Kris’s grin comes so fast it’s blinding. “All right,” he says.“Santa.”
“Oh, god, I’m not ready for that.”
“Too bad. You’re embodying it fully. Careful, you’re gonna sprout a fluffy white beard.”
“Shut up.”
“I hope Hex likes facial hair.”
I elbow him, and he laughs.
It’s late already, so it doesn’t take much longer before everyone starts to trickle back into the palace and to their rooms. I make sure to position myself next to Hex as we duck inside, and I pretend the press of the crowd bumps me into him, letting my hand rest on the small of his back, my lips dangerously, achingly close to his ear.
“I can’t believe you did it.”
Hex intently removes his gloves, long fingers stretching in the hall’s yellow lighting. “Did what?” he whispers, all innocence.
“You fondled that Christmas tree.”
He tries to suppress a smile. “I have no idea what you are speaking of. I would never stoop so low to stir a reaction from you.”
“Hm. Well. I must have misread that entirely.”
“You certainly did.”
“So you don’t need me to come to your room tonight?”
“Of course not.”
“And you don’t need me to”—the crowd is separating, and we’repushing it already, but I lightly, quickly, drag my finger up his spine—“reenact anything you did?”
I watch his breath catch, throat bobbing emptily. He shoots me an exasperated frown.
“You always win this game of chicken,” he relents, and I beam.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’ll make sure you always win in the end.” I wink.
He hisses, eyelids fluttering, but he’s grinning.
A few last members of the court are heading up the hall. Iris, in their midst, leans on Kris to kick off her shoes then continues on barefoot, one arm looped through his.
Kris must feel my smirk. He glances back, spots me lingering with Hex, and rolls his eyes at my expression.
I wait until they’re gone and the bulk of people have dispersed ahead of us before I laugh. “I’d think she was actively trying to kill him if she wasn’t so oblivious.”
“You have never spoken with her about it? Not even subtly?”
“Kris would kill me. It isn’t my secret to tell.”
Hex rests his hands in his coat pockets, pensive. He holds for a beat too long.
“Hex?”
At my questioning frown, he nods towards the hall. “You think she may not reciprocate.”
Shit, he nailed that fast. “Maybe. A little.” It’s just been obvious that Kris likes her for so, so long. If she felt even a flicker of attraction to him, she would have noticed years ago, right?
The hall around us is empty now. Gotta love these late-night hijinks—they let me step closer to Hex in one of our too rare moments of public affection. Or, well, public in this empty hall.
