Whatever spell Ysac held over Tilda, or vice-versa, worked in our favor. After what felt like hours of listening to them rehash memory after memory, offering cute smiles at one another, Tilda slammed a fist on her throne's armrest and stood up.

"Fine," she said, her tone stern as she stormed off her dais and across the room, before swiveling to us with a hand on her hip. "I'll go to Acewood with you. It's my throne, and I'll take it."

I almost breathed out a sigh of relief, and sensed Ysac deflating with a similar feeling beside me.

Tilda narrowed her icy gaze on both of us and raised her plucked eyebrows upwards. "But not today. Today, tonight, we celebrate." She clapped, summoning servants to her. "Drinks, food, a party! It's my last night as Queen of Hartland!"

I opened my mouth to interject—even if she did win the vote, it wouldn't be for many weeks—and Ysac lifted a hand as if to stop her from talking, but she sauntered off before either of us could contradict her.

"Fuck," Ysac said under his breath—his first time cursing in front of me.

And of course, it turned me on. A foul mouth was always appreciated; I loved when my conquests let out a string of fucks when I thrust into them.

But Ysac wasn't a conquest, and likely never would be.

He released a lengthy sigh, then spun on his heels. "Come on. We have to go after her."

"To tell her what a stupid idea a party is?" I hurried to keep up with him as he patrolled out of the throne-room and down another coral-colored corridor. All these castles were mazes, and he knew every single one as if he'd lived there for decades.

"To ask her where our guest rooms are," he muttered, rounding a corner without warning, making it so that I walked several additional feet before I was able to steer myself into the right direction.

Our guest rooms turned out to be one room. Tilda claimed we needed to share, because for this extravagant party she was hosting tonight, she'd be inviting many from around the area, and they'd need somewhere to sleep.

The glint in her eye when she gestured us off told me she might have been lying. She wanted us to share the same room for other nefarious purposes...but it didn't make sense. If she was involved with Ysac, why would she imply that she wanted him and I to be alone in a bedroom together?

Ysac knew the way to the guest rooms, of course. I followed him with my chin lowered, trying to envision a situation where things didn't get blown out of proportion. How would we sleep in the same space? How would I sleep knowing he was nearby, on the floor, or possibly in the same bed, if there was nowhere else for him to lay? As a royal—undercover—I'd get my pick of where to sleep. Surely he'd respect that.

The room in fact had two beds, though they were quite close together. The walls were a light coral, with sprayed edges of leaves and flowers. The floors were a distracting, reflective gold, and our shoes clicked atop them as we entered.

I saw a changing area with a slightly see-through panel, a curtain-covered window, a high dresser with an ornate mirror beside it. I shuddered—the trauma of having traveled through a mirror still registered deep within me, and I hastened to fetch a cloth from a drawer to cover the thing up.

"Better," I said, scowling at the remnants of my reflection through the drape I'd cloaked it with. Swiveling to Ysac, I frowned. "What now? You can't be serious about attending this party."

He shrugged, picking the bed closest to the window. He sat, removed his shoes, the bells jingling as he dropped them on the floor. "Fighting her on this will be pointless. However," he smirked, "she'll be so busy with all her friends that she'll hardly notice us. We'll be able to slip in, say hello, have a drink and a bite to eat, then return here to rest."

I trudged over to the other bed, falling onto its plushness. "Won't the Aces be angry?" I tried not to shiver at the image of them hurling magic at our faces for having partied with Tilda.

"They want us to bring the princesses home by any means. And this," he connected his purple gaze to mine, "is any means. She won't change her mind, even if she is hungover beyond belief tomorrow. Just play along, okay? Stick by me all night, and then you can sleep soundly knowing we mostly succeeded. Gwenore is in Acewood, Tilda will return with us, and that signifies Astrida will too. And with them all home, Luned will follow. Relax."

He was too calm for me. I crossed my arms, looking down at my achy legs, my sore feet. "We don't have anything to wear."

Ysac scoffed. He'd been massaging his feet, but got up to traipse over to the dresser, and pulled a drawer open. He gawked at its contents before shaking his head, grinning. "Tilda is always prepared." He extracted a pair of shiny black trousers, similar to the ones he wore now; then a vibrant red and white shirt with hearts on it. "Tilda loves fashion. Every guest room has clothes for any gender, any style. You only have to be willing to look around."

I spotted a door handle on the wall near the dresser, and went to investigate it. I tugged, and the door opened to reveal a deep closet filled with hanging dresses, pressed trousers, fitted shirts. Shoes of all colors decorated the bottom, hats hung from the back of the door, kerchiefs and belts were folded on the upper shelves.

"Wow," I said, finding a set of navy breeches that I thought might fit me. I then grabbed a crisp white shirt, a navy vest, and matching waistcoat. "Well, I suppose I've run out of excuses and we'll have to go to this thing."

