We sneak out of the castle like two bandits in the night. Donning heavy capes over our clothes, we creep down each corridor until we’re out of the castle and into the fresh night air. The moon hangs low and pink in the sky, and stars seem larger than the ones back home. They shine in the same shade of gold that washes up on Moth’s pale skin. We move through crowds, erupting in giggles. In this moment, we’re not a girl in her early twenties and a long-lost faerie prince. We’re just two people in love having a rebellious night on the town. By the wide smile on Moth’s face, it’s safe to say that this was the right call. We should have gotten out of the castledays ago.
The farther into town we walk, the more the air smells like fried food and honey. Music seeps into every crevice of the bustling market. I reach out and fireflies dance around my hand. The villages are dressed in simple garments in a variety of muted pastels, making our disguises stand out more than we had intended. A few curious glances are cast in our direction, but most folks—both monster and faerie alike—go about their business. Laughter mingles with the beautiful music played by a small band in the market’s center.
“It is beautiful,” Moth says, looking around. Together, we experience this place like tourists gettingoff a bus.
“What should wedo first?”
He swoops his arms around me, and before I know it, we’re dancing in the middle of the street. The fireflies swarm around us, casting a beautiful glow across Moth’s face before dissipating into the crowd. Everyone dances, cheers, andstaresat us.
“Do you think the capes are overkill?” I whisper, feeling more and more like a celebrity hiding behind an enormous hat and oversized sunglasses. “Everyone is looking at us.”
“Are they?” He takes another turn around the makeshift dance floor. “I hadn’tnoticed.”
I giggle with every whirl and spin, all of my worries drifting away until the song ends. Afterward, we stand on the outskirts of the dance floor, gazing into each other’s eyes. It’s only then that I see the sadness creeping back over him
“What next? Food stalls, shopping, or… oh, a tavern!” I squeal, pulling him toward a dimly lit building. In the human realm, I always wanted to check out a Renaissance Fair. But with event obligations, content to plan, and not knowing how to fit that particular aesthetic into my social media feed, it was never apriority.
“No freaking way,” I whisper as we walk through the door. We’re surrounded by boisterous laughter and pints of ale and honey mead. Vines twined with fairy lights are strung across the rough-hewn ceilings while rustic-looking meals are ushered to tables, leaving the heavenly scent of vegetables and herbs behind.
Oh shit, I did not bringany money.
“My flame,” Moth whispers, patting a pouch at his hip with a toothy smile on his lips. “Tonight is my chance to finally pay you back for all our outings to the diner.”
He does know I’m the one that’s supposed to be cheering him up, right?
Despite myself, I smile back. I guess in a fantasy world, a tavern is the closest thing to a 24-hour diner, so it seems like a pretty fair trade. We work our way through the crowd, managing to snag two empty seats by the bar.
“Good evening.” The barkeeper, a tall heavyset man with a dimpled smile and green dragonfly wings greets us. “What may I get you thisevening?”
Moth and I exchange looks. We’ve mostly sipped tea and sparkling ciders at the castle, but what if that’s like ordering a Manhattan atDenny’s?
“Is there something you would recommend?” Moth asks, tilting his gaze curiously to the other patrons who drink from wooden steins, cheering with lively songs.
“The pear cider is popular,” he muses, glancing between the two of us. “I could also recommend our mead, but it is quitestrong.”
I frown. How does this guy know I’m a lightweight?
“Two ciders would be lovely.” I resign myself. As much as I’d like to cut loose, the last thing either Moth or I need is ahangover.
I nod, watching him hop into action and pour two frothy drinks from a tap. Then, he slides them across the wooden bar, and they stop perfectly in front of us.
“Have you been enjoying the season?” I ask. “I bet it’s bringing in lots of tourists—er, travelers.”
Moth stifles a laugh. I really need to stop talking to strangers.
“No, my lady.” He dips into a bow, as if the question itself is a sign that, despite mymoth-lyappearance, I’m not from here. An assumption he’s rightto have.
“Folks from the High Courts do not tend to visit our humble town.”
I take a sip of my cider; the bright fruity notes have a sweet floral quality. It’s one of the best drinks I’ve had since wearrived.
“Well, they are missing out!”
“Agreed,” Moth says, raising his glass in the air. The barkeep gathers his own cup to cheers the two of us. Instead of going back to the other patrons, he lingers, obviously curious about what brings us to his tavern.
Doesn’t anyone from the High Courts have a fun night on the town? Oak recommended the markets, but come to think of it, I don’t think he’s nobility, just an artist with close ties to the royal family. Maybe he has morefreedom.
There must be a difference, but I’m too new here to know what it is.
