by TJ Klune
And unfortunately, it seemed most lived for it.
The City of Lockes was transformed into the City of Rainbow Fucking Sunshine Because Everyone Is Celebrating Team Rystin. Banners were hung around the City, the profiles of Justin and Ryan flapping in the wind. Blooms of flowers were placed at almost every corner. Garland wrapped around the streetlights. Vendors set up carts on the roads, selling Completely Authentic Rystin Merchandise (which, shockingly, was not authentic at all and was most likely made in Meridian City by an aging factory worker and was in no way, shape, or form endorsed by anyone from the castle). All the hotels sold out within a day. I hoped Todd and his father were pleased. I spared a brief moment to appreciate the memory of Todd’s ears.
But everyone was thrilled and merry and gay. There were smiles on people’s faces, a skip to their steps.
Well, until they saw me.
Then there were the looks of sympathy, a slight wince to their faces because apparently everyone knew my business.
So.
Avoidance.
“Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Do you need to talk to—?”
“Nope!”
“Oh, Sam. Maybe you should just—”
“Nope.”
“Hi, Sam. You don’t know me, but I want to offer you my condol—”
“No, thank you.”
“Sam. Forget Ryan Foxheart. My last name is Harding. Combine that and we’d be HaveHard. Doesn’t that sound… erotic?”
“Nope!”
Avoidance became my mantra.
I told myself it would be easier to get over this entire shitstorm if I didn’t have anything to do with Ryan and Justin leading up to the wedding.
With Justin, it worked out marvelously for the both of us because he seemed to be doing the same to me and was obviously far too busy with the wedding planners, discussing the food and clothes and decorations and music and lighting and vows and flowers—especially since my mother had looked at him, laughed, and walked away when he told her he’d be requiring her services. It was the first time in my life I’d appreciated a mutually beneficial arrangement I had going on with the Prince.
And Ryan?
Well.
Let me tell you about that motherfucker.
Avoidance is key to maintaining a happy Sam.
When problems of a lightning-struck heart are prevalent, avoid them until they go away all on their own.
Ryan did not get that memo.
While Randall was forcing me to elucidate, Ryan was right there, lurking like a fucking jackass in the corners.
“Can we help you?” Randall asked him once after he followed us into the library.
“No, no,” Ryan said. “Just looking for… this book,” he said, pulling one off the shelf. “To do… research.”
Randall looked over and read off the title. “Sex & Pregnancy: You Won’t Actually Poke the Baby. Huh. That’s… light reading.”
Ryan blushed, and it made me want to poke his baby.
Or something.
It was all very confusing.
“Yes, well,” he muttered. “Can’t be too careful.” Then he fled.
“Idiot,” Randall muttered, sounding strangely fond.
WHILE MORGAN and I were conducting our blood-on-shrooms experiment, Ryan just happened to need access to the labs to “continue the research” he’d done before he’d left the castle on the quest to rescue Justin. When Morgan asked Ryan to remind him just what that research had been seeing as how the wizard had never seen Ryan in the labs researching anything, Ryan mumbled something about poking babies and some such and then accidently set his trousers on fire when he leaned against a burner. It was very awkward (read: stimulating) because he was forced to take off said trousers to avoid burns and apparently had forgotten that day to wear undergarments, his top just long enough to preserve his modesty. Morgan sighed a little. I died a little. Ryan fled.
“Shall we continue?” Morgan asked, rubbing his hands over his eyes.
“Oh my gods,” I said because I couldn’t quite compose my thoughts as I was pretty sure I’d just seen a hint of Ryan Foxheart’s balls.
“Sam?”
“Oh my gods.”
“And I’m pretty sure the experiment is over for the day.”
“Oh my gods.”
WHEN GARY and I plotted our plans to follow the rumors of unicorn horns, Ryan happened to be sitting at the table next to ours in the so-called War Room, obviously doing his best to feign ignorance as we pored over the maps. It wasn’t working. The book he was holding in his hands was upside-down. It’s like he wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.
“And just think,” Gary said, far more loudly than what was actually necessary, “after we get done with these ridiculous obligations your station requires you to be present for—because let’s be honest, that’s the only reason we’re still here—we’ll leave this place far behind and you, my young kitten, will find yourself a man of the desert. Dark skin and dark hair. Big dick and awesome nipples. His name will be Matta and he will take you into his desert dwelling before he goes into your desert dwelling.”
Ryan’s hands tightened on his book.
“That was… unsurprisingly descriptive,” I said.
“Shhh,” the War Room librarian said. She had to be almost as old as Randall.
“Sorry, Griselda,” Gary said, sticky sweet.
“Matta, huh?” I said. “Can his first name be Wassa?”
Gary stared at me blankly.
“Because then his full name would be Wassa Matta.”
Ryan snorted loudly and covered it up with a very fake cough.
Gary knocked me off the chair. “You are not allowed to make jokes anymore.”
“Shhh,” Griselda insisted.
“Sorry, Griselda,” Gary said. And then, “Hey, Sam?”
“What?” I said as I picked myself up off the floor.
