Page 103 of Storm of Shadows
“I’m not hungover,” I say from under the cover.
“Really?” he says, the mattress creaking as he perches on the side of the bed, “because you were pretty wasted last night.”
“I’m fine. Dray Eros gave me some kind of sobering concoction.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
I peel back the cover and peer up at him. To my surprise, Fly is not looking hungover this morning either. In fact, he’s looking his usual bright and dapper self.
“It’s complicated,” I tell him.
“One thing I’m learning, Cupcake, it always is with you.” He examines my face. “Do I take it the rest of your evening was not a success?”
“Define success?”
“Did you get to fuck the Princes?”
“No,” I shriek but I guess my eye must twitch or something.
“Hmmm,” Fly says. “Something did happen though?”
I groan. “Something did happen.”
“Are you going to tell me what?”
I shake my head.
“Spoil sport,” he snips. “So why so unhappy about it?” Horror streaks across his face. “They didn’t–”
“No!” I shriek again. “I just …”
“Have some regret?” he says with sympathy. I nod. “Well, don’t. Life’s too short for that, Cupcake. And life is definitely too short to be lying about in bed. Especially on our one day off!”
“But there’s nothing to do!” I whine.
“No problem,” he says, tapping his fingers against his mouth, “luckily I have an idea. Get dressed and meet me outside in half an hour. I’m going to go see if Clare is still alive.”
Thirty minutes later I’m hugging my jacket tight around me and waiting for Fly, the wind whipping loose strands of my hair around my face.
“What exactly did you have planned?” I call to him as he approaches with Clare by his side. “I hope it’s indoors because it’s a tad bit windy out here.”
“I know,” he says with a grin. “Perfect, isn’t it?”
I glance at Clare who shrugs, then winces. “My head hurts so much!” she groans. “Why couldn’t you leave me alone to die in peace?”
“Because a bit of fresh air to blow away the cobwebs is exactly what you need.”
“It’s a little bit more than fresh,” I complain, yanking hair from my face.
“Come on you two, quit the complaining.”
He hooks his arms through both of ours and drags us along the cobbled pathways and out to the edge of the campus. Therehe leads us right to where the manicured fields end and the moorland encroaches all the way up to the edge of the towers.
“Come on,” he says, stepping onto the rough terrain.
“Where exactly are we going?” I say.
“That’s the thing with surprises,” he says, “if you tell the person what it is, you spoil it.”
