The Night Festival #2
If Xander was here, he’d be proud of me for milking a prince. It was practically a professional milestone.
It was completely night by the time we left the shop.
There were stalls set up around the perimeter of the main square.
Awnings in all different shades, tables filled with everything from enchanted nonsense to beaded jewelry, food arranged to seduce both stomach and coin.
Music flooded the square, and masked street performers danced through the growing crowd.
“What's going on?” I asked.
“Twilight Night Festival,” Caelan said, with a gleam in his eyes. “Takes place every night after Bright March.”
Bright March was once celebrated on the day the soldiers marched to war. Now that the kingdoms were at peace, it was observed every year instead.
I looked around and noticed all the brightly colored ribbons and banners overhead, hung from second-floor balconies and posts throughout the city.
The soldiers who patrolled the city under Maelor's command wore a single flower somewhere on their armor.
Small and delicate, with impossibly purple petals and a core that glowed gold.
My attention snagged on a table set up by the edge of the square.
Wine. Lots of it. Pushed into eager hands lining up for it.
“Ah,” I said without looking at Caelan. “I see.”
“Would you like to look around?”
My head whipped toward him.
“What?”
A tug of his mouth. “We have time to join the festivities.” He nodded toward the wine table. “Wine is the point of the Night Festival.”
A couple of masked performers darted past us. Caelan pulled me back before one of them could collide with me. My shoulders pressed against his chest. I ignored the smirk on his face and stepped away.
“I thought rulers weren't supposed to indulge during Bright March. Something about honoring the soldiers who were sent to war.”
He led me toward the wine table.
The man behind it beamed when he saw Caelan and poured without being asked.
“True,” Caelan agreed, taking both glasses and handing me one. “But Twilight Night is equally important. Bright March honors the departure to war. Twilight Night celebrates the survival with wine.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “That sounds oddly convenient.” I took the glass and sipped. It was good wine. “Did you create an entire cultural observance just to justify wine?”
His glass paused halfway to his lips. “Of course not,” he said with complete sincerity.
I did not believe him for a second.
We stood by the square and watched the performers demonstrate a complicated stunt that defied the laws of both magic and physics.
Maelor watched with his arms crossed. “I can do that.”
“You would die,” Riven said.
Caelan huffed a quiet laugh.
When the performers cleared, the music started again, flooding the square with bright and restless energy. It made standing still difficult.
“Your Highness.” A voice from behind us.
An older fae with silver threaded into his dark hair sat on a stool. His hands were rough and patient, a small wooden figurine and chisel resting in them. I wondered how many centuries he had lived to show age like that.
“Ah,” Caelan smiled. “Elder Briladin.”
Elder Briladin’s mouth pulled into a lopsided grin when his eyes moved to me. “Who do we have here?”
“This is Sera,” Caelan said. “My human guest from Thalvarn.”
“Nice to meet you.” I dipped my chin.
“Sera,” he said with a full smile now. “The pleasure is all mine.”
His eyes found Maelor and Riven. “Maelor,” he squinted. “Not giving His Highness trouble anymore, are you?”
Maelor laughed nervously. “I am behaving. Riven can confirm.”
Riven said nothing.
I looked at Caelan, waiting for him to elaborate.
“Maelor used to bully me.” Caelan pressed a hand to his chest with exaggerated suffering.
My eyebrows shot up.
“I did not.” Maelor reared back, ash-blond bangs falling forward. “I was ensuring he could survive mild inconvenience.”
“He signed my name to a terrible love poem and delivered it to a noble's daughter,” Caelan said.
“I was trying to help,” Maelor countered immediately. “You had the emotional warmth of a rock. I thought romance might soften the edges.”
Caelan tilted his head. “You used to hide my boots before border inspections.”
Maelor crossed his arms. “That was once.”
“Twice,” Riven corrected.
Elder Briladin made a disapproving tsk-tsk behind us. Complete with a slow shake of his head and sad eyes.
“You bullied a prince,” I said. “That’s bold.”
I had decided that I liked Maelor. He was inspirational.
Maelor smirked. His gaze dropped to the figurine that was now finished and shaped like a small cat. The face he made was one I couldn’t decipher.
I thought of the figurines I had seen on the windowsill of the estate’s library. Same rough texture. Same craftsmanship. Same animal.
A woman laughed loudly somewhere in the square. People had started dancing, the crowd unfolding into rhythm.