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“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, arching a dark eyebrow.
I snap upright, clearing my throat. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
Loric licks his lips, leaning closer. I tip my chin, closing my eyes, my breathing shallow as I wait for his lips to meet mine, but they don't. Instead, I feel his breath on my cheeks as he says, “Perhaps neither of us should answer that question then.”
His hand is warm against my lower back and my eyes flare open, locking on to where his lips are only an inch or two from mine.
“That’s probably for the best,” I whisper, wanting to lean forward and close the gap, but he stands up right.
The hand he has at my lower back twists into the tied strings of my corset, pulling it slightly tighter. It knocks a huff of air from my lungs as he leads me down the cobblestone road, not caring that everyone behind us can see what he's doing.
“The purpose of those strings is not for it to be used as a leash,” I grumble, my features going flat.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Loric tips his head back, looking up at the sky a moment. “Maybe not,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he resumes staring at the road ahead. “But they make a decent handle that can be used for other things.”
The blood rushes to my cheeks as my mouth gapes. The shock alone interrupts the signals from my brain to my legs and they stop moving. His hand is ready, nudging me along and I gasp in shock, but the heat that pools in my core is full of something else.
Loric's silver eyes meet mine, still wide as I try to remember to breathe, and he smiles, his tongue playing with the tips of his teeth as he looks away. My cheeks are flaming hot as I try to compose myself, and we continue down the line of shops and street-side merchants.
“Promise me that you'll be careful, that you won't go anywhere alone while we're here,” he says, his deep voice sending butterflies swarming my stomach after I just got them to settle down.
“I promise,” I say, trying to catch my breath.
Chapter 28
Calamity
After meandering through the market, grabbing some supplies we needed, we stopped into a quaint little cottage on the main strip of the village to meet with a seamstress. She took my measurements, had me try on a few things, and made me pick a few styles I liked for the trousers and top she’d have fitted for me by morning.
And since Loric finally caved, agreeing to let me participate in some of the festivities beyond just bearing witness to them, we bought a thin white dress for me to wear tonight. Apparently, all the maidens wear something similar. Another merchant had a table full of flower crowns and I picked one that was a ring woven of red roses to match.
By the time we were done, the others had secured a place for us to stay tonight. Loric led me through the village until we passed a sign that read “Arcane Cottages” which he explained is like a home that could be rented for a night. The rays of light from the hell flame spill onto the cobblestone, casting long shadows off the sides of the cottage eaves.
He points to ours and I squint through the light to get a better look. It’s like the entire thing was carved into some sort of molten stone, and like the marketplace, the roof is made out of thatched grass that’s turned gray with time. Wildflowers sprout up around the base and line the stone walkway, their colors vibrant and the scent of them sweet and earthy.
I follow Loric up the path and toward the front door. The air hums with a quiet magic, the walls themselves seeming to pulse with a life of their own. Each cottage in the row matches, as if they were cast in a mold, but each are painted to have their own theme of whimsy, their rock walls covered with wild ivy, along with their twisted chimneys.
We step inside, and even the inner walls have vines, peeking through crystal-lined cracks, decorating the corners. There’s a fireplace nestled into the far wall, the flames burning an odd blue and green hue. It’s hell flame, a rare element that as far as I know, shouldn’t be messed with. One touch and the wound will burn for eternity, even after it’s healed. There are only a handful of creatures in this realm that can touch it safely. My father, nephilim, furies, and hellhounds. Otherwise, touching it won’t be a death sentence, but the pain that’ll fall will make you wish it was.
That’s odd they would light their hearths with it, instead of using something safer, like mage fire. It’s enchanted to never go out.
Jesper, Mira, and Brenn are gathered around an old oak table, cards in hand. Jesper's the first to notice us, his brooding shoulders straightening as he breaks into a sly grin. He stands with a flourish, bowing so low his dark hair almost sweeps the floor. "Your majesty," he says, his voice laced with a playful respect.
Brenn, lounging in his chair, his leg that’s clad in the mechanical hinge is propped up on another chair, elevated bya pillow. The long ride here must’ve bothered it. His pixie-like features twist into a smirk as he quickly glances up at me, then back to his cards. "She’s not a queen yet.” He nods to Mira. “Go Fish."
Mira chuckles, watching Jesper return to his chair. Her long dark hair is down now, the shaved side of her head to me, and for just a split second, I could swear the tattoos wrapped around the side of her head glow. “You're both idiots.” She shakes her head at them, and discards.
I can't help but smile, the tension from the day's travels melting away. Loric glances around the room. “Where’s Vik and Faelor?”
“Sleeping. They were up most of the night,” Jesper says, waggling his brows. His attention turns to me and he holds up the cards. “Ever play?”
I shake my head, setting down our things and joining them at the table. There’s no other chair, since Brenn is using it to prop his leg up, and I won’t ask for it, so I lean against the table top.
“Want to learn?” Mira asks, her brows lifting.
Jesper gestures to an empty spot in his lap, the mischievous glint in his eyes unmistakable. "Come on, let daddy teach you.”
Leaning back, I try to form a response, but can’t. I glance over my shoulder, finding Loric less than a foot away, setting down a stool from the bartop table in the kitchen. He takes a seat first, then takes it upon himself to tug me into his lap by the corset strings he seems so obnoxiously fond of. “See, I told you it makes a good handle.”
