Chapter 23 #2
“I brought a canteen with me since I had a hunch we’d celebrate at some point during our journey. And like you’ve said, my prince, no revelry without Cintro.”
Instead of flying off the handle, Dion just nodded in the redhead’s direction.
It took me a moment to collect my jaw from the floor. This must have been the first time Dion had agreed with Thain on anything or exchanged words with him without a trace of hostility. Maybe the relaxed atmosphere was helping him to unwind?
“What exactly is Cintro? The mixture smells strong.”
“It’s an unholy concoction of various berries and three kinds of sugars, all brewed before letting the liquor rest for at least two winters.”
“In theory, you’re correct. But this special edition is a better version because I moonshined the blend.”
“This is moonshine Cintro?”
“Yes. With Raga.” Thain preened, and I still couldn’t believe that he and Dion conversed amicably with each other—about alcohol, of all things.
“Raga, really?”
“My mother taught me the recipe when I was a faeling.”
“What’s Raga?”
My attention slipped to Rewi, glad she’d voiced what I wanted to know as well. I hadn’t asked the males because I’d been too fascinated by Dion and Thain interacting peacefully. Maybe there was still hope for them.
“It’s an herb growing only in Thar Lear, which is the Galantan equivalent to Ivreia’s Eyudian Heights, and then Raga can solely be found on one of the farthest mountains near the summit.
It’s as rare as the High King being friendly.
” Even Fig inserted himself into the conversation as he studied the contents of his glass with fondness.
“Ah, it’s almost ready,” Thain said, his lips showcasing a wide grin.
I tore my gaze away from the males and observed my brew, which slowly turned from dark blue to crystalline crimson with swirls of purple and lighter blue. With astonishment, I noticed how each beverage changed differently. Fascinating. And confusing. “How?”
Dion peered at his Cintro, which had transformed into the exact same colors as mine.
“Raga is rumored to add a prophetic element to Cintro. The alcohol turns into a hue that, within the next winter and a day, holds importance to the one who’s going to drink.
” His throat bobbed, and despite my curiosity flaring up, I refrained from poking him about what it was with him and his melancholic expression all of a sudden. Maybe later, when we were alone.
“So, our future is supposed to be colorful.”
“Let’s toss this down before the Cintro gets bad.” Thain chimed in and raised his glass. “To saving worlds. And good company.”
Everyone repeated the cheers and then sampled their blend.
I’d been prepared to cough, after all, the Cintro smelled so strong, but the alcohol was surprisingly smooth and went down my throat like water. The flavor of spiced berries burst on my tongue, and my eyes widened. “This is officially my favorite liquor.”
My declaration was met by a chuckle from Dion, who clanked his glass against mine before we savored another sip.
An hour later, no one was sober anymore, but Dion was by far the most drunk person in the room. After he’d finished his first helping of Cintro, he dragged me onto his lap, his arms encompassing me like a steel vise. My head was already light enough not to protest.
Rewi was talking animatedly with Antas, Fig was in a conversation with Bryon, and Thain…the redhead had wrapped his arm around Ireas, who didn’t look the least unhappy about the arrangement. But the alcohol had tinted his cheeks red. Interesting.
“Now that we’re all in the mood, we should indulge in a game. No fae party is complete without them.” Thain declared with a heart-melting smile, his sharp canines full on display.
To my surprise, no one protested. Adults playing drunken games at celebrations was something unheard of in Ivreia, but I was all in for the excitement.
“What do you think, Ireas? What shall we play?”
“Uhm, Thain. Why do I have to decide?”
“Because I asked you. And I know you spent quite some time partying after your turning of age.”
“That was winters ago.”
“Don’t be shy. So, what’s your pastime of choice?”
“Before you punch me—” Ireas appeared thoughtful, and I tucked the knowledge about him being no stranger to parties into the mental folder about the young medic, right next to the note I’d stored about him stealing from the royal storage without an ounce of bad conscience.
“Come on, Ireas, spit it out.” Dion slurred before drinking another gulp of the wine he was nursing.
I wouldn’t tell him, but he was rather cute, as inebriated as he already was.
Not that I was sober, far from it.
Sitting on his lap had also come with perks. After he’d emptied his first glass of Cintro, the prince had started toying with my hair, and by the time he’d finished the wine he’d switched to, he was downright petting my locks. Shivers ran down my spine, and contented hums spilled from my lips.
