Chapter 2
WYLAN
Lord Wylan, steward of Tawney, servant of the Queendom and the Realm, was in a kerfuffle.
“W-What do you mean, the Alchemicor is in the courtyard?”
Ralund smoothed his dress shirt—which looked awfully similar to his actual uniform—which, for the record, Wylan did not require, but Ralund insisted upon—which might be good considering the queen herself lived four streets over and fancied afternoon tea with the local lord on occasion—which meant it was nice that Ralund always looked proper when he answered the door—
Ah yes, the thought spiral, where he’d prefer to be thinking about anything but Feo, standing in his own house, at a party to which they weren’t technically invited.
“It would appear, my lord, that the Alchemicor is decidedly prepared to engage in the festivities.” As always, Ralund delivered bad news with an exceedingly impartial tone. Ralund must have opinions on the goings-on in this manor, but Wylan had never been privy to them.
Ralund continued: “They arrived moments ago. I believe Queen Reyna is summoning her young griffon to keep the peace between the Arcandor’s griffon and the Alchemicor’s—which likely means an uncertain number of juvenile dragons are also on their way.”
Wylan wanted to scream into a pillow. Ralund had found him in his quarters, half-dressed, to deliver this news. Suddenly very aware of what he was wearing, which was nearly nothing, Wylan frantically searched for his black vest.
“This is a nightmare,” he groused.
“It isn’t the worst dinner party you’ve hosted, my lord.” Ralund seamlessly stepped to a chair by the bedroom door, procured Wylan’s vest from underneath a messy pile of pants, and offered it to the lord.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Wylan drawled, slinging the vest over his shoulder as he buttoned his linen shirt.
“You have a long memory, Ralund. Tell me which dinner was worse than my ex surprising me at a party meant to welcome my new—” Wylan cut himself off, because he and Dren weren’t anything but professional acquaintances right now.
It didn’t matter that his laugh made Wylan feel lighter than air.
It didn’t matter that for the first time in years, Dren had given Wylan hope of finding something passionate and wonderful and familiar.
It didn’t matter that Wylan hadn’t had that since… Feo.
“—my new peer,” Wylan finished pathetically.
Ralund hummed, folding the discarded pants into a neat pile. “I seem to remember our young Miss Quinn persuading the eldest juvenile dragon to practice elemental magic in the courtyard.”
Gods, he was right. The guests had been trapped inside after Blue Spruce’s magic caused massive roots to grow out of control. It had taken Kianthe half the night to undo the damage, and the only reason she managed it was because Ponder retrieved one of the adult dragons to help.
Wylan slipped on the vest, buttoning it too. “At least that night, we were happily drunk by then.”
“I have warmed your favorite brandy,” Ralund said.
“Well, now it’s too late. Feo’s already here,” Wylan retorted.
“And Lord Dren is awaiting your summons.” Ralund sounded vaguely amused now, but that could have been Wylan’s frazzled mind translating his mild tone.
“I recommend haste. The queen and the Arcandor are expected to arrive any moment.” Ralund bowed deeply, then opened the bedroom door and paused.
“Best of luck, my lord. If you seek someone to blame for this chaos, might I recommend the esteemed Mage of Ages? She has a terrible time keeping secrets.”
Now he definitely sounded amused. The door closed behind him, and Wylan groaned out loud in the empty room.
Wonderful. Fucking fabulous.
First things first: Wylan couldn’t forget his duty to Lord Dren.
He checked his appearance in the mirror.
Reyna hadn’t required formal wear at a Tawney event for years, but old habits were hard to break when hosting a formal Queendom ball.
As expected, with the vest as the final addition, Wylan looked impeccable.
He tousled his dark hair, fluffing it in the right areas, and assessed again.
Impeccable… but a little roguish. Years ago, Wylan would dress like this just to fluster Feo, watch their cheeks color as they ducked their head and searched for something else—anything else—to occupy their attention. It had been adorable.
Wylan stopped short, scowling even as a quiet sadness slid into his soul.
