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“Who is this beautiful creation?” Graceson purred watching Shavarra approach. Quickly, he slipped his arms out of the backpack that bounced on his chest and passed it back to me. “Hold this, I look like a fool.”
“You’re not wrong.” I deadpanned, slipping it back over my sore shoulders.
Chivalry truly is dead.
Shavarra smiled, which only made her more beautiful. You could tell she was from the Twinity Court; that much had to be obvious to Graceson. She practically looked like she was made from ice. Her ponytail of silky white-blonde hair bounced over her almost translucent skin. The slightest kiss of the sun was a gorgeous pink-plum color on her cheeks. She pierced Graceson with her lilac eyes. At least if Graceson sought to entertain her, I knew she wasn’t entertaining Dace.
“So, is this what King Windre sends as our protection?” she said, over-enunciating every word.
“Shavarra, this is Graceson. Graceson, this is Shavarra. You may recognize him from his visit to the Heathern Court.” I waved between the two.
Shavarra offered her hand intending to shake, but Graceson brought her knuckles to his mouth with a swift kiss and a cheeky grin.
“I think I would have remembered this one had I seen him.” Shavarra blinked and pulled her hand back. “But I do recall hearing his name.”
“You should ask him about his demi-god origins. That’s a good story.” I forced a smile onto my face, knowing it didn't really reach my eyes.
“Maybe another time.” She nodded slowly, watching me.
“Come on, love, it’s a wonderful tale. Filled with excitement and adventure.” Graceson scooted closer to her.
“Excitement and adventure?” I gasped. “You didn’t tell me that version!”
“Well, I don’t need to impress you, so...”
I hummed in response, grinning at the unamused look he sent in my direction, but froze as an earsplitting scream came from the forest. My feet stumbled to a stop. Nymphs froze, watching the trees for some new sort of demon to emerge. I could feel their panicked pulses travel against the earth.
“What was that?” I said.
Jerydin’s body was stiff, his large eyes narrowed and his head cocked. Could he see through the trees? I wondered. Graceson’s hand was settled against the hilt of his sword that bounced at his hip as he stepped toward his friend.
“Perhaps we should investigate that,” he said.
“Perhaps we should,” I answered.
“You?” He laughed, glancing at Shavarra like he wished she would volunteer instead.
These Nymphs trust Shavarra and she needs to stay here with them,I attempted to reason with myself.
“Yes, me. Would you like to give me a reason why I shouldn’t investigate the mildly disturbing shriek near my small army of Nymphs?”
I dare you to say something to undermine me right now in front of these worried Nymphs who look to me for guidance. I dare you. I’m just looking for a reason to break someone’s nose right now.
Perhaps, he saw the crazy that showed in my eyes when I asked the question. Perhaps he didn’t have any reason other than the fact that he wanted a moment with Shavarra to show off. Either way, he shook his head and turned toward the forest.
“Let’s go.” He turned, his wings catching the wind in his movement with the slightest flutter before they settled snugly against his back. He was showing off for Shavarra, I was sure. Or maybe his wings did that when he walked quickly and I never noticed?
Another cry pierced the air, sending me into motion. I spoke loud enough for Shavarra to hear me but softer than a yell, in case whoever was causing the screaming heard me. “You keep them quiet, but make sure to keep an eye out. Weapons at the ready.”
“Already on it.” Shavarra propelled herself forward, but I hardly saw it as I jogged to catch up with Graceson.
“You head into the forest about twenty paces that way,” Graceson said to Jerydin and pointed down the road. “Ryker and I will go in from here. Let’s see what’s up and make sure we can get this show back on the road.”
Jerydin stiffly jogged away and I noticed his wings didn’t flair as he turned and kept them tucked tightly to his back. Just a Graceson thing then.
I urged tendrils of my magic out, pulling the brush away in an even path before us. I could move a lot more quietly if I wasn’t getting smacked in the face with twigs, that's for sure. Graceson dipped his chin in thanks and pushed forward into the parted vegetation.
What couldn’t be moved, dried up leaves and discarded bits of stick and bark, still crunched under our boots. More quietly under Graceson’s boots than my own, I admitted. It made me wonder how old he was and how many years he had been practicing such stealth. Maybe all Fae had that way, but I doubted it by the stiff way the majority of them moved, like they were just puppets on a stick that had been shoved up their asses.
