee. “That’s fantastic! Wonderful! Superb!”
“Is it?” Seren asks, taken aback. He thinks it’s superb too, of course, but Folly’s enthusiasm forces Seren to tighten his shields defensively.
“Quite superb,” Folly says. “Yarrow owes me a favor.”
“A favor?” Seren’s shields waver. “Wait, you were betting on us?”
Folly winks. “One of many things fae and carnival folk have in common. We love a wager. Yarrow thought Nevander was too responsible to bed you, but that’s just because he’s known Nevander too long. Too many preconceptions.”
“Are we being irresponsible?” Seren asks.
Folly’s expression turns complicated. “You shouldn’t listen to my rambling. What’s irresponsible about bedding a tall, handsome fae warrior? Go get dressed. I mean, if it pleases Your Highness. I’ll just be snooping through your parlor.”
Seren hesitates, caution prickling through his emotional daze. The palace has been rife with unexplained security concerns. Letting this self-described carnival dropout snoop unsupervised is probably unwise.
But Seren’s awareness tugs, like a sound he hears with his magic. A familiar connection with the inner palace wards. Folly has half a minute to get in trouble before Nevander arrives.
“Have fun,” Seren says, and retreats upstairs.
