Sinking into Sunlight #4
Collin grimaced. One of the Daughters of Venus caught his eye, and he quickly turned away after offering her a brief smile.
"I think the one with the long red hair likes you," Aries said when they were no longer within earshot of the dancers.
Collin mumbled a noncommittal response, his mind elsewhere. Aries opened his mouth to press the matter, but Collin spotted movement through the firelight—familiar, cocky, unmistakable—and cut him off mid-sentence.
“Nic!” he called.
There he was, arm draped casually around the tightly corseted waist of a Daughter of Venus, one of the more striking ones at that.
She cradled a large, fluffy black-and-white seadog pup in her arms, cooing over it with complete absorption.
She didn’t seem to notice—or care—where Nic was guiding her.
But Nic noticed everything. He looked up at Collin’s voice, and a grin spread across his face—flawless, devil-may-care, the kind of smile that had earned him his nickname all across the region.
Naughty Nic of Stargazer Creek.
He gave a quick thumbs-up and a sly, knowing wink behind the girl’s back—one part greeting, one part mischief.
Collin shook his head, half in amusement, half in envy. Nic made it all look so effortless. Always had.
“Tell me again how Nic is still with Helen?”
“Lekyi would know. He introduced them,” Aries said. “But at least he’s aiming high, unlike the rest of us.”
“I admire the ambition. If Nic marries Helen, he’ll be the first of us to own silverware and pronounce ‘hors d'oeuvres’ without panicking.”
Aries snorted. “You think he knows what hors d'oeuvres are?”
“Only that they are small and delicate like Helen. That’s why he likes them both.”
Dragonfly and Hadria stood near the bonfire, firelight flickering across their faces. Before Collin could say anything, Aries slipped an arm around Hadria’s waist and pulled her close. In the next breath, they were kissing—deeply, shamelessly, as if no one else existed.
Collin looked away, but not before catching the way Hadria curled into him, utterly at ease.
Aries, who’d been falling in and out of love since he was six, had never fallen this hard—not until Hadria. Collin still remembered the first time they met her in person. It had been almost a year ago now.
As Lord Montigo’s only child, Hadria had been educated with the other highborn girls, kept mostly out of sight. Until that day, she’d been more myth than girl—whispers of her beauty, her defiance, her impossible freedom. Most villagers had never seen her up close. Fewer still had heard her voice.
Collin had. And once was enough to understand why Aries had never looked at anyone else the same way again.
They’d been checking traps along the treeline, he and Aries, when Hadria stepped out of the woods like she owned the place.
Neither of them had seen her coming. She’d slipped past her nurse, past her guards, and tracked them for who knew how long. That alone made an impression. But it also made them wary.
Her cloak was half-off her shoulder, leaves in her hair, eyes gleaming with interest. “Would you teach me how to do that?” she asked, nodding at the trap in Collin’s hand, the rabbit dangling limp from it.
Aries had raised a brow. “What, set a trap?” he said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Did your father finally run out of food? Or are you just curious what a rabbit looks like before it’s plated on gold?”
Collin had felt the same suspicion. Why would she want to hunt? What was she really after?
But she didn’t flinch.
“I’m not him,” she’d said quietly, crossing her arms, gaze hard as she turned away.
For a second, no one spoke. Then Collin saw something in the way her shoulders drew in—not defiance, exactly. Loneliness. Something sharp and vulnerable under the pride. He hadn’t expected to feel sorry for her. But he did.
Aries muttered protests, but Collin offered to teach her. Gave her a meeting place. He figured she wouldn’t show.
She did.
Armed with skinning knives and a stubborn set to her jaw.
Over the next few weeks, they taught her how to set snares, how to clean game, how to wield a short blade. Their doubts faded. She was bossy, yes—liked to give advice no one asked for—but she was also clever, fearless, and startlingly kind.
Even in the forest, Hadria carried herself with a grace that didn’t belong to the wild.
But she wasn’t fragile. She moved fast, hit hard.
More than once, she disarmed Aries and pinned him to a tree with his own sword.
Collin was pretty sure that was when Aries fell in love. And once he did, he never looked back.
Then one morning, the town bell rang at dawn.
Collin remembered running to the square, breathless.
There, standing on the raised platform in a silvery green gown, was Hadria.
She was being married—to Eric, the chief steward’s polished, practiced son. The match was strategic. Prestigious. Entirely unwanted.
