6
Celestine laughed. “Fate has spoken, darling brother.”
Meront glared at her.
My stomach sank.
But fate had indeed made the orange feather land before Alixa.
With her long white hair, sky-blue eyes, and very plump lips, Alixa was exceedingly pretty. She was almost twenty-one years—more than mature enough to kiss. So there was no reason anyone in our small group wouldn’t wish to do so.
Yet Meront trudged to the cupboard as if he were being sent to his room by a priestess for using foul language.
Fading afternoon hues trickled shadows through the grimy windows of the west wing’s sitting room. To keep from appearing bothered, I watched them spread like long fingers while Plim whispered to Sessenya.
Darcen snuck another raspberry into his mouth. While most of us had searched the isle for feathers, the princes and their loyal followers had foraged for treats.
Dust motes drifted upon the waning light toward the many boots soiling the crimson carpet. Murmurs about Alixa and Meront, Darcen’s chewing, and my punishing imagination made it hard not to fidget.
Haynes tossed his brown braid over his shoulder. “Suppose I’ll inspect,” he said. “Again.”
He had indeed just ensured that Plim and Sessenya had gone through with the feather’s wishes. As he’d tugged open the rickety wooden door, the two friends had fallen out of the cupboard in a fit of laughter.
Haynes wound between empty armchairs to the cupboard built into the sitting room wall. I didn’t look as he opened the door. I heard it screech, then his abrupt and loud laugh. “Menacing Mother, Alixa. Let him go.”
Celestine laughed, too.
As the feather-fated pair returned, Plim clapped, and Darcen jeered.
My stomach felt strange. Tight. I frowned at an ant crawling through the carpet’s dyed wool.
When I dared to lift my eyes, I found Meront seated across from me again. He gave me a grim sort of half smile. I smiled back before averting my gaze to his tunic-covered chest. It’s only a game, I reminded myself. And despite all of his flirting and moodiness, we were just friends.
We’d always been just friends.
Alixa balanced the feather on her flattened palm, inhaled, then blew it from her hand.
The feather shot straight across the carpet we encircled, and began to drift down. Side to side, it floated toward a giddy-looking Celestine.
Then landed closest to me.
Feeling foolishly betrayed, I glowered at the feather and hoped someone would agree that fate had meant to pick Celestine.
Plim said, “Your turn, Princess.”
“Which one?” Alixa cackled.
Celestine nudged me. I looked at her, and she smirked. “Go on, Ayla.”
Sighing, I gently picked up the feather.
It was larger than both of my hands and still carried the musky scent of the fowl who’d shed it. I’d been so excited to play. To taste a bit of normalcy and maybe even kiss Meront. Now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to play. Not when the only person I wanted to kiss had already kissed someone else.
I’d never been kissed. Well, not properly kissed.
I’d played Featherfate twice before, and with many of these same people. Most of us had just pecked each other like birds, laughed, and then run from whatever hall or alcove we’d hidden in. But this time…
We were all older and hidden behind a cupboard door.
Teasingly, Alixa sang, “Beware the bad tidings, Princess.” She was then elbowed by her sister, Plim, which only served to make Alixa laugh into her hands.
Through a sweet smile, Celestine said, “You’re a bad tiding.”
Plim’s hoarse laughter was another reminder that this was just a game. Just for fun. So I carefully lifted my hands. I flattened them and inhaled a deep breath through my nose.
Meront cursed. Everyone looked at something behind me.
Someone, I sensed, blowing the feather from my palms as I quickly turned around. I tried to remember the tale we’d concocted for the priestesses. But my head emptied of all thought when I saw chunky black boots and matching tight pants.
Not a priestess.
A steel-haired prince.
The feather landed between my splayed hand and Voran’s muddied boot.
Celestine laughed nervously. “Of course that doesn’t count. Ayla, do it again.”
“She was distracted by an unwelcome interruption,” Meront said.
“Exactly,” Celestine all but shouted.
My gaze wandered back to my friends.
Darcen scowled at the twins. “No one let me do it again when it told me to kiss Haynes a few years ago.” His tone was surprisingly serious. “Doing as the feather says is the whole point of the game.”
Haynes chuckled. “He speaks as if he didn’t like it.”
“You had hours-old milk crusting your lips.”
“Sorry I do not gaze at my reflection as often as you.”
“You didn’t taste it?” Darcen asked. “Fuck, even smell it?”
“I had a prophetic dream about kissing you, so I left it there to deter you.” Haynes shrugged. “Didn’t work.”
