25 #2
We feasted. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten how animated an eater Aspen was, her tongue lapping buttery juice from her lips, the exhibition loosening my grip on the pint I’d been holding. If I had to endure another moment of this, I would surely go mad.
Irritation spiced my tongue. “Napkins were invented for the purpose of cleaning one’s hands.”
The woman made a show of mopping excess fluid from her pinky. “Huh. I must have missed that lesson in finishing school.”
“You don’t need to be a noble to practice table manners.”
“Point me to a napkin, then. And I’ll be sure to slap it across your condescending face.”
“I would not make such a threat with confidence.”
“Of course, not. You’re too busy patting yourself on the back for being flawless.”
Aspen and I exchanged withering looks that spiked my cock with heat. In the background, Lyrik stretched an arm across the bench and observed our feud, the sizzling cigarette poised between his fingers.
Presumably growing bored within two seconds of the exchange, this convict-in-training blew plumes of smoke through his nostrils. “So to recap. I’m here as a solitary creature.” He pointed the glowing cigarette at Aspen. “Adventure.” Then he pointed at me. “Protection.”
Slower than necessary, he took another drag and swerved toward Nicu, vaporous tendrils slithering around his face like pythons. “And you? What’s this I hear about you feeling rebellious?”
Nicu had stopped watching the rogue, opting instead to study the constellations that glinted through the netting of leaves. “I’m hunting for my stars.”
“Destiny,” Lyrik translated. “I can work with that.” He tapped ash into the pit, embers shooting into the eventide air. “The princess and jester’s son, eh? So I guess that makes you a prince after all?”
My eyes narrowed. “It also makes him your superior. As such, you will address him by title.”
“I was asking the songbird.” Lyrik flashed his pearly teeth. “In other words, piss off.”
My snarl could be heard across the four kingdoms. I would wring this shithead’s neck until it popped off his shoulders like a fucking champagne cork.
Aspen raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you knew about Nicu.“
“I hear what I hear.” The ruffian shrugged. “Not nothing, not everything.”
“I can speak for myself,” Nicu protested. “I have my own words.”
“Yeah? Enlighten me, then. Sing me a song, Songbird.”
Nicu perked up and chose a ballad about dreams, the passages chimerical and befitting the atmosphere. The quizzical choice of words failed to overshadow his dulcet voice, which tolled like liquid silver.
I smiled in appreciation. No one could deny his gift for producing symphonic melodies. Verily, he put every wind instrument, hymnal choir, and hermit thrush to shame.
Lyrik propped one foot against the fire pit’s edge, rested his head against the banquette, and sucked on his cigarette, venting more smoke than a fire breathing dragon. Flames sketched his profile, which showed no reaction to the music.
Aspen and I applauded, commending Nicu’s unparalleled talent.
Lyrik, by contrast, offered a belated response.
He jabbed the tobacco roll into his mouth, his applause lagging, clapping lazily at the treetops.
And because the prick’s expression remained unchanged, unmoved, and unimpressed, Nicu’s expression faltered.
Wrath stoked my blood. But however much I wished to lobotomize this knave, I kept the impulse at bay. Once more, my liege would not appreciate an intervention.
As for the woman beside me, her glare burned holes into Lyrik’s hide, both of us united on this front. No one wounded Nicu. Ever.
Confused disappointment stretched across my liege’s features, then cemented into a dignified scowl. He leveled his chin, his illustrious tenor sharpening. “The fool who says too much is the fool who doesn’t know how to listen.”
Lyrik’s gaze snapped to Nicu. Not quickly enough to sever the heathen’s vertebrae, though his stunned expression compensated for this missed opportunity.
Amusement cooled my temper. Aspen’s mouth tipped sideways as we witnessed our friend taking this bastard down more than a few pegs.
After a nonplussed moment, Lyrik inclined his messy head of hair. “You win.”
Nicu quirked an eyebrow. “I know.”
To which the rogue’s mouth slanted. “Okay, then. So where did you learn that excellent singing trick?”
“I didn’t learn it. I was born with it.”
“Gifted by the Seasons, were you?” From across the fire, Lyrik leaned forward. “Tell me about that.”
I hesitated, then left them to their conversation. As the fire dimmed, I reached for another log from the pile, my fingers brushing a pair of slimmer digits.
Aspen and I vaulted upright at the same time, our hands jolting from the timbers. Between us, the blaze crackled and sputtered. Overhead, the firmament threw shadows across the deck.
We regarded one another like rivals on the battlefield, ready to strike or deflect. Indeed, discord was safer than the opposite, as we’d learned twice in the forest. Back when my mouth crushed against hers, then as my hands pumped into her sleek cunt until she ruptured.
It was easier to regard one another with conflict instead of camaraderie. Or worse, longing.