Page 119 of The Fake Divination Offense
Treva wrote a speech for me. It’s… somewhere. I should really read it before we get there.
The game plays on behind me, still a tied score.
Gods damn it, c’mon, Dragons.
“How big will this event be, really?” Bel asks. His question would be casual if not for the way his tail taps an anxious rhythm on the bathroom floor.
We haven’t had to go to any Urzoth services before, since Drach always wanted to keep our associations separate from what the services usually turn into: brutal fighting matches. But this service will be more solemn, with sermons and other guests of honor speaking. It won’t devolve into any shows of brutality for a few hours.
I press a kiss to Bel’s bare shoulder. “It’s the main Urzoth church in Philadelphia. Hundreds of people will probably be there.”
“Probably? You haven’t gone?”
“When I lived here the first time, I went home and attended services with my parents. Never needed to go to this one until now.”
At least my parents couldn’t make the trip out here for the service, since my mom is such a high-ranking member of their own church and had to stay for their services.
Bel flicks his eyes to me but refocuses on his makeup. “Hm.Hundredsof people. We won’t be that noticed. There are other guests of honor, right? Who’ll even care that we’re there?”
His tail taps, taps, taps.
I put my hand on his elbow, pulling until he stops his mascara application and faces me. “What part of this has you nervous?”
For a beat, he looks like he’ll deflect. I know what his face doeswhen he’s trying to cover something up; the forced smile, his dimples nowhere in sight, his eyes turned down at the corners.
“Bel.”
He clamps his lips together before, finally, looking up at me.
I hold, giving him the opening, and after a breath, he takes it.
“You have to speak to the whole congregation,” he whispers. “It’ll be broadcast, too. And I know you don’twantany of this, so every time Drach saysjumpand you have to obey, I… I hate it.”
He straightens up and points the mascara brush at me.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for what you’re doing for me,” he says. “That doesn’t mean I want you taking on my guilt on top of everything else.”
My jaw thrusts to the side in thought. I can’t get out of the speech. Can’t step down as Urzoth’s poster boy.
But… maybe there are ways to make this bearable.
“I can see you thinking. Stop.” Bel pokes my cheek with the brush. And smirks, no doubt leaving a swipe of black behind; I don’t care, let him mark me all he wants.
He rolls his eyes when I don’t react and gets to work digging out a makeup remover pad from his growing collection of cosmetics. I took him shopping a few weekends ago, and I’m not sure which of us enjoyed it more: him, getting to invade half a dozen different stores, or me, getting to watch him try on outfit after outfit, and then rimming him in the dressing room of the last boutique.
As he cleans my cheek, he shoots me a chastising smirk. “I’m serious. Stop thinking.”
“I’m not thinking.” Because I already know what I’m going to do.
“I don’t believe you. You don’t need to save me from everything.”
“That is literally my job, sweetheart. The sooner you accept that, the easier all this will be.”
His lips part and an argument builds in his eyes, but I silence him with a kiss, tasting the mint of his toothpaste, feeling theplumpness of his lips once he surrenders. He leans into the kiss, twisting on the stepstool to press his naked body against me, and as my hand slides down the curve of his ass, he leans back, dazed and grinning.
“The Dragons won,” he whispers.
My brain stalls out. “Huh?”
