scattered it again. The gown left her shoulders bare, showing off her gracefully muscled arms and an entrancing amount of cleavage.
She was staring back at him, standing frozen in the doorway, her arm looped through Jak’s. Zeph and Gendra eased quietly into the room on either side of them. Rhy realized all their friends were holding their breath, avidly awaiting whatever came next. Jak even smirked pointedly, knowing full well how painful this was for Rhy—and making it clear the next move was up to him.
Faithless, treacherous louts, every one of them.
All except for Stella. The tense undercurrents must be nearly unbearable for her because she put her left hand to her lips, inserting the tips of the prettily enameled nails of the littlest fingers. It was an old habit of hers, to suck on those two fingers, and when they were kids, Stella’s mother had been forever after her to stop, bemoaning the eternally shriveled state of those fingers. Even shapeshifting back to human form restored them only so much. Stella hadn’t much cared, though she was careful to hide the habit around her mother, but Rhy remembered that summer in Annfwn when Stella had suddenly started to care—and how Salena had helped her break the habit.
It had been the same summer that he’d noticed Salena as more than a friend.
Shaking that memory away, Rhy pulled himself together, if only for Stella’s sake. These days, she only reverted to nibbling those two fingertips under stress—and him and Lena not being adults about dealing with each other was a stupid reason to upset their sensitive Nilly.
He stood, grateful for the shapeshifter heritage that at least guaranteed his balance and maybe a modicum of grace. The way he felt, pulse pounding in his skull, he’d otherwise pitch over face first. Finding he was clutching his goblet hard enough to dent the ornamental metal, he lifted it in a toast. “To old friends,” he said, impressed with himself that he sounded reasonably poised.
Jak gave him a disgusted look, but Astar came to his rescue, standing also. He offered his twin a hand up, gently tugging her fingers from her lips. “To enduring friendships,” Astar said, lifting his own goblet, Stella joining him.
After a moment’s hesitation, Rhy affirmed the toast and drank, watching over the rim of the goblet as Salena looked everywhere but at him.
“But I’m a terrible host,” Astar exclaimed. “We can hardly have a toast when not everyone has drinks.” Releasing Stella’s hand—though not before giving her a searching look to make sure she was all right—Astar strode over to embrace Salena. “Princess Salena Nakoa KauPo, you look ravishing,” he said, releasing her to take her hand and kiss it. “We hear daily about your brilliant work in Aerron—and the High Throne thanks you—but I can’t say how happy I am to have your sun-kissed self here with us tonight.”
Salena laughed, a throaty sound that Rhy would recognize anywhere, though he’d long since given up hoping to elicit it himself. “Why, Prince Astar,” she replied with warm affection, “I do believe you’ve been practicing your courtly charm.”
Rhy gulped some whiskey. Coming tonight had been the second-stupidest thing he’d ever done, and he’d done more than his share of stupid things. It only figured that the top two—possibly more—had to do with Salena.
“Don’t be sad.” Stella touched Rhy’s arm, her healing magic flowing into him with green light that chased his dark thoughts into hiding.
“I’m not,” he assured her. “Don’t waste your magic on me.”
“You’re not a waste, Rhy,” she replied gravely, her eyes softly gray, like fog. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
He smiled at her, feeling the wistfulness in it. “I think you’re the only person who isn’t hard on me.” Then he kicked himself for sounding like a self-pitying gruntling and produced a grin. “Too bad we’re first cousins, otherwise you’d be the perfect woman for me.”
“Every woman is the perfect woman for you,” Zeph informed him archly, draping herself against him. She had the whiskey carafe and refilled his goblet. “At least for the five minutes she’s in your bed,” she added with a smirk.
He feigned an outraged expression. “I beg your pardon! It’s at least ten minutes—sometimes fifteen.”
Zeph laughed lustily and kissed his cheek. “Happy Feast of Moranu, Rhy. I’m glad you came tonight, even if you had to be hog-tied.”
He clinked his goblet to hers. “Just a bit of emotional leverage and a royal command. No ropes involved.”