Chapter 12
I twistedthe mug between my hands, the dark ale sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Laughter and music filled The Splintered Oar, but tonight, I couldn”t bring myself to join in it.
Since we were privates, Sylvia, Moris, and I had been coming to the tavern near the soldiers’ barracks. At the end of a hard week of training, we would head to The Splintered Oar to drink our sore muscles and fresh bruises away. Although the drinks never made the bruises disappear, and often, we would hurt more the next day than we did before we stepped foot in the tavern. Still, we kept coming.
Soon enough, the table in the corner quickly became our spot.
The tavern was one of the oldest establishments in the capital”s village and had been in the current barkeeper”s family for generations. The barkeeper”s wife was constantly changing things and updating the place despite the history worn into each piece of pavement. Once, I asked Roth how he dealt with all the changes. To which he said, ”I couldn”t care less what this place looks like, but if it puts that wide smile on Bernie”s face, who am I to interfere? There is no greater joy than seeing my wife happy.”
I hadn”t known how to respond to that. Why change something if it worked? If it held such history within the grain of the worn wood?
Some things, I supposed, weren”t meant to be understood.
Like the amount of heads that now turned in my direction wherever I went.
No one had ever cared that I was best friends with Fynn. But now that he was courting me? It changed everything. Wherever I went, more eyes turned my way, more cursory glances tracked me, more whispers trailed every step I took.
I only agreed to come to The Splintered Oar tonight because Sylvia wouldn”t stop begging me. And once the patrons drank a few more pints of ale, their gazes would surely fade.
I hoped.
I hadn”t seen or spoken to Fynn since storming onto the castle”s training grounds. Going days without seeing him shouldn”t have made me anxious, yet my knee shook beneath the table. He said he would take this seriously, but I didn”t know if I believed him.
And when I told him I hadn”t courted anyone? The look on his face?
It made me question why I had agreed to this plan in the first place.
To make matters worse, my mother had dismissed the news about our courtship with a wave of a hand, saying she would believe it when she saw it herself. Sooner rather than later, we would need to make an appearance before her.
”Another?” the barkeep asked, approaching our table in the corner.
”When have we ever said no, Roth?” Sylvia asked, sliding their mug across the table.
Moris cheered in response, his mug crashing into Sylvia”s. As Roth refilled the mugs from the pitcher of ale he carried, he looked at me expectantly.
I shook my head and brought the half-filled mug closer to my body. ”Still on the first.”
Deep wrinkles creased his rich black skin, and I dropped my gaze to the ale as I sunk back into the worn leather bench. Typically, I was the first in our trio to wave him over, but today, the ale wasn”t sitting right.
”She”s had a rough week,” Moris said, a hand covering his mouth—as if that would prevent me from overhearing him when he hadn”t even bothered to lower his voice.
”I have not,” I mumbled.
”Oh, come on, you can”t fool us. You know you expected?—”
I kicked Moris” leg under the table, and Moris glared at me.
”I”m all right for now, Roth. Thank you,” I said, ignoring Moris” pointed stare.
Roth raised his pitcher, disbelief still deepening the wrinkles on his forehead. ”Holler if you change your mind, all right?”
I nodded, even though I knew I wouldn”t.
Roth walked away, turning his attention to another table as the band began strumming a lively song. Moris and Sylvia fell back into casual conversation, but I was only half listening, my thoughts wandering elsewhere. It was still early in the night, and spirits were high at the end of the work week. Yet, I couldn”t help but feel a nervous energy filling the ale-soaked air. However, as couples moved toward the band, it seemed only I had noticed. Everyone”s limbs were already sashaying to music, their lips loose as the chatter around the room increased in volume and excitement. Song after song passed, and the longer I sat there, the more the nerves grew.
Sylvia poked me in the side, jostling me and pulling my attention back to the table.
”What?” I asked.
”You didn”t mention your new beau was coming, Ferrios,” Sylvia said, wiggling their eyebrows.
My brows furrowed. ”What are you talking about? He”s not?—”
I choked on my words when Sylvia elbowed me in the side again and tipped their head toward the tavern”s entrance.
Sure enough, none other than the Crown Prince was walking into the soldiers” tavern, the doors slamming closed behind him. Wearing tailored trousers and a linen suit jacket, Fynn stuck out among the crowd like a diamond in a pile of coal. His jacket was left open, revealing a freshly pressed button-down with silver embroidery that shimmered in the sunlight. When his gaze met mine, he smiled, teeth sparkling as he waved.
