“You should probably get out more. Geo’s been saying I should visit the city’s red-light district. Want to come with?”

“I’m starting to hate you in a good mood. It’s annoying.”

Geneva finds us as we’re still sniping at each other. I can see Alana is curious about her load; in one hand, she’s carrying three square black boxes stacked on top of each other. In the other hand, a taller rectangular box with a rug tucked under her arm. I block her questions about their contents as we approach the dueling field.

The only other time I’ve been here, the stands were full of initiates and acolytes, jeering and cheering as I faced off with Peter Pottoculli. Seems a little strange with the benches empty. Eerie almost.

Not enough to stop me from directing Geneva to a spot on the grass. I take the boxes from her, which are surprisingly heavy, and she unfurls the rug under her arm with a flourish. We arrange the boxes and open them.

I grin at Alana’s gasp. Well deserved. Right here is the best of all picnics, a literal feast. There is everything from little finger sandwiches, to sliced fruits, to small entrees. The tall, thin box contains the drinks; water, juices, and wines chilling in a bucket of ice.

And the deserts. Those have their own little box inside a box.

“Wha…”

“Come on.” I guide my shocked friend to take a seat. “Here, give her your hands. Close your eyes for a minute.”

“Why?”

“No food unless you close them.”

She scowls but follows the direction. I cup her hands with my own and extend them toward Geneva. A ball of water encases them, washing them clean of dirt and grime. Something a thrall shouldn’t be capable of.

Sorry, Alana. It’s not that I don’t trust you with my secrets but someone with the mental affinity could swipe your secrets no matter the intention. Someday, though.

“You have a rag?” I ask my succubus. She pulls one out of the smaller box, wets it, and hands it to me. “Alright. Open.”

Alana opens her eyes and I hand her the rag. She promptly uses it to wash her face, especially around her mouth, before handing it back. “Thanks.”

Be a shame to ruin the taste of this beautiful lunch with the taste of dirt.

“Can I…” Her eyes move toward the boxes and then looks back at me. I burst out laughing.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

She needs no more encouragement, grabbing one of the sandwiches and taking a large bite. Then she freezes. I’m just about to call out to her when she hastily scarfs down the rest of it and reaches for another.

“Whoa,” I say, as she starts on the third. “You want to slow down?”

“It’s so good,” she grumbles between bites, ignoring me as she goes for a slice of fruit. Geneva, the little devil, just smiles and slides over a bottle of juice.

“I know her food is good but jeez.” I grab one of the sandwiches for myself and take a bite. And freeze just like she did.

Saints. Did Cosmos lay his godly hands on my kitchen when I wasn’t paying attention? Meat isn’t this tender or flavorful, bread can’t be this soft, and this sauce. I’ve got no idea what could possibly be blended to make this. It tastes how sex feels and I moan like my wife is going down on me. “Gen—I mean, Geo. What the fuck?”

Her grin stretches wider. “You said you wanted today to be special.”

“You could cook like this all the time!?” I feel cheated, frustrated, and downright bamboozled.

“If I plied you with otherworldly tastes all the time, you’d never enjoy mundane food again.”

“…true.” I sigh but my mood is quickly lifted as she hands me a small plate of pasta.

I thought Alana was enjoying the food but then she reaches the deserts. The sound she makes after trying Geneva’s chocolate cake makes me blush, which is saying something at this point, but she doesn’t care. She can’t bring herself to devour it, taking small bites and savoring it like she’s making love to the damn thing.

I’m not jealous of a piece of cake. That’d be stupid.

Never mind if I chew a little forcefully on my bag of cookies while watching her, searing the vision into my memory.

Nothing is left of our lunch, not a crumb. Alana lays back with a protruding belly and a satisfied smile. “If I kiss the succubus, can I have that every day?”

I glare at the grinning succubus in question. Nope. If I can’t seduce her, neither can you. Damn devil. “Hey, I’m the summoner. You should be putting that consideration toward me.”

She turns with narrowed eyes and my heart gives a little excited thump. Wait, is she considering it? Well then—

My hopes are dashed by her scoff as she turns away. A beautiful dream, gone in the blink of an eye. “I don’t know if I can stand.”

“Geo can carry you.” Thought I was going to offer? Ha! As if. After basically brawling in the mud for an hour and that meal, I’m ready to pass out right here.

In fact…ah, we’ve got time and Geneva’ll wake me if I fall asleep. I make myself comfortable and lay beside Alana. The sun is just warm enough to enjoy the heat on my face without worrying about it scorching me, a soft breeze occasionally cooling me down.

And not a prince in sight to ruin it.

-

The next day I’m not so lucky.

Alana and I are enjoying lunch, not quite so out of this realm in its tastes since Geneva’s right in the assertion I’d never eat mundane food again, when I hear raised voices approaching the field. Voices I really hate that I recognize.

“Unhand me, I said!”

With a long-suffering sigh of one who knows the future, I motion for Alana to stay seated as I roll to my feet. A wild prince appears. I am sure this is the way escorts feel when a manabeast leaps out at the carriage they’re guarding. I still instinctively feel the normal dread but I relax, shoving it down. Not this time.

He’s a royal. I’m a demigod. I win in every way, even without my divine father.

Time to act like it.

He has his entourage with him; Browyn his usual stoic self while walking slightly ahead, Marcus next to him with a carefully crafted blank expression, Cecilia at his other side looking fairly unhappy, Fina at her shoulder as usual, and surprisingly the colorful Julius tagging along, bringing up the rear.

