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“That’s the magic talking.”
I let out a slow sigh. “Poor Jules.”
She pats my head. “Don’t worry; I have a feeling this isn’t going to turn out like my parents’ story.”
I recline back in the booth. “Your parents aren’t alterum dimidium animae?”
She ravels a strand of her hair around her finger, dazing off at the dance floor. “Not with each other. My mom had one, but …” She shrugs. “He died. And then she got chosen for queen and got stuck with my father.”
“So, if another princess gets chosen for queen, then Jules will have to marry her and love her?” I press my hand to my chest where I’m fairly certain my heart is aching, but the magic almost immediately numbs the feeling.
“He won’t love her, just like my mom never loved my father. He’ll just be stuck pretending that he loves her and procreating little wolf cubs.” She unravels her hair from her finger. “I don’t think we should worry about that for now, though, considering the last crowning ceremony didn’t choose a princess. Makes me think it might’ve been waiting for you.”
“No way. I’d make a terrible queen. And crowns look funky on my head.”
“Do you often sport crowns?”
“Only once on Halloween, and it was a paper crown, but it still looked weird on me.”
“I’m not sure what this Halloween thing is, but I can assure you, our crowns are far better than paper ones.” She scoots to the edge of the booth and springs to her feet. “Now, enough talk about werewolves’ strange traditions. It’s time to dance.” She jiggles her hips and grins.
While I want to learn more about these strange traditions, the urge to dance is much greater.
I jump to my feet and meet her at the front of the table.
“We should make Kylan dance with us. He hates it.” She snickers then crooks a finger at Kylan who’s still lingering by the front door.
With a tolerant shake of his head, he pushes his way across the room. “What?” he grunts when he reaches us.
She dazzles him with a grin. “We want to dance.”
He rolls his eyes, but offers her his hand. “Fine.”
“You said he didn’t talk,” I whisper as she places her hand in his.
“He has a ten-word vocabulary.” She winks at him. “Right, Kylan?”
A ghost of a smile dances on his lips. “Whatever.”
“See? That’s three.” She holds up three fingers and puts them close to my face, making me go cross-eyed. “Only seven more to go, and you’ll truly know him.”
Kylan’s gaze bores into Liberty’s. “Did you steal the winged magic drink again?”
I scratch my head. “That was more than seven words. Actually, it feels like you’ve said eleven hundred.”
Liberty snickers, and Kylan sighs.
“No more faerie drinks.” He wags his finger at both of us, then focuses on Liberty. “And stop telling her I don’t speak.”
“You usually don’t,” she tells him as she drags him toward the dance floor, motioning for me to follow. “You must like Lake.”
He rubs the back of his head, flattening his hair down. “I knew her once.” He glances at me from my peripheral vision. “We practice fought with each other sometimes during training.”
“We did?” I perk up. Well, I perk up more since the faerie drink is making me feel like I’m sprouting wings myself.
He nods. “We did. You were pretty good.”
“Awesome.” I fist pump the air, and Liberty laughs.
