Page 26 of Prince of the Sun

In high school, I only went to a few parties. They were usually hosted by friends of friends, girls I knew through classes or Spanish club, and they were standard midwestern basementaffairs: kegs of beer, handles of vodka, red Solo cups, and ping-pong balls. Drinking tournaments drawn with black sharpie on flimsy cardboard brackets. Plastic beer bongs as long as a staircase.

There were no fancy coach buses. No mythical creatures dressed in tuxedoes or gilded cloaks. No bottles of champagne and niru passed solemnly from seat to seat, voices held at a murmur.

And there were definitely,definitelyno introductions.

Daerios warned me on the walk over that introductions would be part of the bus ride. It’s an Ikarith tradition, he’d said. Every Punch is required to stand up and introduce his date.

They start at the front. A dark-skinned male wearing a teal cloak sweeps out into the aisle. A golden bottle of niru dangles from his hand. “My name is Nemirion,” he says. “Son of Nemen. And this is my date, Calphiel, son of Calphen.”

Then he sits back down.

“Nemen oversees our naval forces back on Elaërion,” Daerios says, leaning close. “He’s one of the Water Elves who was chosen to sit on the council, getting elevated to the status of High Elf.”

“And his son is an absolute bore,” adds Berendir, not bothering to lower his voice.

They continue down the bus, each member or Punch standing and giving a brief introduction to their date. They list their titles and their heritage, but tell no stories, add no fun facts.

It’s the dullest party game I’ve ever played.

Little does Daerios know, I’m going to spice things up. There’s a surprise waiting for him when he stands up.

When it’s Berendir’s turn, he leaps to his feet. “This,” he announces, voice carrying down the bus, “is Cara Ravenscroft, first of her name. Cracker of codes, eater of M&Ms, owner of two fantastic human breasts.”

A tube of lipstick flies up and hits Berendir in the nose.

“That will be all.” With a sweeping bow, he takes his seat.

“Great introduction,” Cara says drily. “Riveting. Truly.”

Berendir reaches across the aisle and claps Daerios on the shoulder. “All right, Your Gloriousness. You’re up.”

Daerios tugs at his bow tie, leaving it a touch askew. He looks, of all things, nervous.I realize, then, that this must be the first time he’s ever worn human dress clothes.

“Hold on,” I say before I can think better of it. I reach up to adjust his bowtie, fingers grazing his collar. I’m careful to keep from touching his neck, but a strange heat presses up through the cotton of his shirt, making me keenly aware of just how close my skin is to his. “Um.” I withdraw my hands and clear my throat. “Great. All straight now.”

Daerios doesn’t say thank you. He stares at me, lips parted, for just a touch too long. Several emotions flash through his eyes, most too quickly for me to name, but the last one they settle upon does something strange to my stomach. Makes it twist and burn in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar.

Before I can get a better read, he looks away. His willowy limbs unfold as he raises to stand. He’s so tall that he has to hold his neck at an incline to fit under the bus’s roof.

“This is my date,” he begins. “Quinn Kallister. She studies Linguistics—”

Berendir snores loudly, and Cara stifles a giggle.

“—and was a serious gymnast before coming to Harvard.”

What?

I swallow my surprise. How does he know that?

“Gymnasts are flexible.” Berendir waggles his eyebrows. “Nice.”

Daerios rolls his eyes. He moves to sit down, but runs into something hard. “What the—?” When he turns around, he finds a bottle of Smirnoff Ice sitting in his chair. One that I just placed there, after slipping it out from under my dress. He picks it upand holds it under the bus’s light.

Made of shitty vodka and approximately 4000g of sugar, Smirnoff Ice is one of the foulest drinks invented by humankind. It tastes like jacked-up Sprite and produces instant hangovers. No one in their right mind would drink one voluntarily.

That, of course, is why we humans invented a game where we hide a Smirnoff Ice and whoever has the misfortune of stumbling upon it is required to drink the whole thing. In one go. While squatting on one knee.

“What is this?” Daerios asks, knowing damn well what it is. He’s a lifelong party boy, after all.