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“You always were a joker, brother.”
“Be honest, that’s a sheep with a wig on.”
With a wince, I remove my shawl and step out from behind Rex, producing five identical expressions of horror. And to my horror, all five of them drop to their knees, heads bowed.
“I beg your forgiveness, Queen.”
“Queen Britta, it is an honor. Please accept our condolences about your parents. There never was a fairer king and queen.”
I pang catches me in the throat. “Thank y—”
“Our brother was kissing the fecking queen,” comes a furious whisper.
“There is no need to apologize. Or kneel.” Face burning, I signal them all to rise. “Your brother was kind enough to invite me tonight. I hope I’m not imposing.”
“Heavens no!” They all begin making sweeping gestures toward the door. “We are honored, Queen Britta. Please do come in.”
“Thank you.”
I’ve never been inside of home full of so much…warmth. There are pots simmering on the stove and paper decorations affixed to the ceiling. Shoes discarded by a crackling fire. The bottom floor is one connected space containing a small kitchen, a long dining table, then a circle of comfortable chairs by the fireplace. Towards the back, there is a staircase which I suspect leads to the bedrooms, although I imagine a house this small can only fit two or three.
“Is this the house where you grew up?” I ask Rex, watching as he ducks to avoid a hanging paper lantern.
“It is.” He nods toward the back of the house. “But there are stables out back. That’s where I made my bed most nights.” He tweaks the nose of one of his sisters—a young, dark-haired girl who shares Rex’s brown eyes. “To escape the squabbling.”
Another girl, one who appears to be the oldest, gasps, waving her hands. “Do not malign us in front of the queen!”
Rex snorts. “That ship has sailed.”
“Incorrigible, you are,” she says, coming forward. “I’m Katrina, Your Majesty. The oldest daughter and the one with the most decorum. Please come sit down and I’ll get you a drink.”
“I will be getting her the drink,” Rex says, his eyes heating.
He’s turned on. Because he’s serving me.
I’m suddenly breathless in a room full of potential new friends. This can’t be the correct way to get off on the right foot—lusting for their brother. “I, um…” Deep breath. My eyes seek out the youngest-looking sister and I notice for the first time that she’s wearing a pink paper crown. “It must be your birthday. You’re…Priscilla?”
“She knows my name,” breathes the girl. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’m sixteen today.”
“A very important birthday,” I say, smiling as an idea occurs to me. Reaching down, I unclasp the jeweled cuff bracelet around my wrist and hand it to the girl. “Please accept this as my gift to you.”
Priscilla looks like she’s going to faint, so I reach out to steady her. “Oh no, Queen Britta, I couldn’t.”
“I insist. It will look lovely on you.” I smile again to reassure her. “Try it on.”
While the sisters crowd around Priscilla to get a better look, Rex comes up behind me, putting what appears to be mulled wine in my hand—and he slowly plants a kiss on my shoulder. “She’ll never forget that, love.”
And I’ll never forget this night. It numbs me to the grief that has been on a low boil inside me since yesterday. Takes me away, forces me to see the humor in the world.
We sit in front of the fire for hours while the sisters tell me stories about growing up in a household with six siblings. How Rex suffered through Katrina learning to braid hair by using him as the test subject. They swap memories of the pranks they played on each other, including quite a few buckets of water left on top of the stable door. I laugh more during those stories than I’ve laughed in my entire life. At some point, I’m pulled into Rex’s lap, his thumb finding a spot on the base of my spine that I didn’t even realize was aching until he called attention to it, rubbing the twinge in circles, and I sigh into his protective hold, no one seeming to find it odd that I’m being attended to by their brother in such an intimate manner.
Or at least, choosing not to comment on it.
Rex’s sisters poke at him endlessly, mostly about his fearsomeness, but their jokes clearly come from a place of love. They recognize what a treasure he is and it makes me love all five of them in return.
“Rex!” Priscilla trills now. “What did you bring me?”
He smiles against my temple. “I wrote you a song. Fetch my lute.”
A few minutes later, I’m staring in awe as Rex whips through an opening tune, his singing voice deep and resounding in the small house. “Priscilla, Priscilla, smells like a gorilla. After sixteen years, a bath wouldn’t kill ya…”