“Do you know what I find fascinating?”
“What?”
“How knights apparently can read books upside down.”
“Oh, mothercracker,” Ryan said and then he fled the room.
“I taught him that curse,” I said sadly.
“Shhh!” Griselda shouted at us.
“Oh calm the fuck down, Griselda,” Gary snapped. “We’re the only ones here, you ancient she-beast. You need to check yourself before you wreck yourself.”
Griselda kicked us out of the War Room. I didn’t blame her.
“NO, TIGGY,” I said. “There were, like, two verses before he started singing about cheesy dicks and candlesticks.”
Tiggy glared at me as we sat in the garden, sunning ourselves. There was the hustle and bustle of the castle around us as wedding preparations went on and on, but we didn’t give a shit about that. Gary had decreed that Tiggy and I were so pale that we were haunting his dreams and forced us outside to get some sun.
“Dicks and sticks,” Tiggy insisted. “Every line was dicks and sticks.”
“I think you’re misremembering, my friend.”
“You dismembered,” he grumbled.
“Not the same thing. One is forgetting. The other is getting your head chopped off.”
“No,” he said. “I use correct word.”
I gasped and covered my heart. “Well I never. Are you threatening me, Tiggy?”
“Yes,” Tiggy said, sounding smug. “Dicks and sticks.”
“Fine. Dicks and sticks.”
“And Knight Delicious Face.”
“And Knight Del—wait, what?” I turned my head toward him, but he was propped up on his elbows, looking toward the castle. I followed his gaze and sure enough, there he was.
“I’ve never had a stalker before,” I told Tiggy.
“I stalk you,” Tiggy said.
“Erm. I don’t think you do.”
“Stalking is following. I follow you everywhere. I stalk you. I stalk you so hard.”
“Tiggy, that’s not—you know what? I am not even going to argue with
you on that. You can stalk me all you want. In fact, I am honored to have you as my stalker.”
Tiggy preened. “Pretty Sam. I’ll hide in bushes and stare at you.”
“Aww. You do that, buddy.”
“Knight Delicious Face isn’t subtle.”
“You can’t be called Knight Delicious Face and be subtle at the same time. It doesn’t work that way.” And really, he wasn’t being subtle at all. I was rather embarrassed for him, if I was being honest. And annoyed. And angry. And slightly turned-on, though I was loath to admit it.
Because he was standing at the other side of the garden, pretending to be interested in whatever the florists were saying to him (pointing out different arrangements of flowers for the wedding, hired because my mother had flat out refused to participate—she’s slightly vindictive, my mom is), but no one, and I mean no one, could miss the glances he kept shooting in our direction. It was getting to the point the florists were getting visibly annoyed with him because he obviously wasn’t paying attention to a single word they were saying.
He looked over at us again as one of the florists started in again on the power of petunias.
Tiggy and I waved sarcastically because we were awesome.
“What a dick,” I muttered.
“You love him,” Tiggy said.
“No,” I said. “I love only you.”
“And Gary.”
“And Gary.”
“And Mom and Dad.”
“Yes, and them.”
“And Morgan.”
“Sure. Lots.”
“And the King.”
“Yes, can’t forget him.”
“And Pete.”
“Pete! My castle guardian.”
“And Kevin.”
“Stretching, just a bit.”
“And Randall.”
“That’s not really true.”
“You love Ryan,” Tiggy said seriously.
“Motherfucker,” I sighed.
“Dicks and sticks,” Tiggy said.
“My whole life is dicks and sticks,” I said.
Ryan looked at us again.
We waved.
Tiggy called out, “Knight Delicious Face. Find your balls yet?”
I choked.
The florists looked slightly scandalized.
Ryan made fumbling excuses and fled.
“Not yet,” Tiggy said.
And then we made up many, many verses of “Cheesy Dicks and Candlesticks.”
“SO, CHAMP,” Kevin said, tossing the heavy twine ball back at me. “You have any crushes on anybody at school?”
“I haven’t been in school for years,” I said. “Since long before I met you.”
He shrugged, the sun starting to set behind him. “I know it’s hard, buddy. Having a new dad.”
“What the fuck.”
“I just want what’s best for you and Gary. Your mom works hard, you know.”
“First, Gary doesn’t work hard. At anything. Second, he is not my mom.”
Kevin nodded and caught the ball in his claws as I chucked it back at him. “All teenagers think the same thing about their parents.”
“I’m twenty! Why are we even out here!”
“Bonding,” Kevin said. “You said that we needed bonding.” Then he leered at me, his lip curling, tongue snaking out between his fangs. “Or perhaps you meant bondage? Is that what you meant, pretty? You need me to tie you up and choke you on my dick? Make you scream as I twist your little nipples? Make you—”
“That’s not what I meant at all.”
The leer disappeared. “That’s what I thought, sport. So, any boys or girls you want to get fresh with?”
“Get fresh with,” I repeated.
“You know. Take to the dance, or whatever.”
“The dance.”
“Sock hop? I don’t know what you kids call it these days.”