“Then let’s play Regicide.”
The fae all cheered, and the view of seeing them all drunk and letting loose was so surreal, I didn’t even ponder about the cutthroat name of the game. “What are the rules?”
“Each round, there’s a leader chosen.”
“Not chosen. At first, the monarch is elected, and after each round, everyone offers a sacrifice to the former king. The one with the worst offering has to be the new sovereign.”
“Sacrifice?” Suspicion crept up into my mind that this game wasn’t just a harmless jest.
“Yes. The prize could be a secret, a service, or perhaps a piece of clothing, all as a thanks for the old monarch’s service.”
“So, it’s either about bearing body, soul, or indebting yourself? And why is the worst gift determining who’s the new ruler?”
Thain took over. “Because the monarch has to answer a question, truthfully, of course, or has to fulfill a task given by each of their subjects. Such a labor can be vetoed in favor of a new one, but only by the majority of the other subjects. Oh, and most importantly, before the start of each round, everyone has to drink a shot of schnapps to honor the new king.”
“And if you can’t or don’t want to do a task or answer the question, you’ll have to be the mission giver’s servant for a whole day as punishment.”
“Questions, tasks, and punishments.”
“Yes, Nayana.” Dion’s voice purred into my ear. “Nothing is off limits.”
“Except for Dion wielding magic.” A giggle pearled from Ireas’ lips. “Because he’s just too drunk.”
Ah, I’d already wondered when the prince would growl again. There we had it.
“Given we have only one real royal here, Dion should be the first monarch.” Alcohol had instilled a certain boldness in me, much to my own surprise.
Goosebumps broke out all over my skin as Dion shifted, and suddenly, he nipped at my nape in a fake warning. My muscles tensed, and I blushed as electric sensations surged through my blood.
His teasing bite only lasted for seconds, and he chuckled. “Don’t you think you’re getting away with being cheeky.”
My retort was drowned out by laughter before everyone discussed who should be the first sovereign.
With a clear majority, my suggestion got approved, and Dion became the elected monarch. We all raised a glass of schnapps to celebrate good fortune to the new king and his long reign, and then the game was on.
If I’d assumed we’d be easing into the fun, I would have been mistaken.
“So, Your Royal Majesty. Being a good ruler sometimes means forgiving one’s enemies. So, hug it out with Thain for an entire minute.” Antas’ eyes sparkled with devious delight, and although the idea amused me, I tensed.
Gods, this would get very ugly really fast.
But Dion surprised me. He wriggled out from under me, got up, and prowled over to Thain, sporting an expression more entertained than pissed. Either he was more drunk than I presumed, or so relaxed he was able to let his grudge rest for once.
“Remember, Courtling. What happens during Regicide stays at Regicide.” Dion grinned menacingly, propped himself down next to Thain, and then—then he embraced the redhead, who threw his arms around him too.
My jaw dropped as I watched.
What—
The—
Holy—
Triad.
The two fae hugged. Dion was holding Thain. Without a death threat or any aggression. And the other male leaned into the embrace, grinning like a maniac.
Shimmying over closer to Rewi, I whispered to her, “Do you think sacrificing his magic permanently would be worth it if he were always so relaxed in return?”
My best friend laughed in response.
After the minute was up, the two fae disentangled, and Dion sauntered back over to me. Obviously, I didn’t react fast enough for His Royal Highness—pardon, Majesty—so he picked me up and let himself drop back onto the settee, with me on top of him.
Antas nodded. “Duty fulfilled.”
“As the accessory to his task, it’s only fair for me to issue the next.”
“What do you want me to do, Thain?”
The grin on his face spelled nothing good, and as he made a spectacle of drumming his fingers on his chin, I knew he had something fiendish in mind.
“Oh well, Your Royal Majesty. This party in your honor has been enjoyable so far, but something is missing, wouldn’t you say?”
Dion dipped his chin and muttered into my ear, his warm breath a gentle caress, causing me to shiver. “I hate this game.” Still, his tone was dripping with amusement.
“Humans, listen up. Fae are much more open than your lot. So are our games. Regicide is no exception. So, Your Royal Majesty, pick one of the Ivreians and demonstrate for five minutes in front of everyone what, apart from food, drink, and good company, is also a vital tradition at our parties.”
From Thain’s twinkle in his eyes, how he was vague on purpose, and from the way Dion grinned, I wasn’t convinced I wanted to find out.