Moris reached across the table and grabbed a handful of peanuts. He shoved them into his mouth and asked, ”Now that you two are courting, does this mean that drinks are on the house?”
”Moris!” Sylvia chided. ”You can”t just ask that!”
”Why not? It’s a simple question.”
”It”s rude.” Sylvia sat back, arms folding over their chest. They tipped their head in my direction and arched a brow. ”But are they?”
I snorted. ”In your dreams.”
Meanwhile, Fynn weaved through the bustling crowd, tipping his head toward the patrons who greeted him. A few tried to stop him, but he shook his head and pointed in my direction.
I looked away.
”Are you blushing, Ferrios?” Moris asked through another handful of peanuts.
”What? No, why would I?—”
”She most certainly is,” Sylvia interrupted, nudging me again. If Sylvia kept it up, my side would be covered in bruises before the night”s end.
Nerves be damned, I raised the mug of ale to my lips, chugging it as Fynn reached the table. I was not blushing because of the Crown Prince.
I refused to.
”Your Highnesses, what a pleasant surprise!” Sylvia said, tipping their head in respect.
Fynn”s thick brows bunched together as he tilted his head, a silent question on his lips as he looked at Sylvia.
My gaze bounced between Sylvia and him, watching them as Fynn tried to wipe the confusion from his face.
Sylvia pursed their lips and pulled the mug to their mouth. Sylvia might have been a great arsonist and alchemist, but their gift certainly did not enhance their ability to be sly.
I snorted, realizing that Fynn, in fact, hadn”t come here by chance. Leave it to Sylvia to butt into something that had nothing to do with them.
”Yes, Your Highness,” I hissed, ”a surprise indeed.”
Fynn scratched the back of his head and smiled down at me. ”They said I should come, so?—”
”Here,” Sylvia cut in, hurrying out of the booth. ”You can take my seat.”
I tried to grab Sylvia”s hand before they got up, but Sylvia swatted it away.
”Oh no,” Fynn said, shaking his head. ”That”s not necessary. I can sit?—”
”I insist, Your Highness,” Sylvia said, already up and pointing a hand at the seat.
”Very well then,” Fynn mumbled, nodding in thanks before taking the offered seat.
”Moris, do you want to come with me to the latrine?” Sylvia asked.
Moris” face contorted as he looked up from the empty bowl of peanuts. ”Why would I?—”
With an exasperated eye roll, Sylvia dragged him out of his seat. As they walked away, Sylvia mumbled something about wanting to give the two lovebirds a moment of privacy.
I wanted to gag. Instead, I shifted in my seat, turning to Fynn as I slammed my mug down. ”What are you doing here?”
Fynn jerked back slightly. ”You said I needed to take our relationship more seriously.”
”And showing up to a dingy tavern is taking things more seriously?” I asked, giving Fynn a skeptical look.
”First of all, Sylvia sent me a note and said this was your favorite tavern in the entire kingdom.” He scratched the back of his head, tussling his hair. Then he added, ”They also might have added a sentence or two that was borderline a threat that I simply could not ignore.”
”I”m going to kill Sylv,” I groaned, staring at the beams running across the ceiling.
”Lance threatened the same thing when he first read the note. I told him it was unnecessary.” Fynn shrugged. ”Anyway, if you want the leaders to know we”re serious, your comrades should see us together. It”s only natural, and clearly, they care about you.”
”Whatever. Just”—I took a swig of ale—”remember the rules.”
”I always remember the rules, Ferrios,” Fynn said and winked, sending a spiral of anxiety running to meet the ale. He leaned closer. ”Doesn”t mean I always listen to them though.”
”Fynn, I”m serious, you can”t?—”
But then his hand squeezed mine beneath the table, causing the words to disintegrate on my tongue.
I blinked.
After a second that lasted too long for a pretend courtship, he tipped his head.
My gaze flicked to the crowd.
Sylvia and Moris were heading back. Sylvia was grinning and wiggling their brows like a child who couldn”t keep a secret even if their life depended on it.
”Fine,” I sputtered to Fynn.
The right corner of his lip twitched up, and he leaned back in his chair, stretching an arm across my shoulders. He cocked his head toward me expectantly. ”Trust me, Ferrios.”
