Page 46

Instead, she tore her eyes away; focusing on pouring herself more tea.

Focusing on anything but him.

Before this moment, she had hated that story—embarrassed to be found lacking so openly. But now, a traitorous giggle bubbled out of her.

With a smirk, she tilted her head, brushing her singed hair into view.

A golden, late-afternoon sun streamed through the window, bathing Peri’s notes in warm light. She watched the delicate dust motes dance in the air as a thought took root in her mind.

“Why did you prank me so much when we were younger?”

Oleander laughed, tilting his head in thoughtful consideration before replying, “I didn’t just prank you… there were others. But you always reacted in the funniest ways. Always so indignant. So I guess I did end up focusing a bit too much on you.”

She scoffed, amusement curling her lips. “I tried to get you back once, you know.”

Oleander arched a teasing brow. “You thought you could prank me?”

“Full confession? I actually did… It’s only that you weren’t particularly bothered by it.”

His silver eyes gleamed with curiosity. “What did you do?”

“I made it so every time you tried to flirt with a demoness, she’d smell something awful and walk away.”

Oleander blinked before a slow grin spread across his face. “Ah. That explains a lot, actually. I had always wondered about that.”

She hummed. “You didn’t seem very upset about it.”

“I just flirted with the demons instead,” he laughed, winking at her.

Peri hesitated, her cheeks warming. “At the time, I didn’t realise that you… but yes…” She cleared her throat. “It would explain why you were entirely unaffected by the demonesses rejecting you.” She exhaled in frustration. “I was, however, fairly annoyed that you didn’t seem even a little sad about it.”

Oleander grinned. “Next time, I promise to suffer profusely.”

“I’m older and wiser now. Next time, you’ll suffer abominably.” Peri said primly, before finally noticing a rather large pillow with two small bowls set neatly beside it. “Have you got a pet living here?”

“What? No. What makes you ask that?”

“It’s just that black pillow over there, next to your wall of frankly an obscene amount of monochromatic yarn—I mean you do know there are other colours than black, white, and grey, right?”

She noticed the way his body moved slightly closer to hers as he turned to look at the wall filled with skeins of greyscale yarn.

“Oh, that,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s where the silk-sheep rest.”

“What, they just fly to your room of their own volition? I always found them cranky and unruly.”

“We have an… understanding.” Oleander scrubbed the back of his neck and her eyes followed the movement. It was strange finding out that underneath the bravado and arrogance was somebody who turned out to be fascinating at every turn.

“How so? Are you not terrified of them biting your toes off in your sleep? Assuming they stay overnight—”

“They get thorns embedded in their legs occasionally, and as luck would have it, I’m a dab hand at carefully extracting thorns from their wool. They’re dramatic, though, and tend to like a bit of caretaking afterwards. In return, they let me shear them and use their silky wool to spin my own yarn.”

“You hand spin your own yarn?”

“Only sometimes! It’s ideal if I’m wanting a specific colour.”

“Oh, so if you need the exact shade of grey for whatever sweater you’re knitting,” she said, giving him a wry look.

Oleander—who did not realise she was teasing him—answered quite sincerely, “Yes! Exactly.”