He wasn’t fluffing his hair for Dren, he realized. He was hoping Feo still felt that way—that maybe they’d see him tonight and regret how they’d acted. That maybe, just maybe, they’d be the person Wylan yearned for all those years ago.
Too late. Four years too late.
Wylan almost smoothed the style back into something more formal, but…
maybe Lord Dren would get flustered by a roguish side, too.
And honestly, maybe Wylan himself had changed.
Maybe he didn’t want to be the perfect lord every single day.
Maybe this hairstyle started as a way to tease Feo, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t still be his choice.
Wylan swept out of his bedroom before he could second-guess himself.
More, anyway.
The manor had a few buildings, and his quarters were in the back tower, closest to the mountain-like rim to Dragon Country. He walked down a narrow, circular staircase, then crossed an open-air bridge towards the main manor, where guests resided.
Laughter and music caught his attention, and he peered over the parapets at the courtyard garden below.
As promised, Kianthe had made it glow—it was lit by dozens of magical flames, identical to the ones that drifted between the rafters in New Leaf Tomes it’s time to make an appearance.”
“O-Oh!” The panicked reply was muffled by the thick wooden door, but Wylan smirked at the abject terror in Dren’s voice. “Oh, Gods. I’m coming! I’m—fuck, how do I button this—”
Wylan stepped back, waiting politely while Dren finished…
whatever he was doing. Admittedly, the newest Queendom lord was somehow both nothing like Wylan had expected—and everything he should have expected.
New lords weren’t appointed often, since most Queendom territories had been divvied out for generations.
Reyna and Tessalyn had been very careful in choosing their candidate.
The door burst open, and the new Lord Dren appeared.
Frazzled didn’t begin to cover it. Dren was born and raised in the south of the Queendom, closer to Leonol, and had chosen formal wear to represent that.
Unlike Wylan’s short vest, Dren was clad in a dark green one that flared at the waist and draped to his knees.
A leather belt made him look rather dashing.
Well, dashing, except that the outfit also had thin chains over his sleeves—ornamental now, practical in warmer weather if the sleeves had to be folded. Said chains were dangling by his wrists, and he was clearly struggling to secure them properly.
Wylan almost laughed. Any thought of Feo faded as he stepped forward and asked, “Ah, may I?”
Dren nodded enthusiastically. “Please, Gods, help me.” He offered his arms, his green eyes bright and captivating. “This outfit has a definitive likelihood of approval, but I forgot my sister used to help me button these blasted things.”
“It’s a common struggle,” Wylan said, putting him at ease. He swiftly buttoned them to a clasp higher up the sleeve, then gestured to his own vest. “Without Ralund, I fear my outfit would be in shambles as well.”
Dren offered a crooked smile, and Wylan hated the hope that flared in his chest. They were to be peers, nothing more. But Wylan had almost forgotten what it was like to feel this warm over a smile. It was exciting.
“We best not keep the party waiting. Queen Reyna is patient, but her wife…” Wylan chuckled.
At the mention of the queen and Arcandor, Dren straightened. “Of—of course. This is so absurd. Do I look all right? Is this appropriate for a formal introduction to Queendom high society?”
He’s from Mercon, Tessalyn had said over tea, two seasons ago. An accountant with a knack for community service and support. I think he’s perfect.
He won’t know much about the politics of court, Reyna had replied doubtfully.
Wylan had contemplated the dossier in front of them, then said, I suspect that kind of person might be the perfect addition. Wylan paused, then added, Feo wasn’t much for politics either. They accomplished plenty.
Tessalyn and Reyna had exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. But slowly, Reyna nodded. Not many are like Feo… but I’m certain we can shield Dren from the darker side of court. And if you feel you’d work well with him, that’s the most important factor.
It was a rare moment that Wylan felt like the more confident, capable one, but Dren certainly brought out that side. At the new lord’s panic, Wylan pulled his shoulders back and offered an encouraging and, dare he say, roguish smile. “You look perfect. Shall we?”