I took a deep breath.
I could do this, I told myself before sinking against the cushion.
This was almost normal. There was no kissing, no weird touches. It was simply a casual outing with Fynn. Years ago, I had frequented plenty of taverns with him—before he favored the gambling hall or lavish nights spent with various women.
Then, Fynn scooted closer. His thigh pressing up against mine, his heat wrapping around me.
Thiswas definitely not normal.
I swallowed as Sylvia and Moris sat down.
Fynn flicked his free hand in the air. Roth tossed a rag over his shoulder. The old barkeeper was among the few people I had ever seen meander over to a prince. But after knowing Roth for years, I knew he was the type of man who held his head high no matter who entered his tavern. Because at the end of the day, this was Roth”s tavern, his place of business. He wore the crown here—at least, that”s what he said whenever someone tried to argue with him about prices.
”What can I get ya?” Roth asked.
Fynn tilted his head to the side, assessing the bar behind Roth. An assortment of bottles in various shades of liquids and stained glasses lined the shelves. ”Have any house cocktails?”
”Cocktails?” Roth snorted and scratched the side of his beard. A devious glint sparkled in his eyes, the crow”s feet deepening at the corners. He spread out his arms. ”If a cocktail is what ya want, I have?—”
”An ale, Roth,” I blurted out, interrupting.
Fynn turned to me, eyes wide. ”But I?—”
I stomped on his foot, cutting him off. I saw right through those wide, doe eyes.
Fynn cleared his throat. ”An ale sounds great,” he said with a grimace.
Laughter threatened to burst from Sylvia and Moris” lips, but somehow, they managed to restrain themselves. Ale had never been Fynn”s preferred choice, but none of us needed to hear about Roth”s creative alternatives.
”Are you sure?” Roth asked, disappointment shading his face now that he wouldn”t get to tell his piss-poor joke.
”He”s sure,” I said. ”I”ll take another ale as well, Roth.”
”You got it, Ferrios.”
As Roth made to turn, I said, ”Oh, and Roth?”
”Yes, ma”am?”
”Keep ”em coming.”
Roth winked. ”Anything for my favorite gal.”
Once Roth was out of earshot, Fynn placed an elbow on the table and sat his chin atop his curled fist. ”Favorite gal, huh?”
”Mhm,” I mumbled, throwing back the last remnants of ale.
”You might want to watch out, Your Highness,” Sylvia said from across the table, chuckling. ”I’ve heard that Roth is Ferrios” favorite barkeeper.”
”Is he now?” Fynn asked, his eyes locked on mine.
I leaned against the table, propping myself onto my elbow and cocking my head in Fynn”s direction, mimicking his position. ”What can I say? I”m a sucker for a man who makes a good cocktail.”
Sylvia spat out a stream of ale onto the table.
”So, he does make cocktails,” Fynn said, leaning closer.
Moris snorted. ”Not the kind of cocktail you”re looking for, Your Highness.”
”Then what kind?” Fynn asked, turning to Moris, his brown eyes wide and innocent.
I knew that look all too well. He knew precisely what Roth had meant, for he had seen it within the barkeeper”s mind. Fynn was playing the role of the foolish, naive prince to get a rise from everyone around him.
Two could play at that game, though.
I grinned, my fingers tapping on my jaw. ”Why don”t we ask Roth himself, hmm?”
”Ask me what, darling?” Roth asked, setting down the pints.
”Oh, the prince here was wondering?—”
”If I can buy a round for everyone,” Fynn finished, standing up, his knee banging against the table. Liquid splashed onto the wood.
Sylvia and Moris snickered.
Meanwhile, Roth”s jaw dropped. Wiping his hands on his apron, he asked, ”Everyone?”
”A gift from the crown,” Fynn said.
As if the mere promise of coin was pulling the corners of his lips up, Roth grinned and shouted to the rest of the tavern, ”Next round”s on the Crown Prince!”
It seemed Sylvia and Moris would get their free drinks after all.
Cheers erupted across the tavern, and Fynn lifted his mug to the cheering patrons.
A nearby drunken patron slapped him in the shoulder and leaned heavily against him. Fynn quirked a brow. When the man met Fynn”s gaze, he stumbled back once he realized whom he was touching. But Fynn, being the man he was, only laughed and nodded at the patron before another man guided the drunk away.
