Page 134 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

I probably should be used to the sight of openly displayed lust by now, but I’m not. I quickly look away, unsure where to settle my gaze. My eyes wander on, past naked men to my right, shining with gold paint and playing harps and flutes. I eventually make out Riven at the far end of the meadow.Great.

He looks so decadent and fluid in this atmosphere, as if he was born for this. Then I remember he probably was, as a fae prince. He’s surrounded by breathtaking fae women. One of them has her delicate arms twined around his neck while he’s laughing about something one of them must have said.

For some reason, my heart sinks.

I wrap my arms around myself and just watch him, too shy to approach. Unable to look away either.

The collar of his tunic is jeweled with shimmering onyx, an echo of his ink-drop hair. A ruff of pitch-black feathers hugs his pale throat. Black boots rise wide over his knees. Golden cuffs withserrated peaks cap his pointed ears, and heavy rings catch the light, each of them so big it covers his knuckles.

But the most stunning part of him is still his face, his features so similar to Caryan’s they could be brothers if it weren’t for the warm smile that fades when his eyes drift to mine.

He takes a step out of the woman’s embrace, and with a last word to them, he comes over to me. Before I know what he’s doing, he falls on one knee, his hands pushing up the fabric of my dress. He presses a kiss right on my naked hip.

“What the hell—”

“Forgive me, my love, but etiquette demands this,” he interrupts, his voice smooth as polished stone.

“A little warning would have been nice,” I hiss, ignoring the flush of treacherous heat as his fingers trail down my naked leg, slowly letting the thin fabric of my dress glide back down along with them.

“I’ll make sure to warn you the next time I fall on my knees to kiss you,” he retorts very quietly, so only I can hear.

I stare. His expression stays stern and formal, but I see the corners of his lips tugging up ever so slightly at my incredulous look.

He gets up and beckons to a pixie man with green hair and rainbow wings who’s carrying a tray with wine. Riven hands me a glass of golden liquid before offering me his arm. I shyly take the glassandhis arm, and he gently guides me through the crowd.

I try hard not to notice how everyone seems to steal glances at us. I hold on tighter while Riven steers us toward the long table in the middle of the yard, made of polished, turquoise stone and laden with impossible delicacies. Veal, still dripping with blood. Fat, dark grapes, so ripe they seem they might burst if you look at them too long. Stiff, whipped cream in the shapes of animals, rich and yellow like butter, dusted with gold. Edible flowers had been strewn in between all sorts of roasted things I don’t know the names of.

“Eat. It’s hard to worry over delicious food,” Riven says, as if he feels my unease.

I look at the food, at all these enticing things I help prepareevery day but only taste occasionally when Chef lets me. To help myself to it all—it feels forbidden. Like back at Lyrian’s house, where I’d sometimes sneak into the kitchen at night when Lyrian wasn’t around or was busy with other things. I’d ransacked the fridge, starved from either getting nothing or just plain bread and butter day in day out.

I don’t stir, so it’s Riven who takes one of the plates and starts to load it with a bit of everything. We stroll over to some cushions under trees, strings of gems interwoven with dried flowers dangling from the branches, dancing in a breeze.

Riven leans back, braced on his elbows, his throat exposed, his long legs outstretched.

I try not to look at him or marvel at how stunning he looks. Instead, I scrutinize the strange food on my plate. Eventually, my curiosity wins and I take one of the cream animals. He watches me as I bite off the head of a fox. It dissolves on my tongue, its taste citrusy and sweet, along with wordsYou will not know who tried to kiss you in the dark.

Riven laughs at my wide eyes. “It’s a game, a spell woven into it, whispering nonsense. What did yours say?”

I look down at my plate again, for some absurd reason remembering the feeling of his lips on my hip. It feels wrong to tell him, but also wrong not to, so I do.

He nods. “When I was a child, we imagined they held some meaning. Some truth, important to our lives. Some hint at the future.”

I fully look at him then, trying to imagine him as a child. He looks barely older than twenty-five, and at the same time, he does. All of them do in some strange way. They look young and at the same time eternal. Ageless. Their eyes ancient.

I pick up a tiny cream bear and hold it out to him. “Your turn.”

“Very well then,” he says and puts it into his mouth.

I raise my brows at him. “And?”

“A riddle.You can see your self in me, but you can never see mine, and in time, you cansee no one at all.”

“A mirror,” I say. “Its silver tarnishes over time.”

He tilts his head and looks at me. “Maybe. Or maybe someone who has forgotten how to love. Who can only ever find himself in others, until he can do not even that anymore.”

His voice has fallen low again, and the way he looks at me changes. For a moment, there is no façade. There is no vicious glint in his eyes, nor the infinitely amused expression playing around his lips. For a moment, there is his real self, exposed, revealed. The grayish mist around his aura vanished, torn. Just like the other night, when he let me. When he told me that he’d once been a slave too.

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