ELEVEN #2
I cross my arms. “That’s not how this game works. You don’t get to drop that and move on. They need details.” I look over at Rowena and Sera— “I know this one,” I add, grinning.
Lyra sighs dramatically. “Alright, alright. It was years ago, before all this war and chaos. I was at a very boring, very formal event with my parents. This prince—who shall remain nameless to protect his very delicate ego—wouldn’t stop prattling on about himself.
How noble he was. How grand his future would be.
How lucky any woman would be to stand beside him. ”
Rowena snorts. “So you kissed him to shut him up?”
Lyra grins. “I kissed him because I knew it would scandalize him.” She lifts her glass. “And I was right. Poor boy turned redder than Fire Clan banners and spent the rest of the night stammering.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s because you are truly chaos incarnate.”
Rowena gasps and leans forward, eyes gleaming. “You must say more!”
Lyra groans. “Don’t encourage her.”
But it’s too late.
I set my glass down, grinning. “Let’s see . . . there was the time she set a merchant’s stand on fire.”
“That was barely my fault!” she protests.
Rowena and Sera both raise their brows. “Explain.”
I laugh. “Lyra was trying to impress some travelers with her very exaggerated storytelling. She climbed onto a crate, got a little too enthusiastic with her arms, and knocked over an oil lamp.”
Sera bites back a laugh. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” I say. “The oil spilled all over a table covered in fabric and dried herbs. The whole thing went up in flames in seconds.”
Rowena shakes her head, delighted. “And what did our fearless chaos goblin do?”
“Panicked and grabbed the first thing in reach to put it out,” I say, giving Lyra a pointed look.
“I was trying to help,” Lyra mutters into her glass.
Rowena leans back, eyes narrowing with amusement. “And what was it?”
I take a sip of my wine, letting it stretch, then arch a brow. “A full sack of flour.”
Sera’s glass pauses halfway to her mouth. “No.”
Rowena slaps the table, already cackling. “Flour explodes in fire!”
I nod. “Oh, it absolutely does. It went up in a huge, choking cloud, and suddenly we had a mini firestorm in the middle of the marketplace.”
Sera covers her mouth, laughing. “What happened next?”
“The merchant was screaming, the crowd was screaming, and Lyra—” I shoot her a look. “—decided the best solution was to run.”
Lyra throws up her hands. “I didn’t run! I strategically retreated!”
Rowena wipes at her eyes. “And let me guess—you left Amara to deal with the aftermath?”
I sigh dramatically. “Of course she did. I had to convince the merchant not to call for the guards while Lyra disappeared into the crowd like a shadow in broad daylight.”
Lyra shrugs. “Well, I was very motivated.”
Rowena and Sera are crying with laughter now, but I hold up a hand. “Wait, wait. That’s not even the best one.”
Lyra drags a hand down her face. “Amara, I swear—”
I ignore her. “There was also the time she tried to win a bet against a drunk soldier and ended up stuck in a barrel for half a night.”
Rowena actually wheezes, and Sera nearly spills her wine. “What?!”
Lyra tips back the rest of her drink. “Oh gods.”
“Oh no, no—you have to tell us this one,” Sera insists.
I grin, throwing my arms out as if performing on stage.
“Festival night,” I begin. “Crowds everywhere. Music, shouting, far too much alcohol.”
I point my finger at my best friend. “And this one decides it’s the perfect time to make a bet.”
Lyra rolls her eyes.
“She tells a soldier she can fit into any space he names,” I continue, pacing the words leisurely, like I’m building towards something important. “Because, of course, she would.”
Rowena snorts.
“He points to a barrel outside a tavern,” I say, holding up a finger. “Just sitting there. Completely innocent.”
I pause, letting it hang.
“And Ly—” I tilt my head toward her, “—decides she has to prove him wrong.”
Rowena wipes tears from her eyes. “And let me guess—”
“She fit,” I say. “But the barrel tipped, rolled into an alley, and got wedged between a wall and a stack of crates.”
Sera leans forward, still laughing, clutching her stomach. “How did you get out?”
Lyra scowls. “I would have gotten out on my own, but Mar just had to go find help.”
I lift my hands in mock defense. “Of course I did! She was wedged tighter than a cork in a bottle. She was stuck for hours—I had to drag three people over to tip her free.”
Rowena shakes her head, still laughing. “Lyra, you are an actual menace.”
Lyra sighs, resting her chin in her hand before flashing a wicked, unapologetic grin. “What can I say? I am an entertainer.”
Sera raises her glass. “To the market fire, the flour explosion, and the legendary barrel incident.”
She takes a sip, then looks at me, a knowing curve to her lips.
I groan, already feeling the weight of their attention turn my way.