The notion of unwinding, of entertainment, did catch me off-guard, but also soothed me. I wasn't much of a partier back in Springport, but I had enjoyed the balls, the holidays, the frivolous affairs where we dressed up and wore masks and danced until we could no longer stand. But the people at such events displeased me. I hoped those here in Hartland would be a better crowd.

As I shut the closet and turned to where Ysac had been standing, I realized he'd hurried off behind the changing shift. From my angle, I could still see part of him, uncovered by the panel. He'd removed his shirt, and I caught the slight curve of his back, the roundness of his buttocks. He bent to remove his pants, and I squeezed my eyes closed on instinct; but slowly reopened them to find his backside completely bare.

I wasn't sure if he saw me, if he knew I was paralyzed and watching him. I wasn't sure if I could watch him, not like this. And yet I couldn't move. I fixated on his smooth skin, wondering what it felt like. Wondering how my fingers would react were I to touch it.

Teodric, stop it.

I was about to avert my gaze, to walk back to the beds to wait my turn to change, but he flipped around, granting me an unfiltered view of—

I sucked in a gasp. His cock. Exposed, bared, and...interesting.

I pressed a hand to my mouth to cover the noise, not wanting to scare him. No...I didn't want him to know I was still there, still watching. Intrigued. Admiring. His member wasn't quite erect, but it wasn't soft either; unless it was huge at rest, in which case it made sense why I was able to see it sticking out as he shoved on the new trousers.

I barely blinked, and the rounded, bulky cock was gone, hidden under the pants.

I tiptoed away from the scene, gulping. Obviously I knew what cocks looked like, as I had one of my own. But I'd only ever seen my own. Only ever touched it, stroked it for my own pleasure.

Witnessing Ysac's, even from afar, even at rest, unsettled me. It didn't disgust me...it interested me.

I envisioned myself approaching him, caressing his length, asking him how he preferred to be touched—

"There," he said, hopping out from behind the panel, arms spread as he showcased his new outfit.

My cheeks had heated so badly that they hurt, so I fanned my face as he paraded over, smiling cheekily. "It's hot in here, isn't it?" I eyed him head to toe, hoping I looked nonchalant and uncaring. "You look the same as you did five minutes ago."

He waved me off. "Go get dressed. Knowing Tilda, cocktails will start shortly."

"How would guests show up here that fast?" I grabbed another cloth from the drawer, to throw it over the panel for extra protection. With how easily I saw him in the nude, I worried he'd be curious too, and wander close enough to see me.

My cheeks were on fire.

"She already had a party planned," said Ysac. I heard the bed creak as he lay on it. "Tilda has festivities almost every night. Never tired, that one."

I changed quickly, then fluttered out as I tucked in my shirt. Ysac looked at me, a slow smile spreading over his lips.

"You clean up well," he said, cocking his head this way and that, taking me in.

I swallowed. "Yes, well, I am a prince, after all."

"And you don't need..." Ysac got to his feet and dashed up to me so fast, he took my breath away, "any help?" He lifted his arm, and I flinched. "No, I mean," he touched at the button that I'd forgotten to fasten, near my neck, "I can get this one for you."

I was frozen in the shock of his proximity, so I allowed him to finish buttoning my shirt. I prayed he didn't feel my girth erecting with every accidental graze of his skin on mine.

And like that, the moment was over. When Ysac turned away from me, I let out a large breath.

As he'd predicted, the party was already underway when we erupted into the ballroom. It was a comely space, bearing a resemblance to the throne-room but bigger, brighter, and loaded with people.

We made the rounds, greeting guests Ysac knew, and some he didn't. He introduced me as his companion, which attendees interpreted in many different ways. Some thought we were lovers—there went my cheeks again, redder than tomatoes—some associated the word companion with a co-worker connotation. Some said we were like brothers, traveling together for a royal cause.

Everyone treated us with respect, but they were distracted by her. The queen.

She was draped head to toe in red, sparkling like a garnet, her lips shiny and luscious. Like a buzzing bee, she greeted us, kissing our cheeks, her breath already heavy with liquor. Once she'd bounced away from us, she made her own rounds, sharing drinks with her friends, taking bites of appetizers distributed by butlers dressed in white. Faint music played, but I had no idea where it came from.

The event was a whir of noise and color and smells, and while it was overwhelming, I preferred it over the monotone voyage atop a clubber.

The guests dazzled, Tilda entertained, and the night passed in a blur. Next I knew, Ysac was tugging me out of the throne-room, taking my third glass of fizzy champagne from me.

"Perfect time to hide in our room and get some sleep," he said, speaking over the music that carried into the hallway. "She'll be up early, and eager to get going, knowing her."

I wanted to ask him why he knew that, but instead of giving me liquid courage, the liquor made me shyer.

I shadowed him back to our suite, and sealed my lips to not say what I'd been thinking all evening.

I saw your cock, and I think I want to see more of it.

