IRC-Galleria

"So, who was that charming blonde boy with you earlier?" Cyrus asked innocently, interrupting my plotting.

Eh?

Charming blonde boy? I don't know any charming blonde boys—ooh! I do know a patronizing blonde nurse, though. Hm, what a coincidence.

"You mean Damar?"

"Is that his name?" the merchant heir mused quietly, pressing a manicured, blue painted nail to his lips in thought.

"Don't," Royce abruptly spoke, causing Cyrus to glance innocently at him out of the corner of his eyes. "He's already been claimed."

That's right, devil prince. He's mine.

"Oh?" the taller boy inquired smoothly, his brows raising a bit. "By whom?"

Me. Me, me—

"Lieutenant Zephyr of the Royal Guards," the Crown Prince answered flatly. Um … no? Damar is my nurse, my servant. Mine, mine, mine!

Cyrus' sly expression shifted, his brows bunching as his lips formed a scowl. "Oh, him."

Royce nodded slightly, looking a little smug and rather amused. Why do I get the feeling I'm missing something? I shuffled my slippers in the warm sand, staring up at the two who were currently engaged in a staring contest.

"Ah, well, at least there's still this lovely flower," Cyrus said after a moment, waving their staring contest off and turning his grinning hazel eyes back towards me.

… did he just call me a flower?

"I'm afraid not," Royce interjected, looking ever so slightly annoyed.

The merchant smiled widely, that innocent look falling over his features again like a well worn mask. "Oh, and why not, dear Roe?"

… yeah, I'm still on: did he just call me a fucking flower?!

The Crown Prince's next words were practically growled, an obvious warning, and they jerked me out of my present train of thought as effectively as if cold water had been splashed on me: "Because she is claimed as well."

What?!

"Ah, and, again, by whom?" the blue-haired one raised an eyebrow challengingly. Royce stared at him for a moment, his jaw clenched a little while his hands formed fists at his sides. After a long pause, I thought he wasn't going to respond—but then he spoke, his voice steady, clear, and, more importantly, just as challenging.

"By me."

EXCUSE ME???!!

"Really," Cyrus replied mildly, "Well, I guess that means we can't make passionate love for hours, now can we, my flower?" Cyrus directed the last statement towards me, sounding almost disinterested as he idly lifted a hand and began examining his perfectly manicured nails.

I glanced wildly from Royce, who was looking somewhat victorious, over to Cyrus, who was still examining his nails with feigned interest. Option A: Side with horny guy with scary hair who insists on calling me "flower." Option B: Side with Royce, who, if I'm not mistaken, just said that he had fucking claimed me.

Well, hello, just who is my enemy here?

Frowning, I stomped forward and grabbed Cyrus' hand, stalking by and literally dragging him after me. The tall boy followed without protest, and I swear I saw his eyes sparkle mischievously.

"Let's go, screw-boy," I proclaimed loudly, dragging the decidedly delighted-looking tall boy after me and towards the palace, leaving Royce behind.

Oh, it was worth it if only to see Royce's jaw literally drop open and his eyes bug out as I passed him by.