Then there’s Samuel. Good ol’ Sammy. I’m getting used to the disdain he looks at me with. Special mix of disgust, disregard, and loathing. He’s armed with that sword of his. Oh geez, don’t tell me he’s here to start a fight? I doubt that bald bastard will conveniently drop down to stop it.

Damn, I’m still tired from Kierra’s affections. After a throwback to our first lesson, running a tight corridor with dogs chasing us, my legs feel like lead. Not in the mood to leg it across this field to dodge whatever spell that artifact is going to throw at me, but I prepare anyway, stretching as the prince closes the distance.

“Lourianne Tome!”

“Good morning, Prince Samuel!”

He stops abruptly, taken off guard by my cheerful reply. My smile is fake but immovable. Not ruining my day, nope. I shall bludgeon you with politeness and good cheer until you can’t stomach me. “What brings you to me on such a fine day?”

Samuel visibly gathers himself, his frown reforming as he straightens his shoulders. “I don’t know what trickery you have pulled to escape detection from the Hall but I won’t be fooled. Unforgivable, conducting your dark practices on the Harvest kingdom elite.”

“Ah yes. I think I understand. Dunwayne mentioned that he would investigate the claim. I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble. All I wanted was to prove my innocence.”

He scowls. Oh, did I hit a nerve?

[My summoner, I believe the prince was reprimanded by his family. Ah, his father.]

Heh, they told his daddy on him. How embarrassing.

“You…even if the Hall refuses to take action, I demand satisfaction.” His hand goes to his sword. Alana notices the escalation and sets down her sandwich, muscles tense and ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Don’t do it.

“I challenge you to a duel!”

Oh, good. Thought he was going to start slinging magic. “I refuse!”

I again seem to have caught him off guard with my swift refusal. His hand tightens on the hilt of his sword. “Wha—you can’t refuse!”

“I surely can and I must.” I put a hand to my chest, bowing my head. “As a fellow attendee of the Hall, as a noble, as a good subject of the crown, how could I ever attack one of royal blood? It would be shameful to even suggest that I could, hence, I must refuse.”

“Ridiculous! You are just a coward.”

“Yes! I am most cowardly! You shouldn’t think to stain your sword fighting me.”

“Do you make fun of me?”

“Surely we would both agree I am more of the jester.”

“Fight me, dammit!”

“Like I said, I cannot strike you. But if you are intent on a competition, I can oblige in other ways. Perhaps even a wager could be made?”

“A wager.” His eyes gleam with malicious intent as he releases his sword. “Yes, a competition. I will best you and then you will leave the Hall, never to pass through the gates of Quest ever again.”

“My prince—”

“Not now,” Samuel bites out, interrupting Marcus. Cecilia’s frown is replaced by a look of interest, wondering how far this will go. Just like me.

Can’t believe he’s taking this seriously. I was so afraid of this idiot? He’s dancing on the palm on my hand when I’m not even trying. He’s like a child, throwing a tantrum. No, that’s exactly what he is.

Wonder how far he’s ready to go?

“My prince, please!” Marcus speaks up. “This is ridiculous. The girl is clearly trying to scam you into an unfair duel. You cannot trust her. Why else would she agree?”

The prince still looks ready to ignore him but then Browyn puts a hand on his shoulder. They lock eyes and the stoic young man gives his head a single shake. Samuel’s shoulders drop in disappointment.

“Questioning the honor of a lady.” I tsk, shaking my head. “No wonder you’re his servant, you have no noble spirit at all. And speaking of ladies.” I turn my attention to Cecilia. “Lady Rosefield, forgive me for not addressing you sooner. A pleasure to see you again.”

“You keep your pet’s dirty fingers away from her,” Samuel growled, stepping in front of his damsel in distress. Too bad he can’t see the death glare she’s giving him behind his back. Sad that he thinks that I’m the source of his problems when the shovel digging his grave is firmly in his hand.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for what I’m about to do. Looking past his broad shoulders, I lock eyes with Cecilia. “Geo has completed a few new desserts. Would you like to try some?” I offer, ignoring the prince.

Just, ignoring him.

You don’t ignore royalty.

His clenched jaw and flushed face show just how incredulous he is. Marcus’ façade breaks, his lips parting as he looks at me with wide eyes. Not even Browyn is unaffected, giving his charge a worried glance.

The prince looks like he is about to explode when Cecilia steps out from behind him. “I’d be delighted,” she says brightly, as if the tension around our little gathering isn’t thick enough to drown in.

“Cec—”

He grabs her arm and she whirls on him. “You forget yourself, my prince,” she hisses, glaring at him. Samuel jolts, reflexively letting go and staring at her as if he’s trying to see beneath a mask. She doesn’t give him the chance to come back to himself, continuing toward me, Fina at her shoulder. I gesture to the spread blanket. Alana makes room and Geneva is quick to serve them plates.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t bring enough for everyone,” I say to Samuel. “But you wouldn’t be so boorish as to intrude on meeting between women, hm? I’m sure you gentlemen can find a way to entertain one another.”

Again, Samuel looks ready to take my head off but I don’t flinch, watching him with a smile. Browyn is again the one to stop him. When Samuel doesn’t respond to his gentle shake of the head, he yanks the prince back, dragging him away from us.

Marcus gives me one last dirty look before hurrying after them.