Ysac took off his shoes and shirt, and I held my breath as I waited to discover if he'd strip off his pants too; I knew for a fact he had nothing on underneath them. But he didn't, and instead hopped onto his bed, letting his delicate blond curls rest against the cushion.

"Blow out the light when you're done, would you?" He closed his eyes, clasping his hands over the middle of his chest. A chiseled, well-defined, bare chest, in fact; one I needed to look away from, immediately.

I removed my waistcoat, vest, and unfastened a few buttons on my shirt. Having thought about putting on undergarments, I discarded my pants, and folded them neatly to set on a chair near the bed.

Were Ysac's eyes still closed? Or was he watching me the way I'd watched him earlier? An urge tickled at me to turn around and check, but I chewed on my lip and convinced myself not to. I padded over to the sconces on either side of the door, blew them out, then navigated my way back to my bed.

I heard shuffling about, then something falling to the floor.

"Ah, much better," whispered Ysac. "Sorry, I had to wait until we were in the dark; didn't want you to get a full frontal. We've barely met."

I refrained from admitting to him that I'd already seen much more than I could handle, and weaseled my way into the covers. "Good night, Ysac," I said, hoping I sounded uncaring, but not impolite.

"Sweet dreams, Prince Teodric." His voice was low, sleepy.

Incredibly sexy.

Oh, I'd have sweet dreams, all right.

***

Ysac was correct, yet again. Tilda woke us early the next day, before sunrise. If she'd suffered a hangover from everything she drank—triple the amount I did, at least—she showed no trace of it. She had a bag like the one Gwenore had taken with her, and escorted us outside to the stables, where our clubbers awaited us.

She didn't ride a horse, but shared Ysac's clubber. Cramped against him, she wrapped around his lithe frame and grinned as her fluffy heart cloak flapped behind her.

"Ysac," she said, once we'd left her castle, and gallivanted through her jungle, dawn's early light falling over us. Part of the sky was still dark, a spray of late stars twinkling overhead. A horde of fireflies followed, illuminating our way, casting radiance over her round complexion. "I think your companion is jealous of our proximity."

I coughed, choking on my own spit as I stiffened. My clubber grunted. "What? I mean, Majesty, with all due respect—"

The fireflies flew near Ysac, revealing splotches of scarlet over his cheeks as he bit his lower lip. "Is that so, Teodric?" He was so direct, almost unfazed by Tilda's claim, but I saw the confusion across his face. And I couldn't tell if he was flattered, or upset.

"I—" my voice became high-pitched and squeaky, "—I'm not jealous. Never. Why would I be? No." I cringed; the fluster in my demeanor was much too obvious.

Tilda released Ysac's waist and clapped. "He is, he is jealous! Oh, how adorable. Teodric has a crush on you, Ysac!"

Ysac cleared his throat, and the redness spread up to his temples. "Well, there's nothing to be jealous of, because there's nothing between Queen Tilda and I."

"I'm not jealous, I—" I slapped my face. "Anyway, it's not my business, because I—"

"—not that we haven't been involved." Tilda squeezed Ysac's shoulder and ruffled the blond curls protruding from under his bell-hat. "But it's over, right Ysac? Has been for a while. Sure, there are lingering feelings from time to time, and we're both flirtatious in nature, but we're friends above all. And if I'm going to court for serious matters, I won't impede whatever is happening," she wagged her finger at Ysac, then me, "between you two."

"Us?" Ysac and I said in tandem. I sensed my cheeks boiling, and he spared me the briefest of shy glances before concentrating on the road ahead.

"Oh, it's so obvious, and has been since the moment you found me up on my terrace. Teo, you wouldn't stop snarling when Ysac and I chatted earlier. And you, Ysac...you kept checking him out when he wasn't paying attention, before and at the party. I was paying attention." She pursed her pretty little lips and scrunched her button nose. "I'm never wrong when love is in the air!"

Ysac grumbled something, and I stared at my clubber's silky mane, desperate to melt into it and disappear.

Busted.

Tilda tucked a cluster of chestnut hair behind her ear. "Let me enjoy this before we embark at court! I'm not looking forward to seeing those Aces again."

"Tilda," warned Ysac, caution in his timbre.

"What? It's no secret; I despise them. Ugh, especially Arden. So creepy...lurking in the shadows, morphing their voice, cloaking in baggy blacks to not reveal who they are..."

Her speech faded as my ears clogged, and I entered a world of worries trapped in my mind. If anything, to forget about the moment of embarrassment with Ysac, I summoned the image of the gender-less Arden...and shuddered.

Tilda wasn't wrong—there was something off about them. Ysac hadn't been too forthcoming on their abilities, but of the four Aces I'd met, they didn't inspire much trust.

Did that mean they were the defective Ace? The one that fabricated stories and instigated the former king's death? Was their suspicious demeanor enough to justify accusing them?

How could I, a magic-less foreigner, unearth the truth under the surface of this once peaceful dimension?

♥♣♦♠