Trickster

2. Myla

2

Myla

I’ve gotten myself into some awkward situations, but this one? It’s the pits. Everything started when I spoke some fateful words to my fiancée:

Sure, I’ll visit your palace in Antrum.

Yeah, I’d love to watch you teach battle stuff.

What a disaster.

As of this moment, I sit on a gilded balcony with the nobles of Rixa. Surrounding me are sweaty guys in tunics and women whose puffy gowns get caught on everything. I’m crammed by the front edge with Lincoln’s mother, who looks petite and lethal in her dark velvet dress. Beside her sits Lincoln’s father, who’s the definition of a medieval king with his barrel chest, black tunic, and chin-length white hair.

All that remains is watching the fight. Everything is good, yes?

That’s a big no.

Here’s the issue. I’m a mix of angel, demon, and human. The good news is, that mix makes me a supernatural dynamo called the Great Scala. The tricky bit is how my demonic side comes with two deadly sins, lust and wrath. Of the pair, my control over lust is zilch. Plus when I get all lusty, my eyes blaze with red light, leaving my carnal urges pretty obvious. And what revs me up more than anything?

Ogling my fiancée as he jumps around in his body armor.

See the issue here?

I’m stuck in a balcony with no easy way to reach the exit… all while my man hangs one story below me in his second skin of rahr. Any second now, Lincoln will leap about and look hella hot.

Talk about your danger zones.

Even worse, all the major nobles from other thrax houses sit nearby, ready to watch the Red-Eyed Demon Fiancée Show. Not that I care a ton about them. It’s the parental issue that really makes my skin crawl.

Some things your future in-laws simply don’t need to know.

Down on the gym floor, Lincoln chats up Rufus, the battle lion for this class. It takes a feat of personal will, but I stare at the ceiling.

This is me. Not looking at Lincoln.

Octavia nudges my elbow. “Myla?”

“Hmm?”

“Lady Bentford asked you a question.”

“Sure.” Considering how that lady’s right behind me, I welcome the chance to turn away from the Spectacle Du Man Candy. Lady Bentford is a classic House of Rixa type, namely the elderly maven. I’m talking lots of wrinkles and years of poor dental work. It’s a kind face, but I don’t let it fool me. Old Rixa ladies are mean as snakes if you misstep one toe on their beloved traditions. Girls like me were created to bug the crap out of them.

Lady Bentford bows. “Greetings, oh fiancée of the High Prince Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus.”

“You can call me Myla.” As in, I have my own name.

Lady Bentford’s mouth contracts so much, it disappears into her face. “I gave the correct opening for initiating contact with the High Prince’s fiancée. Now you must provide your formal greeting in return. It is the Rixa Way.”

Whoa. I don’t know any of that stuff.

So I make s**t up. Clearly Lady Bentford wants some formal blah blah blah. How hard can it be?

“Okay.” I close my eyes. “I greet thee, I greet thee, I greet thee. Huzzah. Woot woot.” I don’t wait for a comment before launching into my next question. “What can I do for you?”

Beside me, Octavia stiffens. The reason? Octavia’s been taking the nasty old lady factor pretty hard these days. Lincoln’s mother always knew that Aldred, the evil Earl of Acca, would loathe me. If anything, the earl’s hatred was a relationship bonus. But now? Octavia’s old geezer girlfriends have been shooting her the stink eye 24-7, simply because I suck at formal manners and the infamous Rixa Way.

Lincoln’s Mom is going twitchy.

And I get that. Friends can affect you. There’s no way I’m changing how I act, but I do get it.

Lady Bentford offers me a goblet. “Would you like some saffronia?”

There’s a hidden trap in this question, but I don’t know what it might be. That said, who cares? I take the cup and smile. “Thank you.”

Lady Bentford continues to look not-pleased. “It’s customary to sip from your goblet the moment it touches your hands. My family brews this particular vintage. I wish to ensure it is pleasing.”

“Oh.” I down a mouthful. My eyes almost bug out of my head. Whoa. Tastes like warm pee. My cheeks bulge out while my tongue tries escaping down my throat.

“You don’t like it.” All the color drains from Lady Bentford’s face.

I force myself to swallow. Gah, that was gross.

