Wilder
Lochlan’s partiesremind me of where Malachi gets his ideas. Although, Malachi’s knockoff celebrations pale in comparison to the parties in Solace. There’s a reason the Vaelier court would disappear to Lochlan’s manor when visiting Lyrichia before the war. No one throws a celebration like Lochlan.
It was during one of those many trips that I became friends with him. Even now, as we sit on opposite sides of this war, he grins up at me when I stop at his couch.
“Too good to wear the clothes I’ve offered you, King Riven?” He inhales a drag of haelmarrow. The simple fabric draped at his shoulder and waist hides little.
“If a battle breaks, I’d prefer to be wearing pants.”
“There’s no battle here.” Lochlan laughs as smoke curls from his lips. “And I seem to recall many stories of you in my manor, wearing nothing more than a sheet. The females were bored for decades after the war broke out because they no longer had you to keep them company.”
“It’s a shame your court wasn’t better at satisfying them.”
He chuckles, glancing around the room at his court galivanting.On a nearby couch, a group of Fae are licking wine off each other’s chests, wearing absolutely nothing. The thick fog of haelmarrow is loosening their inhibitions. And Lochlan is right; there was a time I’d be happily partaking in all of it.
That time feels so long ago now.
“Come sit.” Lochlan pats the cushion beside him. “I’d offer you one of the females who have been watching you since you walked in, but I sense you’re preoccupied at the moment.”
“You’re one to talk.” I glance at the empty space at his other side when I drop down onto the couch. “Where’s your company?”
Some drown pain in isolation or drinks or drugs. Lochlan drowned his in the bodies of others for centuries. I’ve rarely seen him without at least one Fae dangling from his arm.
“It’s been a long century.” He takes another deep inhale, tipping his head back. “Much has changed.”
“That it has.”
Lochlan smirks, tilting his head in my direction. “How is Alyssium this time of year? Still miserable and bitterly cold?”
“Only you would joke to a man who just spent a hundred years in that hellscape.”
“You expect me to care that you spent a century in a prison?” Lochlan hitches an eyebrow, taking a long puff of haelmarrow. “The walls are irrelevant when the mind is a much worse place.”
Darkness flashes in his bright eyes, a stark contrast to the runes on his face, and I imagine he understands the depths of that statement better than most.
He passes me the stick of haelmarrow, and I draw it to my lips, holding it in my lungs until my head hushes. For a breath, the demons in my mind quiet. The crackle of my magic settles.
“You seem awfully calm and content for the war brewing.” I hand him the haelmarrow.
“Wars come and go. Realms come and go. Fae come and go. There’s no point dwelling on it.”
“Says the lord on the side set to prevail.”
Lochlan chuckles, his gaze drifting to the entryway of the room. “I thought that was the case. But now… I suppose we’ll see.”
Callum and Greer step inside, revealing Elorie behind them. Her snow-white hair is tied back at the sides of her head, with rivers of blue resting on either side of her shoulders. In her white dress, her silvery-gray eyes are even lighter. Her constellation of freckles sparkles on her cheek.
Elorie’s eyes move around the room, taking it all in, as a pretty blush crawls her neck.
“When I heard you challenged the Rite, I thought it was a move to get closer to Selia.” Lochlan’s gaze locks on Elorie. “But a human girl…”
He chuckles, and my spine prickles with a faint surge of magic. After all these years, he still sees through me.
Elorie catches my gaze, and her cheeks redden. Her fingers clench the thin fabric that clings to her every curve. Her stare is a bolt of silver spearing me in the chest before it leaves me entirely.
She disappears into the crowd, like she thinks that’s enough to avoid me.
“Did you get it?” I ask Lochlan, watching Cyan walk into the room next.
