There was nothing else to do but smile as genuinely as I could and say, “I would really love that.”

“Wait,” Berk barked. “What was your name again?”

I tore my gaze from Scythe, who was scowling at Berk. I cleared my throat and said, “Aster.”

“Aster,” Berk repeated, as if scrutinizing every letter like he did my face. “Is that short for—”

Fang cursed when his elbow slipped from the table and knocked his glass. Water tipped into his father’s lap.

Berk merely glared at him—knowing exactly what he’d been playing at.

I wasn’t sure how much Fang knew, but I was grateful he seemed to sense an intervention was needed.

Mariana fetched a dish towel and tossed it to her son. “No need for that, Fanerin. My stars.” She tutted, then rounded the table to pat my shoulder. “We’re very good at keeping secrets, dear, don’t you worry. Here, have some tart.” She dragged the dish toward my plate before heading to her seat. “It fixes everything, even if only momentarily.” Her chestnut, long-lashed eyes twinkled knowingly. “Sometimes a moment is just what we need.”

Scythe took my hand beneath the table and stroked it with his thumb.

Later that night, as the stars shone through the window behind the bed, Scythe slept with his head upon my stomach. I’d been so full from dinner that he’d taken me slowly from behind before we’d both fallen limp upon the bed.

He woke with a grunted snore and turned to stare up at me. “Okay, wildflower?”

“Perfect,” I said, and I meant it.

On the way back to the cottage, he’d told me not to worry about Berk. I wasn’t worried about him, and I wondered if he could sense that.

“I know it was a lot,” Scythe said after a moment, voice rough with sleep. “The dinner and—”

“No,” I said, stopping him. “I loved it.” I continued stroking his head as he nestled closer and kissed my stomach, whispering to the ceiling, “A little too much.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Scythe

The war room was the last place I wanted to be, and so I made quick work of eating the pastries Opal had brought with her before Fang pocketed them all to eat later. Which was what he’d done last time she’d brought treats to a meeting.

The nuisance mouthed the word, “Mates,” to me from across the table and licked his sugar-dusted fingers.

I looked at the jam-filled pastry in my hand, tempted. He smirked when I chose to eat it instead of throw it at his head.

Fang’s mocking aside, I couldn’t help but dwell on the matter myself.