Chapter 37 Bullying the Prince
Bullying the Prince
As soon as Alastor and I stepped back into the busy street, arm-in-arm, he stopped and scanned the crowd. Probably looking for danger.
I surveyed our surroundings, too, but for a different reason. And the universe rewarded my efforts immediately.
Not far from us, half-smushed on the stones of the street, was a flower crown. Someone had lost it during their reveling. It was missing a fair number of petals, and the ribbons trailing from it were stained with mud, but at least it was in one piece.
I slipped my arm out of Alastor’s, then bent down to grab it before it could become victim to another pair of dancing feet.
“What are you doing?” Alastor demanded as I twirled back around.
“I found you a crown,” I announced, and before he could object, I popped the ring of flowers on top of his head.
He froze, as if he had no idea how to react to the sudden appearance of blossoms on his head. And I had to admit, he looked a little absurd with that crown of pink and violet blooms resting on his thick, wavy hair—especially with the white and silver ribbons trailing down his back.
I grinned, fighting laughter. “It suits you.”
He finally moved, reaching up to pull it off, but I grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t,” I said. “It makes you less conspicuous. Everyone else here is dressed to celebrate and you look like you’re heading to a funeral. Besides, you’re the one who insists that you know how to have fun. Prove it.”
“Having fun doesn’t require looking ridiculous.”
“You don’t look ridiculous,” I promised, though I’m sure my poor attempts to hide my amusement undermined my words. I leaned closer so that no one else would hear us. “And you’re a prince. You should have a crown.”
He stiffened. I could feel the cords of his muscles go rigid beneath my grip on his wrist.
Realization hit me like a slap—I was only inches from his face. Far closer than I meant to be. I knew how all this must look to him—the teasing, the touching, all of it—and frankly, it turned my stomach.
My hand flew open, releasing his wrist as if his skin burned me. And I jumped back.
“Don’t worry,” I assured him quickly. “I’m not trying to come on to you or anything. I just wanted to give you a crown.”
He was quiet, his lips pressed together in a hard line, and naturally, as the awkward silence stretched between us, I found myself rushing to fill it.
“You don’t have to wear it,” I told him. “I mean, who knows where it’s been or who was wearing it before? I don’t know if lice are a thing in this world, but maybe—”
“It’s fine,” he said, as if he had to choke out the words. “I’ll wear it.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“You don’t have to look so bloody surprised. It’s just a blasted flower crown.”
You could’ve fooled me, I thought. But before I could say anything, he’d already turned away.
“Come on. Let’s go enjoy the Festival,” he said, stalking down the street.
The awkwardness of a moment ago dissolved as I watched him march off to “enjoy” himself with the rigidity of Frankenstein’s monster. All weirdness forgotten, I bit down on a laugh and hurried after him.
I wonder how far I can push this, I thought, understanding why Octavian and Radven got so much enjoyment out of egging him on. It was so easy it was kind of hard to resist.
We’d made it halfway down the block when a stall caught my eye. Beneath the blue-and-red striped fabric, a man was serving flagons of a thick, steaming liquid that smelled intoxicatingly like pumpkin pie. And as a shameless pumpkin spice whore, I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing Alastor’s arm.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I believe that’s what they refer to as ‘Hill Brew’,” he remarked, eyeing it suspiciously. “It’s probably most similar to mulled wine. Or spiced cider blended with brandy. The exact recipe is a secret, and this is the only place in Therador you’ll find it.”
Well, that settled it.
“We should get some,” I said, dragging Alastor by the sleeve over to the stall.
“I should warn you,” Alastor drawled, “it’s quite strong. Especially for someone who’s never had it before.”
That made me pause, but only for a second. “Then I’ll sip it slowly.”
He gave me one of those I-really-want-to-roll-my-eyes-but-I’m-too-dignified-to-do-it looks but said nothing. And when we got to the front of the line, he didn’t object when I ordered one for him, too.
It wasn’t until the man pouring the brew held his hand out for payment that I remembered I had no money. I looked up at Alastor hopefully.
He sighed, then shoved his hand into his pocket and passed a handful of coins to the man’s waiting palm.
And I suppressed another smile.
Seconds later, we each had a steaming flagon in our hands. I took a deep breath, inhaling that delectable pumpkin spice aroma, and the burn of alcohol hit my nostrils. Alastor was right—this stuff was strong. I could probably get drunk on the scent alone.