Collin remembered the way she slipped the family ring from her finger, the flick of her wrist as she hurled it at her father’s feet.
The silence afterward felt like the whole town had stopped breathing.
Only then did Collin understand why she had come to them months before—why she’d asked to learn traps and blades and fieldcraft. She hadn’t been rebelling.
She’d been preparing to escape.
Montigo disowned her right there, in front of everyone. Declared her dead to his house. Promised punishment for anyone who dared help her.
And still—Collin had never seen anyone stand taller.
Collin scuffed the toe of his boot on the grass.
He glanced at Dragonfly, but her eyes darted away too quickly.
It was difficult to ignore their friends' blatant display of public affection.
To ease his embarrassment, he said loudly, “We were able to meet our quota of fish. Thanks for giving us the hint today.”
Dragonfly gave Collin a curt nod before looking away. She stood with her arms crossed in front of her as if shielding herself from a chilling breeze. She cleared her throat loudly, which finally caused Aries and Hadria to break apart.
Aries gazed at Dragonfly. At least he had the sense to look embarrassed. Draping an arm around Hadria's shoulders, he said, "Oh, it’s good to see you again!”
Then, he turned his attention on Collin, eyes gleaming with theatrical innocence. “Didn’t you say you were starving? I’m sure Dragonfly is too. Why not escort her to the grill—just two hungry singles bonding over questionable meat. Meanwhile, Hadria and I need to locate Arion.”
Before Collin could kick his friend for acting so absurd, Aries and Hadria were practically running away from the scene. Aries had been so ridiculously obvious. Why wasn’t Dragonfly laughing in derision?
Collin rubbed the back of his neck. For heaven’s sake, what was the matter with him these days?
When had talking to her become so difficult?
When had just looking at her made his mind spin into salacious planes?
When had the sight of her collarbone, her lips, and even her wrists sent his blood thrumming?
He forced himself to meet her eyes, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Perhaps he ought to apologize for...
"What happened to your hand?"
Collin glanced at his left hand, which had a bandage wrapped around the stitches. He gave her what he hoped was a careless smile. "Oh, fishing accident. Man-eating leviathan in that lake, you know...”
Dragonfly laughed, her voice as light as starlight and her eyes sparkling. “I’m certainly glad you survived that ordeal.”
His heart lifted, light as air, chasing after her laughter. It tingled through his skin, blurring the ache in his hand, until all that remained was the warmth blooming in his chest. He could live forever in the brightness of her smile.
“Shall we go find something to eat? I really am starving.”
Dragonfly’s expression was impossible to read. She fixed him with her smile, but was it simple friendliness or could there be something more? After a moment, she simply said, “Sure.”
They moved slowly, savoring the warmth of the evening and each other’s nearness as they crossed to the grill.
Smoke fanned lazily into the star-glazed sky, and the scent of roasting meat and sweet herbs filled the air.
But Collin barely noticed the feast ahead—his attention was wholly consumed by her.
Every time Dragonfly’s arm brushed his, it sent a spark racing up his spine.
When a stray ribbon of her hair swept across his forearm, it was like being struck by something incandescent—soft, electric, maddeningly fleeting.
He felt weightless and oddly buoyant, as though the earth had quietly let go of him.
Taller, braver, lighter somehow. As if walking beside her had rewritten the rules of gravity.
She laughed at something someone said in the distance, and the sound stitched itself into his bones.
He was standing at the edge of a rare and ephemeral path—like the way the first bloom breaks the frozen soil, or the way sunlight flickers on water just before dusk.
Whatever this was, he wanted to press it into memory and keep it whole: the smell of firewood, the cool kiss of twilight, the impossible nearness of her shoulder brushing his own.
Dragonfly was following his lead. With subtle gestures, he guided her around throngs of revelers. Once they neared the grills, he scanned the length of the lines. Some had lines a mile long, but others were short and moving quickly. "What are you in the mood for?"
“I’m not sure”—she gazed around uncertainly—"I never know what I want at these gatherings.”
"I see roasted pears and apples," Collin said, craning his head to study the grills. "Mushrooms on skewers over there, and...”
“Oh, I do like fire roasted mushrooms!”
“Mushrooms it is!”
They drifted to the end of the long line. Collin didn’t mind the wait—not with her beside him. Every moment in her company settled the restless current inside him.