Page 50 of Kit
Ios swished it away, looking towards Kit in time to meet his very unhappy gaze. Ios only held Kit’s gaze for a second before turning to Nick again, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “He is still annoyed that I offered to assist in the bath.”
“I think he’s annoyed about your tail touching me, actually.”
“And he thinks that I purposefully gave you a shirt that was too small,” Ios added. “So I might see your body.”
“It’s only slightly tight.” Nick glanced at himself. The seams strained around his biceps, and they fought for their life midway down his forearms where the shirt ended. His shoulders were somewhat constrained too. And his waist, now that he thought about it.
“Slightly. Yes.” Ios’s mirth returned. “Let us join Kit. He grows more agitated by the second.”
“Because your tail is touching me again.” It was brushing against Nick’s leg once more and stayed there until they reached the table, only leaving to hook at Kit. Kit’s lashed in response. Seche was sitting opposite Kit, and the rest of the kits were unfamiliar. Most were children or lanky teenagers, all crowding Kit, speaking over one another.
Nick parted from Ios and scooted two kids out of his way to take the empty seat next to Kit. Kit inclined his head towards Nick as his tail swished towards him, sending the young kits near him away with a squeal. Nobody got hurt; Nick was sure that Kit’s wide arc had been purposefully slow to give them time to dodge.
“Ios,” Kit said his name in censure as his gaze slid down Nick’s body.
Nick, in turn, looked at Kit. His clothes were always fine on the ship, so it wasn’t too great a change to see him wearing embroidered clothing. It was, however, oddly satisfying to see him dressed so finely and take in the numerous admiring looks he was catching. His finely boned, aristocratic face suited the clothes so perfectly that Nick suspected the tailor had made them with Kit in mind. The collar was perfectly shaped to frame his lean neck and tapered jaw, the dark-blue velvet making his skin glow and eyes shine. Even the blue stitching matched the precise shade of Kit’s eyes—an uncanny, deliberate touch.
Nick, in his skin-tight shirt of dark grey, grinned at their mismatch. “I’m more comfortable in plain clothes,” he explained. “Though, I do feel like a frog sitting next to a prince.”
Frogmade his wrist tingle.
Kit’s eyebrows shot up as the children crowding him dissolved at once into fits of giggles, tails swinging wildly around. Several repeated, “frog,” sounding half delirious.
“Frog?” Kit questioned, and Nick’s wrist tickled again.
“I think that didn’t translate quite right,” Nick said. “What does ‘frog’ mean to you?”
“‘I feel like a frog…what’s a frog?’” one of the children joked, and the laughter was an uproar. They were loud. Literally doubling over and clutching their stomachs and struggling to breathe. The joy was such a refreshing sight that even though Nick was the butt of the joke, he couldn’t help but delight in the open display of happiness.
Kit donned a half smile. “A frog is a type of fish. It is round and green and slimy,” he explained.
The children were close to asphyxiating at Kit’s patient explanation.
“That’s not far off, actually,” Nick admitted.
Kit’s tail swished towards the young kits. “See who can fetch one fastest,” he said. They tore off in a race, taking with them the majority of the noise from the table.
“Alive,” Nick belatedly called after them.
“Here.” Kit slid a plate in front of Nick. And Nick, having grown bored of fish, was gratified to see meat on the plate.
“Thanks.” He plucked up the cutlery and dug in, his appetite surprising him.
“Do you want more painkillers?” Kit asked, studying Nick’s face carefully.
Nick shook his head, his mouth full. Whatever balm Kit had rubbed into his back worked far better than what Anna had in stock on the ship.
“They’ll want you to be the one to taste it first,” Ios directed at Kit as he sat down, casting Seche a grateful look when the captain slid a plate of food in front of him.
“I would be honoured to do so.” Kit looked to the corner of the room. Casks were piled high, and if all of those were filled with wine, Nick imagined everyone at the party was going to be either comatose come morning or wake up very, very hung-over.
“This is all wine made from the grapes stolen from Vi?” Nick asked.
Ios’s grin was devilish. “Upset that we’ve taken from your mentor?”
“Kit explained you take the bitter grapes they don’t use,” Nick said back. “And she’s not my mentor.”
Ios’s gaze flicked over Nick’s tattoos. He debated trying to explain at least part of his situation, but before he could, Kit spoke instead.
