Page 77 of King’s Kismet

He was thousands of years old, or that was what I had gathered. From my understanding, the original set of celestial beings weren’t born; they just were. Nothing one day; living the next, like the Fates.

“When is your birthday?” I asked Rig, thinking way too hard about this age thing.

My guys were all older than me... But only by a few years. And by that, I meant like five was our biggest gap.

“Don’t have one,” he answered absently as he studied the chessboard.

I was winning, and he couldn’t figure out how.

“Yes, he does,” Charlie corrected from the kitchen. “It’s October twelfth.”

“No, it’s not,” Rig argued.

“That’s my birthday, you old dog,” Sam yelled from the patio. “Rig’s birthday is March second.”

Amelia rolled her shining silver eyes as she walked into the living room. “That would be my birthday.”

“Huh,” the devil huffed, joining us. “I could have sworn your birthday was in May.”

“My birthday is in May,” Nate grumbled, peeking over his book. “Are you really so forgetful?”

Sam raised a brow. “Fine. Then you tell Lo when Rig’s birthday is…”

“It’s—Well, it’s in—” The vampire fumbled, his face scrunched up. “When is your birthday?”

“Don’t have one,” Rig repeated, moving his knight.

“Yes, you do,” Charlie insisted.

“Pretty sure I’d be the one to know,” the angel retorted, shaking his head.

I giggled at them as I sacrificed a pawn. “So no one knows?”

“Because I don’t have one,” Rig clarified, like I hadn’t heard the entire conversation. “These fools decided we would celebrate my birthday in the winter, but I can’t remember which day.”

“How old are you?” I wondered aloud.

“Old,” everyone in the room said at once.

The sigh that fell from my lips was more amused than anything else. “I gathered that by myself. Thanks, though.”

“How’d you guess?” Rig drawled, grinning at me.

I snorted. “Just a hunch. Sumerians and fighting with Lucifer before he fell and all that jazz…”

He tipped his head. “That was a while ago.”

“You don’t say?” I sarcastically inquired.

“When is your birthday?” he countered, though I was sure he knew the answer.

I pursed my lips as I calculated the end of our game. “Sometime in the spring.”

“That’s helpful.”

“You were there,” I supplied, moving my bishop. “As an ancient adult with a crystal clear memory. How could a baby possibly remember the day she was born?”

He chuckled. “I was there. You yelled at us.”