41
MYLA
I can’t help it. That particular demon bar—a.k.a. the pinnacle of my snack food fun—reeks like a dead fish put on some cheap perfume and rolled in onions. There’s no stopping my stomach.
I barf right on TH, hitting the center of the tunic dead-on. At least, if I have to puke, it’s with precision. Lincoln waves over a someone from his court to get TH a towel or whatever. He’s classy that way.
“Ugh.” I smack my lips. “Now, I need to brush my teeth.”
TH glares at me. “How dare you?”
I point to my stomach. “Pregnant lady.”
“Do you know what I think?” asks TH. “The so-called King and Queen of Antrum are trying to ruin my party.”
“Your party?” Lincoln keeps his Mr. Suavo face on, which I totally appreciate. “This is a baby shower ball.”
TH focuses his glare on Lincoln. “Not in C