“No,” I totally lie. “That was super yummy.”

Lady Bentford isn’t buying it. Not that I blame her. What a crap performance on my part.

“Thanks for the drink,” I say quickly. “I’ll watch my fiancée now. Buh-bye.” Turning around, I hope Lady Bentford gets the hint.

Beside me, Octavia sips her own goblet of yellow snow juice. “You must learn to enjoy saffronia.”

“I’ll add it to the list.” I don’t volunteer how said list happens to be super-long and urine bevs sit at the tippy bottom.

“Saffronia is the favorite drink of Rixa,” explains Octavia. “The fortunes of Lady Bentford’s family are built upon its popularity.”

“Good for her.”

Octavia sips her own drink without gagging. Total achievement. “May I give you some advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

A small smile curls Octavia’s mouth. “I’m afraid not.”

“Then shoot.”

“The Rixa Way is an important set of manners and traditions. It may seem silly to you, but it’s crucial for Antrum.”

Sure it is. “I thought you guys were all about fighting demons.”

“We are. And the Rixa Way supports everything. Manners. Traditions. Formalities. It all weaves together into the greater fabric of thrax society.”

“Huh.” That’s really all I have to say.

“You’re nineteen; Lincoln is twenty. In Antrum, that’s rather old to get married. The Rixa Way is expected of anyone so up in years. ”

“Hey, I’m the poster girl for manners right now.”

In reply, Octavia merely raises her brows. It’s a small move that means, you are so full of it.

“Come on,” I declare. “Who just DRANK WARM PEE and didn’t spit it out?”

Okay, I might have used my outdoor voice just then. The entire Rixa balcony goes unnervingly silent.

Oops.

From the gym floor below, a great roar sounds. That would be Lincoln’s combat lessons. Moving as one, all the nobles focus on the fight instead of me.

Yay.

For my part, I stare down at my pee drink and not at my guy. As long as I keep inhaling through my mouth, it’s not a problem.

Another roar sounds. The battle must be getting goooooood.

Not looking. Not looking.

My tail perks up from its resting spot by my ankle. This is a total bonus of being part demon, by the way. I have a long tail that’s covered in dragonscales. Major badassery. Right now, that tail arcs over my shoulder. The arrowhead-shaped end points toward the fight.

I get the hint. My tail wants me to watch Lincoln.

Still not happening.

A series of oohs and ahhs sound from crowd. Connor taps my shoulder. “Did you see that?” he asks. “Such an amazing strike.”

Not looking. Not looking. Not looking.

Screw it. I’m looking.

The moment my gaze locks on Lincoln, my inner lust demon wakes up with a big HELL to the O. Blood heats in my veins. Lincoln talks while fighting—it’s all stuff about battling lions or whatever—yet his words fade into the background. All I catch are a rhythmic set of movements.

Lunge… swipe… back muscles ripple.

Jump… bend… excessive butt flexing.

Punch… twist… ripped arms bulging.

Rufus bites Lincoln’s shoulder. The crowd gasps. I’m not worried, though. Rufus’ jawline isn’t even taut. Zero brawn lies behind that bite.

A moment later, Lincoln breaks free from Rufus. Then it happens—the Mona Lisa of battle moves. My breath hitches as Lincoln somersaults over the lion’s back. The flip even includes some choice straight-leg slicing action.

Oh, my.

It’s what my best friend, Cissy, and I call a BAEJS.

Body Armor Enhanced Junk Show.

My guy is one hundred percent beautiful; that’s all I’m saying. And it’s good to have a bestie that I can share this stuff with. Cissy’s boyfriend, Zeke, serves in Purgatory’s new guard, so she gets the whole body armor scene.

Heat rises behind my eyes. I fight it, hard.

No demon irises, Myla.

That’s when Lincoln pauses. Our gazes lock. Desire blazes in his mismatched eyes. Like all thrax, he has one brown iris and one blue. Totally hypnotic.

Is the battle over? Do I really care?

Enough is enough. I’m having a lusty moment with my fiancée, end of story. My irises flare red as Lincoln and I continue our stare-a-thon. The crowd may notice or not. I’m no longer paying attention.

Mmmmm-mmm.