For all the celebrations unfolding around him, Cadogan remains both sober and self-contained. He does not dance or drink. His eyes never stray far from me, even as the hours tick by and the party spills from the Great Hall to the grand ballroom to the courtyard. If he is not watching me, his eyes are scanning the crowd. Whenever I pause long enough to take a fortifying sip of wine, he instantly closes ranks, fending off anyone who gets too close for his liking. Several brave young men—a rather flattering amount, truth be told—risk making an approach and attempt to engage me in conversation, only to be turned around and sent on their way.
Cadogan takes his guard duties quite seriously.
Jac is a different story. He’d matched me drink for drink at dinner but soon outpaced me. By this point in the evening, he is glossy-eyed and loose-limbed. I’m surprised he manages to turn me with such success. Perhaps he relies on muscle memory, for he is long past thinking about steps or rhythms.
“Brava!” he cheers as the quartet of stringed instruments play their final refrains, his voice joining a chorus of whistles and applause. His blue eyes twinkle like stars when they meet mine. “Another?”
“No,” I wheeze, pressing a hand to the muscle spasm stitching through my side. “A break.”
“Weakling,” he mutters, following me from the makeshift dance floor that has sprung up just outside the keep. There are hundreds of folks milling about, moving from the grand ballroom where Vanora and her glittering posse are gathered to the courtyard and back again. Some go farther, venturing beyond the palace gates, out onto the bridge that spans the lake and into the city itself, where the party rages on in the streets as all of Caeldera dances into spring. I imagine Keda and Teagan somewhere in their midst.
“Looks like Farley has found himself some company,” Jac says, amused. “And here we were feeling sorry for him, not able to dance…”
My eyes follow the jerk of his chin and I stifle a laugh. Farley is reclined on a chaise near the refreshment tables with a swarm of admirers fluttering all around him. From his hand gestures alone, I can tell he is relaying the story of the cyntroedi attack. As he mimes two pincers snapping his leg, a raven-haired beauty strokes his cheek in comfort. A stunning man in amber silk reaches out to twine their fingers together, squeezing in sympathy.
“I suppose that explains why he was so adamant about ditching his crutches.” My lips twist—I am half-amused, half-anxious. “He’d better not overdo it. Perhaps I should—”
“Oh, come on. Let the man have some fun, Ace. It’s Fyremas, for gods’ sake! He’s not likely to rebreak his leg with a quick roll in the hay.” Jac pauses. “Actually, more than one roll, by the looks of it.”
“Is that a note of jealousy I detect in your voice?”
“Definitely.”
“Go on, then. Find your own hay-roll partner. I don’t need you watching over me.”
“Penn will skin me alive if I leave your side tonight.”
“Penn isn’t here to know,” I say stiffly.
In a rare moment of wisdom, Jac holds his tongue.
“It’s not like you’ll be leaving me alone,” I point out. “I’ll still have Cadogan watching me like a hawk.”
“You don’t truly expect me to abandon you on your very first Fyremas, do you? I may be an occasional scoundrel, but I’m not acompletescoundrel. Besides, left alone with Cadogan, you’d be bored to death. The man could find fascination in the drying of paint.”
I choke back a laugh as we reach the subject of our conversation on the fringes of the crowd. More than a few hopeful admirers are lingering nearby, admiring Cadogan’s burly form in the well-fashioned uniform, but he pays their preening no notice. His large hand is curled around a goblet—water, not wine.
“Where are Uther and Carys?” I ask him, brows lifting.
“Headed home to High Street.”
“But they’ll miss the fireworks! Carys said the fireworks are her favorite part.”
“I’m sure they’ll watch them from their own courtyard.” Cadogan looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “You cannot expect them to dance the night away with a newborn in tow.”
“Of course not,” I murmur, chastised. “I only wish I’d been able to say good night.”
Jac snorts. “You’re at Carys’s shop damn near every day. A handful of hours separate you from a reunion.”
“You’re right.” My lips flatten. “It’s only…”
“What is it, Ace? Fyremas not living up to your expectations?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s wonderful, really. I just…I suppose I envisioned we’d all be together. If not for the celebrations, at least for the fireworks.”
The men trade a glance.
“We?” Jac asks gently.