Page 50 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“I think… they think you look good,” Niamh whispered to me, forcing me to choke on some of my own spit as I tried to come to terms with that.

Raegan seemed to bristle for a moment, catching the attention of his father and king, who looked sidelong at him with an ounce of disappointment. Killian leaned over and whispered something into his Prince's ear, twisting both of their lips into sly smiles as they continued to stare.

“If they don’t stop looking at you like that, there is going to be a bloodbath before the feast and dancing,” Niamh snickered to herself, guiding me away from the position that I had been frozen in.

“What do you mean?”

“The females are particularly feral on the holidays.” Her eyes flashed as if remembering such a thing. “And the Prince's attention? I’ve known pixies to kill for less.”

“Very funny.”

She winked at me just as we arrived at a long stretch of tables, each containing entire barrels full of that same amber liquid I had seen numerous times.

“What is this?”

“Nectar.”

“Like… nectar?”

“Refined and fermented, but yes. It’s quite strong, I don’t think you want to drink that much – oh.”

I laughed to her as I wiped at my mouth, setting down the cup I had nearly swallowed.

A high whistle silenced the entire castle, King Ronan squaring his shoulders as he dropped his fingers from his lips. Every head whipped in that direction, a crowd growing just outside the throne room where people fought to get a better look at him as he cleared his throat.

“We shall begin the feast and festivities shortly. Conall was kind enough to prepare our food for the evening, so it is sure to be grand—” He paused to allow a wave of laughter, cheering, and clapping. “—As our season shifts into summer, I hope you all choose to spend this evening well. The fires are lit outside and ready, but I find myself in need of a dance partner.”

The swooning was loud as females screeched, each of them clawing at the bodies around them to try and offer themselves to the King. He grinned, a face full of charisma that drew in every person around him. “Have a wonderful Beltane, all.” At that, he clapped his hands and the room spiralled into chaos once more.

I could feel someone's eyes on me, but no matter which direction I looked I couldn’t pinpoint them.

“What do you say, Olivia?”

I turned to Niamh, my head slightly tilted.

“Dancing or food first?”

Having tried pixie food a few times now, I knew that if I picked the latter I would be asleep within moments. Letting a wild grin on my face grow, I winked at her. “Dancing, of course.”

She clapped several times like a child before grabbing on to me and dragging me through the maze of bodies until we were outside the castle.

From the doors to the draw-bridge over the moat, large fires were crackling and spitting into the sky, where pixies had already started to collect. Hand-in-hand they spun around the fires, fireflies flickering in and out of focus as they buzzed around bodies. A loud melody of hearty songs carried over all the lands, bodies moving and spinning to the sound as the fires hissed along.

“How do pixies dance?” I called to her, needing to shout over all of the noise.

“Why don’t I show you?” a familiar voice answered. I spun around just in time to nearly face-plant into Rory’s wide chest, looking up at him to see a contagious look to his face. “May I?”

Shooting Niamh an apologetic look, I took Rory’s hand and let him twirl me away from her, until we were a blurring mass of two bodies gliding beneath the moonlight to whatever beat flowed from the musicians.

When Rory finally stopped spinning me, my lungs were burning and the world continued to twist around me, but I found balance by simply slumping against him.

His breath was heated against my ear. “You look exquisite.”

My center of gravity found itself once more, allowing me to step backwards from him and beam joy in his direction. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Rory.”

The compliment was enough to make him shut his eyes for a moment, a rusty light washing over his face from the nearest fire. “Thank you.”

Taking his hand in my own and slowing our dance to something capable of holding a conversation, I tipped my chin up to him. “I can’t see your wings?”