“I guess it’s my turn.”
Before I can think of what to share, I snap my head toward Lyra. “Don’t you dare.”
Lyra, already grinning like a devil, clutches her chest in mock offense. “I wasn’t going to say anything!”
I narrow my eyes.
“But I do have at least three things I can say if what you share is boring.”
Rowena claps her hands together once. “Oh, this just got interesting.”
Sera chuckles, swirling her wine. “Choose wisely, Amara. The alternative is letting Lyra tell your story for you.”
I sigh, taking a long drink before setting my glass down. “Fine. I’ll share something. But if Lyra even breathes too loudly during it, I’m hexing her.”
Lyra mimes zipping her lips, locking them, and throwing away the key.
Rowena shakes her head, amused. “Alright, Amara. Make it a good one.”
I exhale, trying to ignore the way the room itself makes me feel like I should be telling something grander than my usual village stories.
The entire chamber is fit for royalty—not just in size, but in the sheer weight of its luxury.
The firelight glints off marble floors, deep red and gold tapestries lining the walls.
A thick, intricately woven rug cushions the table where we sit, its patterns swirling in bold, elegant shapes—nothing like the simple weavings I grew up with back home.
It’s strange to sit here, drinking from glasses carved with filigree, in a room filled with chandeliers, when so much of my life was spent in a place where a wooden cup was a treasured gift.
A wooden cup.
I straighten slightly, rolling my glass between my hands.
“Alright,” I say. “So . . . when I was fifteen, I accidentally proposed to someone.”
Rowena blinks. “I’m sorry—what?”
Lyra gasps, slamming her hands on the table. “This is already one of my favorite stories. Please, continue.”
“Oh, you approve?” I ask, sarcasm dripping from my words.
“Mm-hmm.” She nods, all but vibrating with glee.
Sera raises a brow. “Accidentally? How does one accidentally propose?”
I groan, rubbing my temples. “It wasn’t a real proposal! It was just—ugh, okay. Back home, there was this guy. Nice enough. A farmer’s son. He had this massive crush on me, but I never thought much of it.”
Rowena giggles. “I already love where this is going.”
I glare at her and keep going. “One day, I was helping his family with the harvest festival, setting up the feast tables. He handed me this really beautiful, carved wooden cup, and I didn’t know it was part of some tradition.”
I pause, already regretting this.
“So apparently,” I continue, “in his village, if you accept a drink from someone in a carved cup and actually drink from it, it means you’re agreeing to courtship.”
Lyra claps, laughing so hard she almost spills her wine. “YES! THAT WAS ONE OF THE ONES I WAS GOING TO SHARE!!”
I whip my head toward her, horrified. “You were just waiting to betray me?! After everything we’ve been through?”
Lyra smiles widely, entirely unrepentant. “Oh, I had a whole version planned—with flair. But this is even better. Please, continue.”
Sera chuckles into her glass. “So they thought you had accepted?”
I nod miserably. “The poor boy went red as a beet and looked like he might pass out. His mother started crying. His father patted him on the back, all proud. And before I could figure out what the hell was going on, they were talking about setting a wedding date!”
Rowena nearly spits out her wine. “Wait—a wedding date? Did you say anything?!”
“Of course I did!” I throw my hands up. “But it took me five minutes to even understand what had happened, and by then I was buried in congratulations and people hugging me. I tried to explain, but it only made things worse—apparently backing out after accepting is considered deeply shameful.”
Sera presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. “What did you do?”
I moan, pressing my forehead to the table. “I panicked. I ran. Just bolted out of there and hid in the woods for an hour.”
Rowena is wheezing now, gripping the edge of the table. “You went feral and escaped your own proposal?”
Lyra wipes a tear from her eye, still laughing. “I tried to tell her running wasn’t a solution, but she was already halfway to the tree line before anyone could react.”
I sit up and glare at both of them. “I panicked!” Then I swing toward Lyra, pointing an accusing finger. “And you ran. You ran when the stand was on fire.”
Lyra gasps, a hand flying to her chest. “That was different!”
Sera tips her glass toward Lyra. “Go on. Explain the difference between running from a fire and running from a marriage.”
Lyra huffs. “One was a legitimate safety concern. The other was just Amara being a coward!”
I throw my hands up. “You caused the fire!”
Rowena and Sera burst into laughter. Lyra takes a very long sip of wine, refusing to answer.
Sera, still laughing, shakes her head. “Alright—but how did you fix it?”
I sigh, crossing my arms. “Lyra—the traitor—found me, dragged me back, and very smugly explained to everyone that I was a clueless idiot who didn’t know their customs.”
Lyra shrugs, grinning. “I saved your reputation and your future that day. You should be thanking me.”