Helen stood not far from her, immaculate in a gold-trimmed bodice and skirts pressed so sharply they could cut. Her hair was pinned too neatly for a day like this. The girls clustered around her—the dancers—giggled as though they hadn’t noticed the dread hanging in the air.
Nic was amongst them, a weathered figure in dusty work boots and rolled shirtsleeves, his hand resting protectively at the small of Helen’s back, like a reluctant extra who'd wandered onto the wrong stage and refused to leave the play.
Most of the faces in the square were familiar, even if not by name. Only a few stood out as strangers, likely from distant villages—White Wood, Nereid.
One person was conspicuously absent. Hadria had never received a summons—not that anyone expected she would. She’d walked away from the White Villa and had vanished from the civic rolls with it. She couldn’t hunt, work for wages, own land, or even file taxes. Yet she hunted anyway, worked when she wanted, and lived where she pleased—quietly ignored by a society that had tried and failed to exile her into invisibility. Her freedom was real, but it came hollowed out, stripped of rights and protections. A silent bargain no one dared question.
Collin and Aries staked out a spot near the edge of the square. Soon River arrived, followed by Clive and Niall. Niall bore a curved dagger and short sword, ever practical. Clive had brought Gaudium, his rich green longbow that always smelled faintly of sap and varnish.
“Where’s Arion?” Niall asked, scanning the crowd.
“Dodged the cutoff by a month,” River muttered, eyes on the ground. “Lucky dog.”
River, of course, was unarmed. He’d left his father’s house with nothing but two hounds and a conviction. It showed now, in the way he fidgeted.
Nic’s voice broke the tension, “Good afternoon, gents. You look ready for a parade—or an execution.”
He strode up with Uriah, both of them bristling with weaponry. Nic’s sword, Amare, glinted at his hip. Collin had admired its craftsmanship for years.
“Still think it’s just a recruitment?” Collin asked, glancing toward the dancers. “What would they want with the Daughters of Venus?”
Aries frowned. “Helen’s father—has he said anything?”
Nic shook his head. “He tried to get her excused. Denied. She’s as confused as the rest of us. And as for swords... Helen can butcher a chicken with surgical precision, but put a blade in her hand for battle?” He raised his brows. “We might be relying on poultry diplomacy.”
“That’s a valuable skill,” Collin muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Maybe they need skilled butchers and dancers. For morale.”
Nic gave a hollow laugh. “Nothing boosts morale like interpretive knife work.”
River glanced at the brothers. “Do you have something I could borrow? Didn’t think to bring...”
Uriah tossed him a sheathed sword without hesitation. “See how that sits. If it growls at you, I’m sure Nic has something shinier.”
River caught it with both hands, his grip uncertain. “Thanks... but it’s less about me fancying the sword, more the sword fancying me.”
“Compliment it,” Nic said, waggling his eyebrows. “Rub the hilt. Whisper sweet nothings. Works for Amare, every time!”
The brief laughter stuttered out as Dragonfly approached. She was talking to Uriah and Clive, but her jaw was clenched and her knuckles white around her weapons. Collin offered a gentle “hello.” She returned it, polite, distant. Her gaze lingered on him for a second—too fleeting, and she turned away before he could name it.
Since her return to the summit a week ago, everything between them had felt strained—ever since the kiss. She still spoke to him, but there was a border now, carefully drawn. Any glance too long, any word too warm, and she turned skittish, as though avoiding his gaze would erase the memory.
Collin was desperate to talk to her, to ask—just once—what she felt that day in the woods. But how did one begin a conversation like that?
So... did you like it? The kiss, I mean? Or were you just too polite to pull away? Wait, you kissed back... didn’t you? Or was that just wishful thinking?
He had no answers, only questions that twisted themselves into late-night rewrites of that moment. Had he ruined their friendship? Quite possibly. Did he regret it? Not even a little. Would he do it again, given the chance? In a heartbeat. The kiss lived in his mind like something sacred—sweet and dangerous and lingering.
He sighed quietly and turned back to the others, letting the square’s tension fold around him like damp cloth. Whateverawaited them, it was near. And Nic, now mock-dueling Uriah with a stick, seemed determined to wring the last bit of levity from the waiting.
Despite the weight pressing in on the square, Nic and Clive's banter tugged a few smiles out of the group. They spoke of swords and steel, riffing on design and balance like scholars of war trying to forget they were about to be tested like criminals.
Collin admitted he’d always wanted a dagger, though he doubted he'd ever afford one. Aries, arms crossed and gaze distant, muttered that he wished he had more time to forge blades for beauty rather than for bureaucrats. Clive and Dragonfly fell into a focused discussion on arrowheads—flint versus antler versus bone—each material dissected like it might save their lives.
Uriah, River, and Niall listed the blades they dreamed of wielding. River’s answer:anything that didn’t reject him on sight.
Then the town clock struck noon.
The conversation died mid-sentence.
