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“The penetrating came later that night, as I understand,” Kral quipped, ice-blue eyes dancing with mirth as the gathered men groaned.
Rayfe glittered with wolfish aggression and even Rhy looked pained. “That’s my mother you’re talking about,” Rhy said.
“Did you not knowhowshe became a mother?” Kral retorted archly, then gargled as Rayfe, now in the form of a huge black wolf, clamped his jaws around the tall Dasnarian’s throat, bearing him to the floor. His glass of whiskey went flying, shattering on already glittering stone.
Isyn started forward, hands extended in alarm, then paused when no one else moved. “Shouldn’t we intervene?”
The other men shook their heads. “Rayfe won’t kill him,” Harlan said gravely, but with a glimmer of amusement in his granite gray eyes. “Probably.”
“If he does,” Zyr asked philosophically from his elegant sprawl in one of the armchairs, “will anyone really mind?”
“Heismy father,” Jak pointed out, though he wasn’t at all concerned. Kral had tempted danger and it was true that Rayfe wouldn’t kill him. From where he stood, Jak could see that—regardless of Kral’s flailing and hoarse shouting, and a few drops of blood—Rayfe had him nonlethally pinned. Having been on the losing side of Rhy’s wolf form, Jak was well versed in what would mortally wound as opposed to simply intimidate. And bruise. “I do need him in condition to stand up for me at the ceremony, however.”
Harlan set a hand on Jak’s shoulder, squeezing with affection. “As your uncle, I’d be happy to stand up for you in the eventuality of Kral’s untimely death.”
“Help me, you fuckers!” Kral gargled from the floor. Rayfe’s wolf tail lashed back and forth in aggressive delight.
Isyn appealed to Nakoa, the King of Nahanau, who watched the struggle on the floor with an impassive expression, the dragon-scale patterns black on his dusky skin, the white threads in his coiling hair and beard like lightning streaking across a night sky. “King Nakoa KauPo, help me out here. Is this normal?”
Nakoa shrugged and smiled thinly. “Dasnarians,” he replied, as if that explained everything.
“Plus Tala,” Ash added in his hoarse voice. “It’s a volatile combination. Best to let the boys work out their high spirits before everyone is expected to be on polite behavior. I’ll heal up Kral so he doesn’t look like the victim of an animal attack for the wedding.”
Astar clapped Isyn on the back. “Don’t be alarmed. Besides, we have to give our gift to Jak.”
“Yes!” Rhy rubbed his hands together, a gleeful grin lighting his face.
“Gift?” Jak echoed dubiously. “We did not discuss any gifts and I still need to change clothes for the ceremony.”
“You’ll like this one,” Rhy promised with a wolfish smile that made Jak worry even more. “Even if you don’t, you deserve the payback.”
“Isyn,” Jak said, turning to the white-haired mage-king who was the newest to their friend group, “you’d tell me if I should be afraid, right?”
Isyn’s dubious gaze flicked to the ongoing battle on the floor. Kral had managed to draw a blade, but Rayfe had pinned that arm to the floor with a massive paw, his unnaturally sharp claws drawing blood where it pierced Kral’s bulging biceps. Harlan and Ash stood nearby, seeming to be discussing the fine points of the struggle. Isyn shook his head. “I don’t know anymore what counts as fear-inspiring in this group.”
“Not this,” Astar promised with an innocent smile. Of course, everything looked innocent on him with his sunny blond good looks and easygoing nature. Jak surreptitiously drew a blade and spun it through his fingers, low and out of sight, just in case. He wouldn’t put it past his so-called friends not to spring some kind of wedding-threatening prank on him, and Jak was determined that the remainder of this six-month ordeal go as smoothly as possible. “The best part of this gift is,” Astar continued blithely, “you don’t have to carry it on your back this time, Jak.”
“On my back this time?” Jak echoed in confusion. Rhy had gone to the parlor double doors, opening both to admit a stream of burly servants, carrying something large and draped in black velvet.
“There’s a reason we chose this room,” Astar replied. “It’s one of the few with a doorway big enough for the cask.”
In dawning realization, Jak watched as the muscled crew set down their unwieldy burden, tipping it on end and bowing to the assembled distinguished guests, completely unbothered by the snarling brawl that continued unabated—or the unnaturally large wolf involved. A discreet crew. Astar and Rhy flanked the thing and, together, whipped off the black velvet drape, both grinning widely.
“Mjed,” Rhy declared, unnecessarily, as the enormous wooden cask bore the seal of the Dasnarian distillery, the best one in the empire.
“In celebration of your wedding and in remembrance of the one you brought to Ordnung a year ago tonight,” Astar added, summer-sky eyes misty with nostalgia.
“That was a good night,” Jak said carefully, feeling more than a little choked up himself. “Despite you fuckers leaving me strapped to that thing while you laughed your asses off.”
“They did?” Isyn asked, white brows raised.
“Only for a short time,” Rhy answered. “Sometime we’ll tell you the whole story and you’ll agree that Jak absolutely deserved it.”
“How did you get this here?” Jak marveled, running reverent fingers over the seal. “This is the seriously good stuff, far better than the swill I could afford.”
“Her Imperial Majesty brought it from her own reserve at the Imperial Palace,” Zyr said, eyeing the thing. “Karyn arranged it at the request of these two. She knows how to get things done,” he added with pride.
“We wanted to pay for it,” Astar assured Jak, “but Inga refused.”
