Ice coated my skin. Wrong. He had been marginally less affectionate than before, but the retreat of his warmth had me feeling anxious. The same switch had been abrupt with Daniel. He went from being so attentive to distant and absent.
It was happening again and I couldn’t handle it. I stood, walking away from the table. Joso followed me, grabbing my arm. It wasn’t aggressive, but I reacted. Pulling away, almost hitting him.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” I said, looking up at him as my throat burned.
He frowned, processing slower than normal after all that drink. "I want a mate, Arlet."
My skin had gone cold.
“Our song hasn’t started,” he continued. “You are beautiful. And fun.”
“And it’s over,” I said with finality. “I can’t give you what you want so you will cast me aside.”
I couldn’t help but cry. And Vann, seeing my reaction, had come over, and punched him. It all happened so fast, I don’t even remember why he’d been so abrupt.
Joso and I didn’t see each other afterwards. I was humiliated but he hadn’t deserved the hit.
And now, as his eyes sweep over the crowd, he looks the same.
Until he sees me.
For a split second, something flickers in his gaze—maybe hesitation. Then, he offers me a small smile.
I grip the fabric of my sleeve and step back. Slinking into the crowd, I hurry until I find the next tent listed on my scroll.
Two more and I can go home.
No men or women are waiting at the front of this particular space. I hesitate before going in. Then, a friendly face emerges. A veryhumanface.
The man has an open, easy expression. Atop his head are dark curls cropped short, sun-kissed umber skin, and a smile that reaches his eyes. He’s a bit taller than me.
I smile, relieved. It’s been a while since I’ve felt at ease around another human. Especially a man. I approach, pleased to find him alone. Maybe this time, I won’t feel the weight of expectation. Maybe the ritualistic shame won’t cut quite as deep.
"Hello," he says, smiling. "I've seen you before."
I tilt my head. "Yes. I'm Lady Arlet."
"No," he says, eyes flickering with recognition. "I think with the children. You volunteer for my nephew."
I beam. The children.
"Yes! Who is your nephew?"
"Aiden."
"Ah—yes. He’s torn his pants more than once on the playfield,”I laugh.
The man laughs, too. "It's nice to see you have such a nurturing heart."
I consider how he talks about his nephew. “It's not common that I see humans that stick together in families from before arriving in the city.”
He grins. "I'm cut from a lucky cloth."
Something inside me tenses. That phrase. Ahuman phrase.The kind steadiness in his voice creeps up my neck, settling deep in my chest.
It feels like he understands something inside of me.
Without thinking, I step closer, letting my fingers brush against his as I take his outstretched hand. His thumb strokes the back of mine, a slow, absent motion.