“I think that being with Gary has made you both actually mentally disabled. Like your magic broke both of your brains the moment you fellated him.”
“So much fellating,” Kevin agreed. “Oh look, company.”
I looked over my shoulder and sure enough, a small contingent of knights were coming out onto the sparring fields, even though I was absolutely positive there was no need for them to be here. Of course, Ryan was in the lead. Pete stood toward the rear, a look of amused exasperation on his face.
“Sam,” he said, once they passed through the gates. The others headed toward the weapons shed, but Pete dragged behind them. Ryan almost was able to make it all the way to the shed without looking at me but failed miserably at the last minute.
“Pete,” I said, ignoring Ryan completely. “Late training?”
He rolled his eyes. “It appears our illustrious Knight Commander felt we’d been slacking off recently.”
“Is that so.”
“Quite. And apparently, it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, and we had to go to the fields right away. Been here long?”
“An hour or so.”
“Funny, that,” Pete said. “Right around the time the Knight Commander came up with this idea.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go do knight things.”
“Nah,” Pete said with an easy shrug. “Getting too old for this shit. I’ll just observe.” He looked over at the dragon. “Kevin. Nice evening for a game of catch.”
Kevin nodded sagely. “It is, Pete. Always a nice evening when I get to be with my boy.”
“So that’s still a thing, huh?” Pete asked me.
“No,” I said crossly. “It is not a thing. It was never a thing.”
“Forgive him,” Kevin said, frowning at me. “He’s a bit cranky tonight. I think he likes this boy from school, but I can’t get a name out of him.”
Ryan was apparently listening into the conversation like a creep, because he dropped a heavy long sword on his foot.
Everyone stared at him as he grimaced. “It slipped,” he said.
“Oh boy,” Pete said. “This just gets sadder and sadder.”
“And I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
“Ah,” Pete said. “We’re at avoidance.”
I grinned at him. “There’s nothing to avoid because there’s nothing there.”
Pete sighed and shook his head fondly. “So what boy does he have a crush on, then?” he called out quite loudly to Kevin.
Ryan tensed.
“Don’t know,” Kevin said, tossing me the ball again. “But you can sure as shit bet I’m going to meet him before he takes Sam out. Instill the fear of the gods in him, I will.”
“Your life is so weird,” Pete said to me.
“Right?” I said.
“Hey, Sam,” one of the knights called out. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, all charm and a wicked glint to his eyes. I thought his name was Nat or Nate. “You ain’t seein’ anyone, right?”
“Right.”
“I could take you out,” he said, looking me up and down. “Show you a good time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You, me. Candlelight. See where it goes.”
“I think I have a good idea of where it might go,” I said. “You just licked your lips. Lasciviously.”
“Think of the other things I could lasciviously lick—”
“Get in line,” Ryan snarled at him.
Nat or Nate winked at me and followed orders.
The knights started going through their paces. Ryan called to Pete, but Pete rolled his eyes and waved him off. “I’m retiring in four months,” he said. “I don’t have time to be a part of your weird flirting.”
Ryan sputtered and then fled to the other side of the sparring fields, his knights following and laughing behind his back.
“They think he’s an idiot,” Pete said as he watched them go.
“The knights? Why?”
Pete shrugged. “For what he did to you. They think he made the biggest mistake of his life and give him shit for it. Nobody fucks w
ith Sam of Wilds.”
I gaped at him as he walked away, whistling a jaunty tune.
THE WEEK before the wedding, I was in the gardens with my mother, helping her weed and water her flowers. It was good work, hands dirty and smelling of earth, muscles in my back and arms burning. We were back in the secret parts of the garden, the area where few ever ventured. Ryan and I had been here once, speaking of wishes and stars.
“Mamia loved her flowers,” my mother said, tending to the crocus and the tulips. “She could grow them year-round, even in the snows. She kept a greenhouse, the first of its kind. She built it herself, refusing help from the men and women. She said it was hers, and as the rom baro of our clan, she would lead by example. She understood helping others, but also showing that one could stand on his or her own feet.”
“I’ll meet her one day,” I said.
She smiled at me. “Of course you will. You are a part of her just as much as I am. I may not be allowed back, but you will be.”
“Do you regret it? Choosing Dad over your roma.” Because when all else was stripped away, that is what had happened. Mom had fallen in love outside of her roma—her clan—which was expressly forbidden by gypsy law. She’d been outcast, shunned by her people when her choice had been made clear. She had chosen to follow my father instead of her own people. But my mother was always clear in the fact that there was never animosity after she left, and that her mother had held her tight and whispered in her ear how proud she was of her daughter, how wonderful she thought she was, how sad she was to see her go.
“No,” she said simply. “Not ever.”
“How did you know it was the right thing to do?”
She sat back on her knees, a smidge of dirt on the tip of her nose, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. I thought she’d never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment.
She said, “I didn’t.”
“What?” Because what?
“I didn’t know it was the right thing to do.”
“But. You and Dad always….” I trailed off because I didn’t know how to finish. I always thought that what had existed between the two of them was sure and strong, even from the beginning. To find out there was doubt really threw me.