Fynn sat back down in his seat and leaned over to me. ”Do you think he”ll put it on my tab?”
”Your tab?”
Fynn”s brows rose in shock. ”You think I carry that much coin? Or any coin for that matter.”
”You mean you don”t?—”
Fynn blinked. ”I”m the Crown Prince. Things I buy usually get charged to the crown.”
”Oh, Fynn,” I said, patting his cheek, the light beard covering his jawline tickling my palm. ”My naive little prince. This isn”t that kind of establishment.”
Once Fynn had shown up,our mugs were never empty.
Roth may have preached about how little titles meant inside his tavern, but his attentiveness to our table would have suggested otherwise.
Two and a half ales later, Fynn glanced around the table, the buzz reddening his cheeks. ”Anyone up for a game of cards?”
”I”m always up for a good game,” Moris said, raising his glass.
”Count me in, too,” Sylvia said.
”Dani?” My name was light on Fynn”s tongue; his gaze soft, almost hesitant. ”You in?”
Across from us, Sylvia tipped their head to the side, grinning. The haze of the three pints of ale, a shining coat over their amber eyes.
I didn”t know how much time had passed, but my ability to keep up this act was draining, and the ale didn”t help. The more I drank, the greater the chance I had of slipping up. I had almost outed myself one too many times tonight.
Lying to the public was one thing, but to my friends, it was proving to be a challenge.
Fynn, however, didn”t seem affected at all. Honestly, it was annoying how good Fynn was at pretending to court me.
”Come on,” Sylvia begged.
”Yeah, Ferrios,” Fynn piped in, gently nudging me with his elbow. How can one game hurt?”
I pursed my lips and leaned back. ”Deal ”em, Nadarean.”
”That”s my girl,” Fynn said with a wink as he began shuffling the deck of cards. ”Everyone familiar with fifteen hundred?”
Sylvia and Moris nodded, but I narrowed my gaze. I knew the game, but I also knew Fynn.
”Good,” Fynn said, ignoring my cold stare. He split the deck into two neat piles and bent the stacks, the cards arching slightly between his hands before he released them. With a quick movement, the cards shuffled back together, Fynn”s long, delicate fingers keeping them from spilling onto the table. ”Moris, you”re on my team. Sylvia and Dani, you”re together.”
”But—” I interjected but swallowed my words when everyone”s gazes snapped to mine.
”Is there a problem, Ferrios?” Fynn asked, head cocked to the side, the smugness dripping from his gaze.
The Crown Prince knew exactly what the problem was.
I had played this game countless times growing up. Back then, however, it served a greater purpose. When Fynn had revealed his gift to Graeson and me, we played to help strengthen my mental shield. One too many drunken nights spent in the Nadarean”s family cottage, I had fallen into the trap of playing against Fynn and Terin. But I wasn”t drunk enough to make that mistake tonight.
Not yet, anyway.
When it came to Fynn, I knew better than to step foot near a game like fifteen hundred if the rest of the party was ignorant of his ability. After all, what fun was it when your opponent could read your mind and not only see your moves but also know the cards their teammate would play? It made for a rather quick and unfair game.
”Are we sure we have to play fifteen hundred?” I asked. ”Isn”t there some other game we could play? Something. . .I don”t know, more fun?”
”What did you have in mind, Ferrios?” Fynn quipped.
”Uhm,” I chewed on my bottom lip. I knew few card games, but I also wasn”t willing to lose a game against Fynn simply because of his ability.
”Oh, I know a game we could play!” Sylvia said, countenance lit with mischief.
A grin tugged at the corner of Fynn”s lips. ”Let”s hear it then, Larpos.”
”Odds and evens.”
”How do you play?” I asked.
However, between Fynn”s devilish smirk and Sylvia”s bright amber eyes, I wasn”t sure I wanted the answer. Still, I couldn”t back out now.
”Put the stack of cards in the center of the table. When it”s your turn, you pull a card. If it”s an even card, you get to ask someone a question, which they either must answer truthfully or drink,” Sylvia said.
”And if it”s an odd?” I asked, swallowing.
”You get to dare someone to do something. If the person refuses, they drink.”
”In!” Moris shouted, slamming his mug onto the table.
Sylvia turned to Fynn and me, the silent question between us.
