Page 22 of Prince of Flowers
I shuddered. “Okay, fair point. I guess I’m still a little sore about losing.”
Namirah tutted and shook her head gravely. “Very inappropriate and insensitive thing to say, Locke, when your eidolon is right here hurting in your place.”
My mouth fell open. Sylvain really had charmed my best friends, and he didn’t even need his sneaky fae magics to pull it off. They were too busy judging me and clucking their tongues to notice that Sylvain had looked up long enough to throw me a triumphant smirk. I gritted my teeth, my blood simmering.
Bruna and Namirah left shortly after, though not before being treated to some more of Sylvain’s manipulative whining and mewling. As soon as the door shut, he stretched his arms out and sighed. He rested his hands behind his head and crossed his legs, making himself right at home.
“Not the most offensive accommodations in the world,” he said, glancing around my bedroom. “I was expecting worse.”
I held one finger up at him, glowering. “You’re a piece of work, Sylvain, you know that? Pulling my friends around on your puppet strings.”
He blinked at me, eyes brimming with innocence. “Whatever do you mean? I like the changeling girl and the potion-maker just fine. In fact, I might have preferred being bonded with one of them instead.”
“Please, Sylvain,” I grumbled, rubbing my temples with the tips of my fingers. “Enough of this for one day. Let’s just make it through the night and get on with our quest in the morning.”
It hadn’t even been a very long day, but I was just so exhausted. Part of it came from contributing my own arcane essence to the fight. Magic-users of all kinds channeled the arcane essence in their souls to fuel spells. Summoners like me used it to conjure and empower our eidolons. But those energies were limited. Mine in particular were running pretty low.
“Ah, of course,” Sylvain said. “The Blood of the Earth.” He picked at his skin, rubbing at his stomach like he was dusting something off. “Good thing I didn’t bleed much, if at all, tonight. I’d still like a wash before bed, though. Where do you keep your washtub, human?”
“We don’t do washtubs. Well, I don’t, anyway. It’s a different world, Sylvain. Here. Follow me.”
I led him to the bathroom. The towels, the armchair, and the fainting couch — again, it came with the room — were all in the academy’s familiar green and gold. Yes, we were spoiled senseless at the Wispwood. Maybe that was why I stayed as long as I did. Sylvain ran his fingers along the rim of the clawfoot tub, nodding appraisingly.
“Yes. This will do nicely.”
“Or,” I said, “or, you could give the shower a shot.”
He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language, which, considering where he came from, it probably was. I led him to the shower stall, explaining the knobs, handing him his own towel. Sylvain pointed up at the shower head, one eyebrow cocked.
“And you say that water is meant to come out of there? Like rain? Fascinating.”
“Right,” I said. “Could you — you can let me out now.”
In all his interest he’d managed to squeeze the two of us deep into the shower stall, his lips parted as he examined the plumbing. And yes, in some alternate dimension where Sylvain and I could be more than summoner and eidolon, I would have liked for him to examine my personal plumbing as well. But we don’t always get what we want.
“Yeah, if I could just squeeze past — yes, there you go.”
That was deliberate, how he stood in my way. Must have been, how I was forced to brush up against the bulging musculature of his shoulder, his waist, and his ass, how his hip was cocked to one side. And then I remembered. Wouldn’t he need a change of clothes, too?
I held up a finger, motioning for him to wait as I retrieved something from my dresser. I presented the boxer shorts proudly. A gift, a peace offering.
“These are much too small for me.” He glanced down at my waist, the pale gold of his eyes obscured by the ridiculous length of his lashes. “You’re very slender.”
I stiffened, unsure if that was meant as an insult or a compliment. But as was our dynamic, I defaulted to firing back with annoyance. “I can’t help that I’m built this way.”
Sylvain shrugged. “And I can’t help that I’m built with so much muscle.”
Okay. I’d walked right into that one. Damn it.
He turned away and sighed, snapping his fingers. Leaves rustled, every single one falling away from his body and spiraling out through the door. My jaw fell open as I stared at his bare ass.
Sylvain glanced at me over his shoulder, so nonchalant, like going fully naked in front of me meant nothing to him. “So I just turn these knobs, then?”
“Yes,” I sputtered. “Right. Goodbye.”
I sprinted out of the bathroom, my heartbeat racing. I knew that Sylvain’s top half was gorgeous, but I wasn’t expecting to see his bottom half so soon, or ever. Yes, it was just as great, and no, I didn’t get a peek at his —
Coq au vin. Oh. Wasn’t coq au vin on the menu tonight? I wasn’t feeling especially hungry, but surely Sylvain needed to eat. Every morning I’d find a menu from the kitchen imps on the breakfast table, our choices for meals written delicately out on ivory card. Say what you wanted about imps, brusque and beastly as they could be. They sure had incredible penmanship.
