Page 123 of Spearcrest Prince

When I return to my display with Anaïs and Noël in tow, I find a small crowd assembled there. The older couple from before, the man with the long hair and the woman in purple, stand next to my parents, the four of them deep in conversation.

Zach and Iakov, both in tuxes, stand a little further from them, looking at my photographs with cocky smiles. I meet their gaze when I pass them, but they nod and say nothing—no doubt because my parents are there.

I’m sure I’ll be hearing their thoughts later.

Once the older couple walk away from my parents, I introduce them officially to Anaïs and Noël. We all exchange small talk for a few minutes. Then Noël, with the grace of an angel, offers to show my parents Anaïs’s display.

I give him a nod of thanks as he ushers them away, and he answers with one of his ineffable smiles before disappearing.

Finally alone, Anaïs and I stand shoulder-to-shoulder. My breath is short as her eyes move over my display: the photographs from Scotland, but the others, too. My shot of her that time in the art studio, her sitting cross-legged on her stool. The shot I took of me kissing her cheek—a truthful moment disguised as a fake one. A shot of her, painting me.

“They’re in colour,” Anaïs finally says. “What happened to your black and white aesthetic?”

“Black and white wouldn’t have been truthful,” I answer. “Because if the truth is you and how I feel about you, then ithasto be colourful. My life before you—Spearcrest before you—that was black and white. But you… you’re yellow—sorry, ochre—and blue”—I point at the lines I painted around my eyes—“and green and purple and orange. You’re light and colours and life.”

“You didn’t have to do all this, Sev,” Anaïs says finally, turning back to me. “I already forgave you, remember?”

“That’s not why I did all this, and I didn’t tell everyone I loved you for your forgiveness, either. I said it because it is the truth, and it felt good to say it. It feels good every time I say it. I love you, Anaïs Nishihara,mon artiste,mon trésor. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of loving you.”

She laughs and takes my face gently in her hands. “I love you too, Séverin Montcroix, my impetuous fairy prince. You make me feel like I’ve been cold all my life, but when I’m near you, I feel warm for the first time.”

I laugh and brush my lips against hers in the ghost of a kiss. “Because I’m so hot?”

“Because you’re so emotional.” She laughs and tilts her head. “Your emotions burn like an inferno.”

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I pull her closer. “That’s because I have to feel emotions for the both of us, you little robot.”

She curls her arms around my neck, balancing herself against me. Her skin smells like paint and summer.

“I have emotions,” she protests. “You’ve seen me emotional.”

I lean down to speak against her ear. “You’re only ever emotional in the bedroom.”

She laughs softly. “Then you know what you need to do, don’t you?”

“Trust me,” I murmur, my voice suddenly hoarse, “I think of little else.”

From the corner of my eye, I spot my parents and Noël slowly making their way back to us through the crowd.

My mother’s eyes catch mine, and she flashes me a triumphant smile. I glare at her and, with great reluctance, release Anaïs from my embrace.

Afterthat,Ibarelysee Anaïs for the rest of the night. My parents lead her away to look at some of the other displays and discuss her art, leaving me and Noël to talk about Japan, about art and photography, about Anaïs.

“You’re good for her,” Noël says, out of nowhere, with complete sincerity. “I’ve never seen my sister so open and expressive before. Even as a little girl, I could only ever really gauge her feelings through her art. She’s always shone in my eyes, but she’s never shone brighter than I’ve seen her shine tonight.”

My throat tightens at his words. I try to speak lightly. “It’s funny you should say that because she always accuses me of being too emotional.”

“She might not admit it,” Noël says with a smile, “but she admires you for that.” He claps my shoulder. “Thank you, by the way. For telling me about the exhibition. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

I return his smile. “I’m glad you came. I’m glad we finally met.”

“Me too.”

Noël is eventually called away by Anaïs, and I’m pulled aside by Mr Ambrose to a corner of the gallery. “You’ve done well tonight, Séverin.”

“Thank you, Mr Ambrose.”

“I’m proud of you. It takes courage to show honesty, and you’ve shown much honesty this year.”

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