Page 26 of Celestial Bodies

Arlo stuttered a bit. “I…how about…I’m free the evening after tomorrow. Does that work?”

“Definitely.”

“Are you sure? I know it’s a little soon—”

Dacias cut him off before he could finish. “I’m sure. Meet here? Same time?”

Arlo grinned. “Wonderful. I’m looking forward to it.”

You have no idea.“Me too.”

Arlo inched a step closer. Close enough that Dacias felt bold enough to lift the half of his scarf that covered his eye.

They stood facing one another, locked in each other’s gaze. Dacias’s body thrummed with desire. His yearning to kiss Arlo was so intense it almost hurt. All Arlo needed to do was lean in; the slightest amount would be all it took for Dacias to see it as an invitation, but Arlo didn’t do it.

“I…I should go,” Arlo said.

Dacias could see the tug-of-war raging inside Arlo but wouldn’t push it. This had to be on Arlo’s terms.

“I should, too. I can’t wait to see you again, and I hope the rest of tonight and tomorrow are as beautiful as you are. Good night, Arlo.”

Dacias’s stomach sank as Arlo’s eyes became glassy.Too much?He had moved too fast.Fuck. I’m so dumb.He had to fix this. He nearly apologized, but Arlo planted a kiss on Dacias’s cheek.

A blink and you would have missed it, faster than a shooting star, but it happened. Arlo stepped back, that adorable, bashful look on his face. Dacias lifted a hand to touch his cheek. He knew he had the biggest, goofiest smile, but nothing could stop this bliss.

Arlo smiled, too. “Good night, Dacias. I can’t wait to see you again.” He turned and rushed toward the tunnel.

Dacias’s eyes fluttered as he said, “Good night, Arlo.”

Then he turned around and floated home. He’d never felt so happy.

12

Chapter 11

Julen

The soft glow of the Cupidorean crystals came into view, dappling the edge of the tunnel floor with that beautiful mix of purple and red Julen had come to love.

It didn’t feel real. How could life in Lapistra be so bleak and his visits to Cupidor a whirlwind of beauty? The tunnel leading to Cupidor felt like entering a portal to another dimension where he’d turn into Arlo, a boy falling head over heels for the boy of his dreams.

They had gone on several outings, and Julen had yet to tell Dacias his real name. He faltered each time he tried. He knew he should tell Dacias. It was wrong to lie like this, but Julen had to admit that he liked being Arlo better.

As Julen, his days in Lapistra were a blur of wedding preparation. Forced gatherings where he had to endure standing next to Glacia, her gaze as harsh as ever.

His parents diverted their attention entirely from power manifestation to the wedding. Haligran barely spoke to Julen, and his mother’s anxiety increased as Haligran’s disdain for the childshebore became stronger by the day. That anxiety manifested itself into an obsession with the wedding.

Queen Lauta carted Julen and Glacia about the territory, portraying them as a royal fairytale romance for the oglingonlookers. He and Glacia would arrive wherever on Vexora his mother had arranged a royal welcome, always making sure to hold hands—they’d forgotten once, and Lauta nearly had an aneurysm—and Julen’s stomach would churn. He hated it, but he’d grown accustomed to constant discomfort over the years.

Julen’s youth had been a string of sunrises tinted with a lingering dread. No matter how hard he tried to play the part of the ultra masculine Lapistrean male, he could never do it, yet he tried nonetheless. He monitored how he walked, talked, moved—anythingto avoid unwanted attention. The hypervigilance evolved into a ceaseless dull throb of anxiety, and his engagement with Glacia had become just another experience to endure.

But all of that faded away as soon as he emerged from the tunnel and stepped into Cupidor. The remarkable city center would appear, bombarding Julen with light, color, and a host of outlandish characters. The city bubbled with frenetic activity. It made him feel connected to something yet simultaneously allowed for complete anonymity. He’d even stopped wearing scarves and headbands to mask his identity because, frankly, nobody cared. Anyone who lived in Cupidor had decided to leave behind the mire of territory lunacy long ago, and the revelers from Rugiria and Lapistra could hardly see ten paces in front of them, soused beyond recognition or distracted by the alluring sheen of debauchery.

Julen used his research at the archives as an excuse for his frequent disappearances, hoping his parents would never know he was sneaking off to Cupidor, where he became Arlo.

It dawned on Julen just how much he truly hated being a prince. He spent every waking moment agonizing over living up to impossible expectations. What did Julen want? Did he want to be king? Did he even want to stay in Lapistra? The answers became increasingly clear with each visit to Cupidor: he wanted Dacias, who leaned against a lamppost beneath the glow of a red stone, arms crossed over his chest as Julen exited the tunnel.

Julen sauntered over to his strawberry-blond hero, whose smile brightened, and a look of lust twinkled in his eye. He had a bag hanging off one arm.

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