Tentatively, I took a sip. A dozen flavors hit my tongue at once—cinnamon, nutmeg, syrupy sweetness, and an earthiness that rounded out everything else. The drink was surprisingly smooth, sliding down my throat with only the subtlest burn from the alcohol.
Alastor was watching me.
“What?” I asked lightly, my eyebrow raised in a challenge. “Afraid I can’t hold my liquor?”
“I never said anything.” He took a very restrained sip of his own drink.
“It’s a festival. We’re allowed to get a little drunk.
” Okay, I wasn’t actually planning on getting drunk—I’d done a lot of reckless things these last couple of days, but I liked to think I had at least some self-control left—but it was fun teasing him.
“When was the last time you got drunk, Your Highness? Or even just a little buzzed?”
He glanced quickly to either side. “You really shouldn’t mention my title—”
“Then I’ll stop. But only if you stop avoiding the question.”
“I’m not avoiding anything.” His scowl was back. “And I don’t understand why my drinking habits are up for discussion. It’s not a character flaw to believe there are better things to do with my time.”
Well, now I felt like a jerk for pressuring him.
“It’s not about the drinking,” I said quickly. “It’s about letting your hair down a little. Or just…letting yourself relax. For a moment. Even if it’s just in a small way.” Wow, when had I become the one encouraging others to ‘live a little’? Esmer would have been so proud of me.
Thinking of Esmer brought up a pang of homesickness—would I ever get the chance to talk to her again?—but I forced it down by taking another sip of my Hill Brew.
Alastor’s forehead was still creased with a frown, but he took another sip of his drink as well.
“You say you know how to have fun,” I reminded him. “I’m not asking you to, like, get drunk off your ass and run naked through the crowd or something crazy like that. I just want to see how someone like you lets loose.”
“Someone like me?”
“You know what I mean.” I took another, longer sip of my drink. This time, I didn’t even feel the burn of it sliding down my throat, which meant I was starting to slip into dangerous territory.
I pulled the flagon away from my lips and frowned down at it, trying to decide if it was delicious enough to warrant the bad decisions that were sure to follow if I kept going.
But it wasn’t until I looked up at Alastor—and found him draining the last few drops of his drink—that I realized the truth: that while he was clearly trying to prove something to me, I had something I wanted to prove to him, too.
When he lowered his flagon, I offered him the rest of mine.
“A taste was enough for me,” I said. “You don’t have to drink it, but I’d hate for it to go to waste.”
He eyed me suspiciously, but he took the drink from my hand. And then, as if he saw my words as a challenge, he tipped his head back and drank the entire thing in one long gulp.
I was grinning when he lowered his hand again. “Having fun yet?”
He didn’t dignify that with a response. But he let me lead the way as we continued down the street.
The Festival was becoming livelier with every passing hour, the revelers’ inhibitions dropping the further we moved into the night.
Just those three sips of Hill Brew were enough to tip me from slightly buzzed to definitely tipsy, and it made everything—the colors, the music, the scents—that much more vivid, until I felt like I was inside a swirling kaleidoscope, caught in a tumble of glitter and wonder.
And it made teasing Alastor even more appealing.
“Oh, what about that?” I exclaimed, grabbing his arm dramatically and pointing at a nearby stall. The vendor was selling little pastel-hued treats in paper cones.
Alastor’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure what that is.”
“Well, then we obviously have to try it.” I dragged him over, and with another one of those long-suffering sighs, he plunked down some coins and bought me one.
The paper cone was warm, and it held multiple soft, lavender-colored puffs of pastry dusted with powdered sugar. It took some effort not to shove all of them in my mouth at once and instead offer the cone to Alastor.
“You first,” I told him.
He peered down at the lavender puffs, that furrow between his eyes deepening. “I’d rather not.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “You’ve got to try at least one. Where’s your sense of adventure? Maybe you’ll discover your new favorite dessert.”
He continued to frown down at me, and I responded by batting my eyes and giving him the most obnoxious I’m-not-going-to-let-you-off-easy grin I could muster in my mildly inebriated state.
Finally, muttering something under his breath, he snatched one up and popped it into his mouth.
I watched him with rapt attention, waiting for the burst of surprised delight in his eyes. But he just chewed and swallowed, his face impassable.
“Well?” I said, desperate for some reaction.
His eyes flicked down to me. “It was…interesting.”
Of course. I wasn’t sure why I’d expected more from him. “When was the last time you just let yourself enjoy something?”