Page 51 of Fake Dating a Human 101

What Followed: Part V

The cathedral was far too quiet. Mor’s chest thundered as he landed at the foot of the stairs. As he beheld the great towers of windows and steeples and boarded-up shutters. As he marched to the doors and flung them open and made his way inside.

“Violet!” he shouted.

He didn’t have the patience to stop and listen, to try and pick up a tone, or…

“Hmm?” Violet peeked her head out of the kitchen. A large mixing spoon stuck out of her mouth. Her hair was pulled into a wild ponytail and the remains of some chocolate atrocity were speckled around her mouth.

She pulled out the giant spoon. “What’s wrong?” She came all the way out of the kitchen in her slippers, and it took Mor several moments of staring at her in her stretched sweater and jeans with large holes in the knees, before it dawned on him that it was the weekend, and she was dressed that way on purpose and not because she’d been attacked or wrangled.

He swallowed. “You look…”

Violet glanced down at her outfit, then snorted. “I didn’t want to get batter on my blouse,” she said. “Come here and try these muffins.”

Mor closed his eyes as his pulse settled. The rock-hard tension in his shoulders drained, and his hands unclasped from the fists he had them in.

Then he said, “I’d rather not.”

19

Shayne Lyro and How it All Began in the House of Lyro

Shayne and Panola were enemies. In some ways, it was because they were natural opposites. Panola aimed to make the biggest ruckus of any Lyro whenever she could, always causing trouble, always laughing at inappropriate moments—including once during a political debate at the Silver Senate Tower. And Shayne was a more mischievous childling. He kept his ruckus quiet and secret. He never let on that he was the one behind the things he did. It was funnier that way, even if he did wish he could be loud sometimes like her.

At least, that was how it all was in the beginning.

Fairy nobles labelled Panola easily. “That female,” they’d say, “is the Lyro troublemaker. What a commotion she makes everywhere she goes. If only someone taught her how to be quiet.”

Little did they know that half the mischief Panola was accused of was really Shayne’s doing as he giggled from the side and watched the drama unfold. Panola always took the blame. It seemed she didn’t care. That defending herself was more work than her breath was worth. It wasn’t a sport, exactly, but there was certainly competition involved when she would retaliate against Shayne later. And it wasn’t that fun to compete, either—it was just something to do.

But on a crisp, sunny morning of their pre-teen years, Shayne came out of the maze in the House and overheard Panola arguing with Kahn-Der in the dining room, and everything that was once fun became infected by the same virus Kahn-Der infected everything with.

“You’re an embarrassment, Panola. You must learn how to hold your tongue, or you’ll lose it!” Kahn-Der scolded.

Shayne remained by the doors, watching through a slender crack as Panola threw her head back and laughed. “You think I’m an embarrassment? What about you, Brother? What about how Father has passed over you and means to hand the title of heir to one of us instead?”

The look that came over Kahn-Der’s face was priceless. However, Shayne was too busy hosting his own startlement to revel in it. It was the first he’d heard anything about his father’s selection. The first he had even an inkling that he or one of his siblings might be forced to step over Kahn-Der to take a High Lord’s seat.

Shayne certainly wouldn’t do it. Kahn-Der could have the title. Shayne would tell their father that if he was asked.

But Kahn-Der smiled at Panola crookedly. His icy eyes narrowed. “You don’t really think he’d chooseyou, do you?” He stepped in a little.

Panola grunted. “Why would he choose me? I make noise, Brother. I throw fits and bring trouble wherever I go. I’ve worked very hard to ensure that I do noteverbecome the heir. But he won’t choose you either. You’re reckless and murderous, and I’m loud and embarrassing.” She folded her thin arms. “And father would never hand over the chair to Jethwire who gambles away everything he owns, or Massie who’s so terribly warped and cruel and tortures any living thing he comes across for fun.” She laughed. “Don’t you see, Brother? He’ll choose Shayne. Shayne is the only Lyro with a sound mind. At least, that’s what I’ve made sure Father thinks.”

Shayne drifted back from the doors. He slowly lifted a hand and pressed it over his lips as those words sank in. This had to be a rumour; Hans-Der couldn’t possibly pass over Kahn-Der and choose an alternative heir. Kahn-Der was the oldest. Kahn-Der was the most menacing. Kahn-Der always got what he wanted.

“You’re lying,” Kahn-Der said from the dining room. “Father is planning no such thing.” But his voice wavered, a spool of anger unravelling as he seemed to think it through.

Panola smiled, her curling pink lips assuring Kahn-Der that she already knew this for certain, that she had perhaps come by the information to confirm it. “He will announce it tomorrow. And I will watch how you take the news from my seat.” Her grin widened.

Kahn-Der bit his lower lip, his flesh tight over his body. Then he said, “I’ll kill you for even suggesting such a thing if you’re making this up.”

Panola grunted. Then she turned, and to the whole House, she shouted, “Let’s die together then! Tonight!” The invitation echoed down the hallways, making lesser fairies turn and bringing Massie out of his bedroom far down the hall. Shayne was sure there wasn’t a single soul in the House who hadn’t heard.

Panola leaned in toward Kahn-Der and added in a whisper, “If you really think I’m making this up.”

The two stared at each other—crystal blue eyes and solemn faces. Until Panola smiled. And that gloating little reaction cost her.

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