”Isn”t this a little childish?” I asked.
Fynn slid the stack of shuffled cards to the center of the table. He leaned closer to me. Pieces of his hair fell in front of his face, over his brown eyes shadowed in darkness. He cocked a brow, his voice lowering. ”Come on, Ferrios. What do you have to lose?”
He brushed his hand across the deck and swiped the card through the air. He held it in between two fingers.
The five of hearts stared back at us. ”Play or drink, love?”
A challenge sparkled gold in his eyes. While many things might have changed over the years, my inability to back down from a challenge did not.
I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. ”Such a pity.”
”What?” Fynn asked.
I snatched the card from him, his empty fingers hanging in the air between us. ”What a waste of a card on such a silly question.”
Moriswhistled and rubbed his hands together as he scooted closer to the table. ”Let”s see who our Crown Prince really is.”
I cocked a brow in Fynn”s direction.
”Ask me anything,” he said, his eyes still locked on mine. He turned to Moris and draped his arm across the back of the bench, the tips of his fingers brushing across my shoulder. ”I”m an open book. As for you all, I don”t know if I can say the same.”
As my heart thumped, now, more than ever, I was thankful for my strong shields.
I turned to Sylvia. ”Your turn, Sylv.”
Sylvia picked up a card and flipped it over to reveal the eight of clubs. ”Fynn,” Sylvia called, formalities long gone after a few drinks.
”Hit me, Larpos.”
”What do you like the most about Dani?”
Humming, Fynn spun his mug on the table as he surveyed me.
Unable to hold his gaze, I picked up my drink, breaking the connection. I took a sip. A long sip.
Only when I swallowed did Fynn finally answer.
”Her tenacity.”
”Her tenacity?” Sylvia repeated.
”Mhm. When she puts her mind to something, she is determined to keep her word and hold herself to it. It”s one of the qualities I have always admired about her.”
Moris picked up his glass. ”By the gods! Why couldn”t you have been. . .I don”t know? Less thoughtful?”
Fynn shrugged. ”You asked for the truth; I gave you the truth.”
”Your truth isn”t very entertaining, now is it?” Sylvia mumbled, lifting the mug to their lips.
”My turn,” Moris said, his hand smacking the deck. He flipped the card over. ”Ugh, even again! Are you sure you shuffled these?”
”He shuffled them, Moris,” Sylvia said with an eye roll.
”Whatever,” Moris mumbled. He slapped the card against the table, looking around the table.
When his gaze finally landed on me, I straightened in my seat.
”How do you truly feel about Quint being promoted instead of you?”
I reached for my mug, but Sylvia slapped my hand away.
”Come on! What”s the fun if you drink to every question?” Sylvia asked.
I quirked a brow and sneered. ”First of all, I haven”t drunk to a question.”
”Yet,” Sylvia retorted. ”It”s still early, and if this is any indication?—”
Ignoring them, I continued, ”Second, how else will I get drunk if I don”t drink anything?”
”But this is an easy question!” Sylvia whined.
”Fine.” My shoulders sagged as I gripped the mug between my hands. ”I”m fine with Quint being promoted. What type of leader would I be if I questioned my own leaders” choices?”
Moris slammed his pint on the table, the golden liquid spilling over the rim and splashing onto the oak. ”That”s a bunch of horseshit, and everyone at this table knows it. Gods” breath! Everyone in this tavern knows that!”
I flipped my hair over my shoulder, lifting my chin. ”I have no idea what you”re talking about.”
”You mean to tell me,” Moris said, leaning forward, ”you”re not somewhat annoyed? A little jealous?”
”What do I have to be jealous about?” I said with a nonchalant shrug. ”I obviously have more training to do. I just need to work harder to show them that I”m fit for the position. It”s not my time, and that”s all right.”
Beside me, a huff escaped Fynn”s lips, and I snapped my gaze toward him, eyes narrowed. He looked away as he raised the mug to his lips, nose twitching and lip curling as he swallowed the ale. The bitter taste of wheat was only marginally easier for him to swallow on his third pint. He shook his head, disappointment tousling his hair. ”You”re not fooling anyone, Dani. But if you want to lie, drink up, love.”
”I”m telling the truth!” But when everyone groaned in disbelief, I sighed. ”Fine. I”ll drink.”
Perhaps fifteen hundred would have been a better choice.
