“Pity.” She looks over at Alaric as he takes her hand, lacing their fingers together, and scowls at him. “What did I tell you about displaying affection in public?”
“That it’s wholly unacceptable,” he replies.
“Correct.” Her cheeks tinge with a hint of red. “So, do you care to explain why my hand is currently in yours? As we are, in fact, in public?”
In response, he leans in and kisses her soundly. She stiffens for approximately three seconds, then goes totally pliant and sinks into the kiss like she’s powerless to stop herself. Only thesound of Yara’s poorly suppressed laughter pulls her back to reality.
“Is something funny?” she snaps, cheeks pink as a sunrise, lips slightly swollen.
Yara’s shoulders shake with silent chuckles. “Nothing at all, flight leader.”
Alaric is grinning even wider than before. The sight of that grin inspires one of my own. His joy is infectious. He is absurdly handsome, like he’s stepped out of an oil portrait and come to life. I do not fail to notice he is still holding Arwen’s hand, despite her periodically tugging in a halfhearted attempt to extract herself.
“Lovely weather we’re having today, isn’t it?” His chocolate eyes twinkle. “If it holds like this, it will be perfect for the wedding next week.”
It is a valiant attempt to change the subject. Little does he know, this is a point of contention between me and his blushing bride. Arwen’s eyes narrow on me again. “See that it stays this way, airhead.”
“No promises, sea urchin.”
“Sea urchin?”
“Spiny. Occasionally poisonous. But inside…” I shrug. “Pure mush.”
Yara makes a strangled sound.
Alaric coughs to cover a laugh.
“Mush!” Arwen shrieks, outraged. “My insides are not mush!”
Her cheeks are redder than ever.
“There is a certain resemblance,” Alaric puts in quietly, brushing his lips against the side of her head. “Don’t worry. I find your spines quite charming.”
I brace myself for Arwen’s retaliation, but her attention hasshifted over my shoulder to something on the other side of the pasture. I turn to see what she’s looking at and lock my knees when I spot Soren striding across the grassy stretch toward us. He looks windswept, his cheeks ruddy, his dark hair slightly wild. His broad frame is encased in clothing I’ve never seen him wear. It almost looks like a male version of the Paexyrian flight uniform, with a leather vest instead of a corset layered over a shirt of such deep navy, it is almost black, and breeches fit for riding.
A full-body tremble moves through me as our gazes tangle together. I have not seen him since last night. I’m unsure how to act around him in the aftermath. But he smiles easily at me as he comes to a stop at my side, then shifts his focus to the others like it is any normal day.
“Yara, Alaric,” he greets, then looks at Arwen. “Daemon incarnate.”
“Another lovely nickname,” Yara murmurs, earning her a glare from her flight leader and a chortle from Alaric.
“Someone is just begging for stall-mucking duties, aren’t they?” Arwen asks sweetly.
Yara winces.
Arwen’s eyes shift to her brother, scanning down his form, taking note of his clothing. “You went to see Zephyr without me?”
Zephyr?
“You were occupied.” He jerks his chin toward Alaric, mouth tugging up in a knowing smile. “Besides, I needed to clear my head.” His eyes flicker to mine. “I had some…tension…to work out.”
My stomach flips.
“I would’ve made the time,” Arwen grouses. “It’s been ages since I paid a visit. And I know Atyr misses him.”
Soren is still staring at me. Ignoring his sister, he asks, “Are you finished here?”
“I believe so. Why?”