“Do I owe her?” Seren asks.
Folly shakes his head. “She’s Elsewhere folk, and she’s wild fae besides. No favors owed, just remember her help.”
“That’s terribly vague,” Seren says.
“Oh, you do belong here.” Folly sweeps a bow, starry robe fluttering. “I should join the pre-revels. Lord Nevander, try not to ruin the nice new clothes before everyone else sees them.”
Without waiting for dismissal, Folly flees the chambers.
Seren covers his lips, as if he has any hope of hiding his embarrassed smile.
“That human has become alarmingly bold.” Nevander extends his hand. “Come here. Let me see you.”
Seren drifts into Nevander’s proximity, feeling less self-conscious and more beautiful with every step. Vanity is a virtue among the fae, and Seren could bask in this attention all night. “Do you like it?” he asks leadingly.
“Mostly.” Nevander traces the buttons lining Seren’s spine. “These buttons are concerning.”
Seren’s half afraid they’ll unfasten at Nevander’s touch. “You have no idea.”
The buttons thankfully remain in place. Seren has to deliberately fasten or unfasten one to set off the chain reaction.
He’d love to continue basking, but this close, he can’t ignore Nevander’s tension. He can’t explain how he senses it, either. No magic, and no physical tells. There’s just something in Nevander’s demeanor that sparks a mirroring tension in Seren.
“Is something wrong?” Seren asks.
Nevander lowers his hand. “I argued with Valerian.”
“About what?” Seren prods.
Nevander pauses, then says, “Strategy. I wanted him to attend the banquet, but he refused. Nothing for you to worry about tonight.”
Uneasiness echoes between them. Nevander is hiding something. Seren doesn’t understand how Valerian’s attendance relates to strategy. He’s not a domain lord whose fealty they need.
But pushing is rude among people who can only tell the truth. And this is why Seren has Nevander. To filter out problems and leave Seren only the necessary worries.
Seren lifts his left hand. Two rings gleam—the opal carryhold. The new topaz. “Folly told me about threshold gifts. I don’t have anything prepared for you.”
Nevander takes his hand. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”
“I do, though,” Seren says. “Not obligated to you, but to the truth.”
And the truth is complicated. Seren can’t choose a gift to mark their changed relationship, because their relationship hasn’t yet changed. It’s still in the process, and Seren doesn’t know what the end result will be.
Saying that aloud isn’t very romantic. Seren can say this, though. “You’re my favorite part of this realm.”
Nevander’s free hand falls to Seren’s waist. “You make it difficult to follow the instructions against ruining these clothes.”
Seren leans into the touch, heated through the lace and silk. “You’re very capable.” His crown of flowers rustles as he looks up, and an idea strikes. “I have a small token, if you’ll accept it.”
He tugs a flower from his crown. It breaks free after the slightest resistance, and the surrounding blossoms shuffle to close the gap.
“May I?” Seren asks.
Nevander ducks his head. “Please, Your Highness.”
Seren tucks the flower above Nevander’s right ear. The cut stem winds securely into his pinned hair. The lavender petals look brighter on Nevander. Matching Seren’s crown, the flower is a clear announcement of their entanglement.
It feels right. Seren is done with hiding.