At first,the questions were light and easy. Everyone was merely dipping their toes in the water to see how far we could push one another and what lines people would and wouldn”t cross.
Everything Fynn had asked Moris and Sylvia and everything they had asked him were things I already knew.
”When was the first time you were drunk, Fynn?” Moris asked.
”The winter solstice eight years ago,” Fynn said.
I recalled the night easily. The four of us—Fynn, Terin, Graeson, and I—had snuck into the castle”s alcohol cabinet. The three boys had drank nearly the entire bottle but had only let me have a sip. I was too young, they had said. At first, I was mad. But when I saw how terrible they looked the next day, I was grateful.
”Who was the first person you courted, Fynn?” Sylvia asked one round.
”Rosalina.”
”Who was your first kiss?” Moris this time.
”Rosalina.”
Again.
Easy questions. Questions that only made me sink further back against the bench as they dredged up memories of Fynn that I had tried to forget years ago.
When he was fresh-faced and wide-eyed.
When my heart fluttered every time he turned my way.
Those years had once felt miles away, but now, they seemed as close as ever. It made me realize how foolish I had been back then.
If thirteen-year-old me had known then that we would only be courting Fynn because of a deal, she would have been embarrassed and outraged. But most of all, she would have been heartbroken.
Childhood crushes, however, weren”t meant to last.
Clearly.
”All right, my turn!” Moris shouted several rounds later. Swaying slightly in his seat, he reached forward and flipped over the next card. ”Ha! An odd!” He pointed at Fynn, his finger waving in the air. Moris seemed to have forgotten that you only drank when you didn”t answer the question, not every time a question was asked or a dare was posed. ”Prince Fynneares,” he slurred.
”Lieutenant Monistare,” Fynn said, leaning forward.
Moris chuckled, his head falling onto the table as he pounded his fist against the wood.
Fynn raised a brow in question, glancing at Sylvia and me.
”Moris,” I said, nudging him with my foot beneath the table. ”You know you”re supposed to ask him to do something, right?”
”I know, I know.” He snorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he lifted his head from the table. ”Go ask Bernadette about Roth”s cocktails. ”
”Isn”t that—” Fynn began.
”Hilarious?” Moris supplied, interrupting Fynn.
Brows raised, Fynn said, ”Not exactly what I was going to say, but?—”
”You can always drink instead,” Sylvia suggested.
Fynn dropped his gaze to the dismal ale before him.
Amusement rose in my throat as I watched him debate whether to go through with the dare or drink.
The moment he decided, his shoulders sagged. He brushed a hand through his hair and scanned the crowd. ”Which one is Bernadette?”
”There we go!” Moris shouted, slapping a hand against the table.
I leaned closer to Fynn, reaching over him and pointing across the room toward the musicians. ”Over there. She”s the one in the yellow dress.”
His eyes landed on the older woman dancing with her hands in the air as the musicians played a light jig on the small platform.
Shaking his head, he stood and weaved his way through the crowd. Once behind the woman, Fynn tapped her shoulder to get her attention. Bernadette spun around, almost slapping him in the face with her wild movements. Bernadette”s dancing had always been borderline chaotic. One never knew when to expect an elbow in the air.
When recognition of whom she almost hit settled in, she slapped her hands over her mouth, muttering an apology. She immediately tried to curtsy, and I chuckled as her outburst began to catch the attention of the nearby patrons.
Fynn shifted on his feet and tugged at the ends of his hair at the base of his neck.
Soon, Bernadette folded over in laughter, and Fynn stared down at her. Unsure what to do, he looked back at us.
Moris pounded his fist against the oak table like a child cheering about dessert.
Once recovered, Bernadette stood and wiped a finger beneath her eye. She said something to Fynn and then patted him on the shoulder before giving her back to him and returning to her wild movements.
”What did she say?” Moris asked once Fynn returned.
”She said that uhm. . .” Fynn scratched the back of his head as he sat, ”Crown Prince or not, I wasn”t her husband”s type.”
Moris” head fell onto the table, muffled laughter spilling from his lips.
It was stupid.
So utterly stupid, but also such a Moris thing to ask someone to do. Borderline awkward and weird, yet harmless at the end of the day. Sylvia and I exchanged glances and then burst into laughter, joining Moris.
Soon, Fynn had joined in too.