“Oh, yeah, that’s awful.” I nod, trying to soak in this first taste of Court gossip. “So, okay. Bumbles like to stay in their bee forms. Dragonflies live on—I’m sorry, did you say lily pads? Please tell me the Butterfly Court lives in the sky and raise flyingunicorns.”
“They are called alicorns,” Moth says in a low voice, angling his head tothe side.
“And you aren’t supposed to be moving.” Oak shakes his brush at Moth before his attention returns to both the painting and the conversation.
“I’m not hearing a ‘no.’” I pipe in, holding out some level of hope that alicorns exist.
“Ah, it is a no,” Oak says musically with another wave ofhis brush.
Dammit.
“So, all the regions are pretty cool with each other?”
“There’s other manner of warfare than battle and bloodshed.”
Believe me, I know. I grew up on the internet. I bite back the words, knowing they’ll have no meaning to Oak.
“Besides, traditions are hard to break. I doubt the princess will be pleased when she sees this piece,” Oakcontinues.
“If strength is so important, why not paint him in his other form?”
“Ah yes, the queen is not known to transform in public. As such, wearing this form has been—what’s the word?—more fashionablesince she took the throne.”
A frown crosses Moth’s lips.
“So, if I were to transform...” Moth begins, and I wish I could tell what he was about to ask. After our conversation last night, I can’t help but wonder—is he worried the people here won’t accept him as anything but their beautiful, stoic prince?
“I told you—you’d be a trendsetter.”
“That, and it would be very thrilling.” Oak nods in agreement, and I think I sense the slightest amount of flirtation in his voice. “And nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Oh, notthisagain.
“We were acquainted?” Moth asks, squinting his eyes at the man I now suspect is more than a long-forgotten friend.
“Yes, my prince,” Oak replies with a wicked grin. “That is one wordfor it.”
A blush rises to Moth’s cheeks, suggesting something is resurfacing in his memory.
“All in the past.” Oak winks at me, and dear lord, is everyone I meet in this realm going to be someone he had an entanglement with? I hop up to brush a stray hair from Moth’s brow, my jaw clenched tight.
“Is that jealousy I sense from you, my flame?” Moth asks quietly.
“Oh my god—me?Never.”
“A pity,” he whispers, leaning in close. Suddenly, his hand is warm on my lower back. “I would be happy to remind you just how well we fit together.”
Heat radiates from my chest to my stomach. Dear god, does this man have any idea what he does to me?
“As tantalizing as your bedroom talk is, you are not supposed to be moving,” Oak shouts, throwing a spare paintbrush in our direction.
“Paint us together then,” Moth commands, positioning me in front ofhis body.
“Hah!” Oak exclaims. “As if you two would actually stand still! No, I will not risk Holly’s wrath for that fool’smission.”
“That’s okay. We have a ton of artsy portraits together,” I remind Moth, helping him get back into his original pose before walking behind the canvas.
“Very intriguing.” Oak raises his eyebrow. Oh my god, notthosekindsof photos.
