Page 43 of Summertime Hexy
He’s standing too close to her.
I watch from the edge of the courtyard, pretending to organize a crate of null wards while Hazel chats with him like she doesn’t feel my gaze drilling through the space between them.
The prince’s name is Thandor.
Because of course it is.
He’s taller than most Fae, with platinum-white hair braided down his back and eyes the color of polished amber. He wears rings on every finger and walks like the world was made just to flatter his shadow.
He arrived this morning with a diplomatic escort and a grin sharp enough to slice through veils.
And the first thing he did?
Bow to Hazel.
Not nod. Not greet.
Bow.
She laughed. Of course she did.
And now they’re in the middle of the square, her hand resting on her hip, his hand resting on his sword belt like he’s one poetic metaphor away from reciting Fae love oaths under the moon.
She says something and tilts her head, hair spilling over one shoulder in that way it does when she’s unaware she’s enchanting everyone around her.
Thandor leans in.
Smirks.
Touches her elbow.
Touches her.
And somethingbreaks.
I move before I think.
Cross the square in three strides.
Hazel looks up the moment she senses me—because of course she does. Because she alwaysfeelsme before she sees me.
“Hey,” she says, smile slipping just a little. “Didn’t know you were?—”
“Prince Thandor,” I say, voice like stone.
He turns slowly, like he already knows I hate him. “Ah. The famed Mr. Virel. So good to finally meet you.”
I don’t offer my hand.
He doesn’t offer his.
We stare.
Hazel’s eyes dart between us. “We were just talking about the ley line work.”
“Fascinating,” I say tightly. “And I’m sureHazel’swork speaks for itself.”
“It does,” Thandor says smoothly, smile never reaching his eyes. “But her company speaks louder. Your witch is quite the marvel.”
