Raylen was always the most confident elf I’ve ever met. He thrives in crowds and performs in large archery competitions, for shit’s sake. Did he mean it, or was he just trying to make me feel better? Settling into the grass, I ball up my heavy cloak into a makeshift pillow, and Cinder curls up against me, and my eyes drift closed.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, there is a shadow falling over me. Blinking my eyes open, I peer up at lilac hair and sparkling lilac eyes rimmed with kohl. I sit up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I guess my body needed it.”
“It’s okay,” he says, holding a hand out to me. “I didn’t expect the line to be that long already.”
“Line?”
In answer, Raylen hands me a striking satchel made of a royal blue textile so deep and luminous it looks like a swatch cut straight from the night sky. The color is my favorite shade of blue.
Did he remember?
“What is this?”
He laughs. “It’s for you. Open it.”
I gasp when my fingers caress the cool, silky material. I tug it free. “A cloak,” I breathe. Not only that, but it’s a light cloak with a cooling charm on it. It is beautiful, and entirely too thoughtful for a rogue archer.
Raylen gathers my balled-up winter cloak from the ground and shakes it out before neatly placing it into my new satchel.I wrap the royal blue material around my shoulders, instantly feeling the chilling relief from the cooling charm. “This is too much.”
He steps forward and places the hood over my head. “This way we can just enjoy the market as ourselves.”
A wave of gratification rushes through me, easing the ache in my chest. “Thank you, Raylen.”
“Anytime. Now, let’s go settle that growling tummy of yours.”
“The Cloud Cake?” I ask, reading the sign in front of the stall with the long line.
“Yup. You still like sweets, right?”
I narrow my eyes. How good is his damn memory? “Mmm,” I grunt.
“The owner is a lovely little thing. I used to frequent her stall in the islands often. Trust me, you’ll love her Cloud Cakes.”
I choke on air, causing a few people to look our way. The smooth roll of his voice, combined with the blatant innuendo, is enough to short-circuit my brain.
So, the playboy rumors must be true. It makes sense. Raylen has always been popular. In a culture like ours, where sexuality is celebrated openly and multiple partners are the norm, he fits right in. Even in Moonscliffe, the town encourages us to leaninto our desires. Sharing our beds with more than one person is just second nature to most of us. Most being the keyword.
Would Raylen make fun of me for not having much experience or for being demisexual? No, he’s never been cruel. Still, I frown, keeping quiet as my thoughts whirl.
We both keep our cloaks drawn and hoods securely pulled low. For me, the light fabric is a shield against the suffocating press of the crowd. For Raylen, it’s a necessary shield against his own staggering fame. At times, I forget just how sought-after he truly is. The morning’s gossip sheets are already circulating through the market, filled with feverish speculation about whether the legendary archer of Moonscliffe has arrived to finally choose a spouse.
Something about that thought sours my mood. Is the owner of the cake stall a potential love interest?I am not jealous. I. Am. Not. Jealous.My frown deepens.
Raylen chuckles playfully, wrapping his fingers around my biceps as he did earlier. “Ah, there he is. The grumpy elf I’ve grown so fond of.”
“And there’s the flirty elf I remember,” I quip. It was meant to be an insult, but I swear it sounds like I’m flirting back.
He just smiles and shakes his head. “How long has it been, Sy? Two, almost three years?”
“Give or take,” I grumble.Why do I like the way he calls me Sy?It’s so familiar, almost as if we’re good friends. More memories of our time together in school come to mind. Those few times I’d opened up to him more than I’d opened up to anyone as a young teen.
Are we friends?
We approach the front of the stall, and I instantly tense when I see the pretty, curvy elf. She’s beautiful, with large brown eyes and curly hair. Next to my giant frame, she’s practically tiny, but I can’t help but notice that she would be the perfectheight for someone like Raylen. I tune out the quiet voice in the back of my mind. The one currently pointing out exactly how perfect Raylen would look wrapped up in my arms instead. He’s at least eight inches shorter than I am.
“Welcome,” she greets. “I apologize for the wait; it’s my first year here—”
Her words die off when Raylen pulls back his hood just enough so that only she can see his face.