Darcen went to throw a blueberry at the noble male. Grinning at Haynes, he ate it instead.
With the exception of gulls, shrieking as they flew by the sitting room windows, Darcen’s chewing became the only sound. Everyone stared or frowned at the enemy prince standing behind me. Everyone but Meront.
He glared at the feather I’d blown, his features hardened stone.
“Well?” Alixa tucked her blond hair behind her arched ear. “Are we letting the prince play?”
Voran was the only one who answered. “I have no interest in playing with feathers.”
Haynes asked him, “Then why come in here?”
Meront looked up at the prince, his jaw set.
Voran said, “I was under the impression that this was a library.”
“One of many,” Meront drawled. “Yet…” His tone lost its mocking edge. “You chose to sully the west wing with your eerie presence.” His question might as well have been a shove out of the room. “Quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Meront,” Celestine warned.
But her brother continued to stare at the prince.
I didn’t dare turn to look at him. I clasped my hands in my lap, knowing Voran Valadorn was staring right back at my friend.
Tension stifled. My clenched hands began to dampen.
Celestine spoke to the group, though it seemed directed at Prince Voran. “He said he doesn’t want to play.” Her tone implied that he should leave. “So just let Ayla have another turn.”
Warmth brushed my back—Voran stepping closer. “Perhaps my mind has changed.”
My heart jumped into my throat.
“Perhaps?” Meront bared his teeth in a smile that was anything but friendly.
“Perhaps certainly,” Voran said.
Those bitten words made my stomach quake. Surely, he wasn’t considering kissing me…
Then Alixa said gently, almost fearfully, “If the wolf prince wishes to play, then he must do what fate says.”
Silence screamed.
“Well…” Plim draped her arm over her bent knee and lowered her pointed chin to it. Her hazel eyes danced upon me. “Off you go, then.”
But I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t shut myself in a small cupboard with the nephew of the reason we were here. With a prince who probably loathed me. This no longer felt like just a game. I looked at Celestine for help—pleaded with my eyes.
She gnawed on her lip, unsure what to do.
More silence.
Then Voran taunted, “Afraid of me, Princess?”
Terrified, actually, I didn’t say. He could likely scent it.
Celestine shook her head. “You don’t have to do it, Ayla.”
That was true. I could get up and walk out of this room without looking back, and no one would stop me. They would laugh at me. Although none of them would play Featherfate with the wolf prince, they might even call me a coward.
Especially after seeing me flee from him mere days ago.
Maybe I needed to stay.
I couldn’t keep holding my breath every time I walked into a room or library. I couldn’t keep hiding whenever I so much as caught sight of silver. Maybe squeezing into a cupboard with Voran to give him a measly, closed-mouth kiss would help rid me of such terror.
Or maybe he would plunge a knife into my heart as soon as that cupboard door closed.
There was only one way to find out.
I climbed to my feet, knowing they weren’t tingling from being sat on.
Someone gasped.
I ignored them and Prince Voran, and led the way to the cupboard.
Only when I reached it and opened the door did I acknowledge him. He walked slowly with an almost prowling gait. While gripping the door, I wondered if it was an attempt to intimidate me. To make my stomach shrink into a tiny stone.
He walked in first, and I hesitated, eyeing the cramped space. A stack of pails and a mop stood in the corner, kicked aside by wards. A feather duster, riddled with cobwebs, sat atop the lone shelf that the prince was careful to avoid knocking his head on.
I’d known he was big. But it was then I realized just how big—his shoulders spanning the width of the cupboard. Panic sluiced through my veins. But there was no turning back now. So I drew in a fortifying breath.
Then I stepped into the cupboard.
The prince’s cool amber scent flooded the tight space. Perhaps it was to blame for the instant bout of dizziness.
His arm grazed my hip as he reached past me for the door. As soon as it screeched closed, a burst of feminine laughter slid through the wooden slats, fraying what remained of my resolve. Haynes’s laughter followed.
Anger joined the anxiety slowing my breaths.
My fingers curled into my palms as I glared at the prince’s black tunic. The cotton appeared thick, crafted for Valadorn’s ever-cold climate. Undone laces revealed some chest hair. I counted seven and deduced they were close to charcoal in color.
His voice was low—the lilted words meant for my ears only. “A trembling lamb given to the monster by her highborn friends.”
“I-I thought you were a wolf,” I said without thinking.
“Direwolf.”
“Fine.” My whisper shook. “A very large wolf.”
He huffed. The unexpected sound stirred my hair—and nearly distracted me from his hand brushing my side when he released the handle. Nearly.
I flinched.