“Wait—” Aydra’s narrowed gaze turned towards her sister. “You let Balandria see you practice and you won’t allow me to go with you?”
Nyssa’s cheeks reddened just slightly. “I’m not ready,” she insisted, reaching for the fruit.
“She’s ready,” Balandria and Dorian said at the same time.
Aydra stared between the pair, seeing the raised brows and affirming stares on their faces. “Okay, the Venari Second says you’re ready. That isn’t nothing.”
“Bala spent too much time with Dorian yesterday,” Nyssa bantered. “She’s picked up his exaggerating already.”
Draven snorted.
Balandria’s brows elevated, and she tapped her cup on the table as she turned her head slightly in her king’s direction. “Something you’d like to add, my King?” she asked him.
Draven lifted his cup to his lips, hiding his smirk behind it. Incomprehensible words muttered from his mouth, but they could understand none.
Aydra reached over and tipped the cup towards his face.
Draven jumped, startled at the liquid suddenly on his skin and falling down the front of his shirt. Stifled laughter filled her ears as she watched him fumble, grabbing at the table and hitting the cup on the wood with a thud. Balandria’s eyes were wide, her hand slapped over her mouth to conceal the laughter on her features.
Aydra’s eyes met Draven’s. She grabbed a napkin off the table and began mockingly wiping his face of the tea. “You have something on your face,” she bantered.
The dare in his gaze made her chest tighten.
He grabbed at her legs under the table and pinched her thighs. A yip emitted from her lips, followed by laughter she didn’t know she contained in her core, and his fingers tickled at her flesh. She laughed, burying her head against his chest, the feeling of his tickling fingers grabbing at her and making her cheeks redden, her chest swell, and her muscles jump. She grabbed his hands and pushed them away as she felt his smile against her cheek. And after a moment, she willed her heart to stop skipping, and she straightened up beside him as he reached for a pastry on the tray.
Dorian and Nyssa were staring at her when she moved her hair out of her face. She sighed a strangled breath and took a long swig of her tea, eyes darting between her youngers’ mesmerized facades as she poorly attempted to rid herself of the scarlet on her cheeks.
“I didn’t know you could laugh like that,” Dorian mused.
“Neither did I,” Nyssa agreed.
She felt Draven’s light touch on the small of her back, the feeling of it making her eyes flutter with her fast beating heart, the rise of the hair on her flesh and up her spine, and she couldn’t help the unfamiliar heat pulsing up her neck to her cheeks. He was chewing on the pastry in his hand when she turned to look at him again, his right elbow propped up on the table, hair swept over the right side of him. Her lungs swelled, aching with the amorous restlessness of his gaze in her bones, and as she smiled sideways at him, he gave her a quick wink.
She turned back to her siblings, and her jaw tightened at the cheeky grins on their faces. She threw a piece of fruit at Dorian’s face and muttered, “Shut up and eat your food,” to the pair.
Aydra and Draven listened quietly to the three speak animatedly of their wins and Nyssa’s supposed cheating from the day before. After a while, Aydra found herself in quiet conversation with Draven, picking at her food almost more than eating it as she couldn’t stop chuckling under her breath. She’d asked about the Blackhands, who were due to arrive the next morning, and what she should expect from them, as well as when Nadir would be coming.
“Who is Nadir?” Nyssa asked, having heard their conversation.
“Someone you’re not to concern yourself with,” Aydra answered quickly.
“Good luck with that,” Balandria muttered under her breath.
Aydra met the Venari Second’s eyes, and Balandria looked as though she might smile or mock Aydra. Draven cleared his throat and shifted on the bench.
“What? She’s his type, isn’t she?” Balandria argued to Draven.
Draven rubbed his neck and avoided Aydra’s eyes. “That she is,” he mumbled.
“What does that mean?” Aydra asked.
“Fiery. Petite. Beautiful. Determined.” Balandria paused and then raised a brow at Aydra. “Nadir is a great man. What is your concern?”
“I think that is her concern,” Draven said.
“I am nineteen,” Nyssa chimed in. “I think I can choose the right sort of man for myself, thank you all.”
Balandria paused, and then she took a long drink of her tea as she met Aydra’s ‘I told you so’ gaze.
“Right. You should hide her,” Balandria finally agreed.
Aydra’s brows raised knowingly at Balandria, and she picked up another piece of fruit to eat.
The food quickly vanished before them as they continued to speak of the Honest, of the Blackhand friends of Draven and Balandria’s that would be arriving the following morning. The pair had stories to tell of their own trips to the mountains, of meeting the Blackhands on their yearly graduation journeys into the Forest of Darkness to bring back a Noctuan. Draven had tried to cease the tradition years earlier, but had almost started a war between the races in trying. Draven had been forced to table the discussion for fear of losing his own realm.
When the food was gone, Aydra sighed into Draven’s chest, wanting to stay in their bubble of peace and freedom a bit longer rather than start the day she wasn’t looking forward to. His lips pressed to her temple, and she hugged his arms as they wrapped around her. He spoke of whispers in her ear so only she could hear, his hand squeezing her waist, the other grazing her lower abdomen. He told her how he would splay her on the table they sat at before starting the day, of how his tongue would have her moaning so loudly the servants would think her being attacked, and he
