Page 65 of Not Another Happily Ever After

I refuse to let today’s adventure be tarnished by something as feeble as sanity. Or a lack thereof.

“Rhidland?” I stand, creeping ever closer to his pack.

The old man flicks his helmet up, revealing an already mounting suspicion in his gaze. “Yes, my lady?”

The knights all watch with mixed amusement as I awkwardly bend backwards to grab the large brown pack from the ground.

“I was thinking…”

“A dangerous habit.”

“Indeed.” I grin at the old man, wrapping my fingers around the long wooden instrument tucked tightly at the bottom of the pack.

“Would these thoughts have anything to do with why you’re snooping through my stuff?”

“Yes!” I exclaim, bouncing on the tip of my toes.

He purses his lips beneath his wiry mustache, a failed attempt at hiding his smile. “And am I going to like what you’ve found in there?”

I squint, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip. “Well…no.” I shrug, dropping his bag to reveal what’s in my hands. “ButIcertainly will.”

“No way!” Merrek pops up from where he’d slumped down in the grass. “Is that a real flute?”

“Of course it is!” Rhidland huffs, his chest swelling with pride.

“There’s no way this crusty castle keeper actually knows how to play that.” Merrek scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Careful boy, that armor’s squeezing what little sense you’ve got!” The old guard barks as he reaches forward and—grumpily—takes the flute from my hands.

“Can’t play. I’ll show him who can’t play,” he mumbles beneath his breath, then wets his lips and brings the flute to his mouth.

Myrrdin and Wolfe settle on their sides in the tall grass, their gazes curious, whereas Merrek’s is full of doubt. And Frog, well…Frog is avoiding my gaze.

“Come on, Rhidland!”

Today cannot end on this note.

The old man plays a few notes, poorly at first. An off key here, another there. But by the third pass through there is rhythm. There is a beat.

“Yes!” I clap, the weight in my chest already lighter.

“A thousand pardons!” Merrek jumps up. “I think my honor owes you a bow.” He smiles, bending low at the waist.

Then his blue eyes cut to me, and in them, more mischief than I can manage.

“What are you?—”

I begin to ask when he strides toward me and whisks me off my feet, stealing the breath from my lungs.

“God, help me,” Myrrdin mutters. Or perhaps it was Wolfe? The world is spinning too fast for me to tell. One thing remains clear though—manners and Merrek do not mix.

Air finds its way into my lungs, only to be pushed out in a brusque laugh as I’m twirled and whirled around the fire.

I think I see Frog rising, but between the full moon above and the yellow and orange flames, his autumn green gaze is lost. There is only the massive smile before me, plastered on Merrek’s face, and the glimmer and glint of the lilac gown as it catches the firelight.

I laugh so hard I nearly lose my rhythm, a new experience given that dance lessons were all the education I was allowed in my formative years. Still, Merrek puts them all to shame as heone, twosteps me beneath the sky full of stars. Even Buttons seems to appreciate the knight’s fancy footwork, darting between my slippers and his boots, chirping whenever either of us nearly steps on him.

Merrek lets me go with one last dramatic spin and by the time I stop I’m at the fire’s edge, where Frog now stands, half-hidden by the darkness beyond the flames.