A wide, festive tent fills half of the stable yard, closed off on three sides to keep the warmth from more space heaters clustered around lush seating areas. Members of the court are already there, cozied up under thick blankets, staff overseeing a buffet made by Renee and her team.
My focus zips around. I can’t help it.
Iris is off to the side with Dad, her father, and Hex, all talking with reporters.
He’s not wearing a corset vest this time. That I can tell. Becausehe’s in a form-fitting black peacoat with a white button-up giving a pop of contrast beneath. Collar pins glint on his lapels, each one linked by two staggered chains draped over the knot of his black tie.
If my mind flashes with the image of grabbing those silver chains and wrenching his face up to mine, I willfully ignore it.
I will not make a fool of myself. I said what I needed to say to Hex. There’s no further reason to interact with him. Ever.
Even if he was the one who kissed me.
God, shut up, self.
All my flustered internal chaos goes to frozen silence when Hex holds out something he’d had by his side: a bouquet of flowers. They’re jet-black, and might actually be dead, because a petal crumbles off and drifts down to the snow at his feet.
He extends them to Iris with an uncomfortable smile, forced and pinched, and his movements are stiff.
The reporterseat it upthough, people fromChristmas InquirerandJoy Gazetteand others snapping pics and cooing, and it only intensifies Hex’s look of extreme discomfort.
I take a step forward, not sure what I can do, when Iris takes the bouquet with her signature easy grace. Her smile is genuine and kind, and it seems to set Hex a bit at ease, but I suddenly find myself not sure whether that’s a good thing.
She’d teased me about liking him, so I doubt she’d actually make a move on him, but—but Idon’tlike him, because that would be ridiculous. So if they make each other happy, then…
Then that’s great.
Fantastic.
Definitely completely fine.
The bouquet in her hands transforms. What had for sure been dead flowers blossom in a gentle unfurling of buttercup yellow and sunset orange and stalks of healthy, vibrant green, Easter’s magic breathing life back into the darkness.
That sets the reporters off cooing again, and Iris smiles wider at Hex.
“Easter is a bit the antithesis of Halloween, isn’t it?” she says.
He grins, more real than any emotion he’s shown yet, and the fact that it’s aimed at Iris has me all knotted up in an insane barrage of conflicting feelings. The most virulent of which, I’m loathe to admit, is jealousy, which isso fucking dumb.Because I’m supposed to be interested inIris,or pretending to be, but all I want to do is drop-kick my best friend away from Hex even though she’s as trapped as we are.
I am going to need so much therapy after this.
I shoot a glance at Kris, who is watching this unfold with the same complicated expression I can feel on my own face.
Dad finally notes us and waves us over. “Boys! Come here for a picture.”
Kris wordlessly tells me to keep it together—right back at ya, bro—and we trudge over.
Dad slaps his arm around me and pulls us into a staged stance.
Headline:Claus Family all smiles with Halloween Prince, who is definitely not here against his will.
The reporters get their shots and our group starts to disperse. Kris and Iris beeline into the tent. Iris’s fast retreat has my shoulders unwinding—she doesn’t like Hex. This is all an act.
Fuck, sheishaving second thoughts about going along with this, isn’t she?
“What do you think of your time in Christmas so far, Prince Hex?” asks a reporter from—I check his badge—Morning Yuletide Sun,a Christmas-only tabloid. The press from the wider audience outlets listen in, ready to make sure every Holiday keeps abreast of just what abig dealthis whole engagement thing is.
Dad lingers, likely wanting to know whatever Hex says to the reporter, so I linger too. From this angle, I can see around the tent to where the sleighs are lined up, stable hands fixing the reindeer in place and double-checking the harnesses.
