As they neared the edge of lit pavilions, a pair of guards emerged from the darkness. The guards bowed their heads respectfully, but the left one nevertheless beckoned for them to pause. “Can I see your invitations?”

Gūla stiffened beside him. “Invitations?” She parroted the word indignantly. Letting go of his arm, she pointed at Jasper’s tunic, which bore the colors of the Royal House. “Has the hospitality of Kubarru fallen so far that the Royal House needs an invitation these days?” she demanded.

The two guards exchanged an uncertain glance. “I’m sorry, my lord, I can see the colors of your house, but I'm afraid I don't recognize you.”

“Yas̆peh. Commander of the 27th S̆addanite Cohort. Does it matter if you recognize me,” he added after a brief pause.

The guard's hand hesitated mid-air for a moment and then he waved them forward. “Please, come on in, Lord Yas̆peh. I’m sure Lord Nas̆ru will be pleased by your presence.”

Gūla latched back on his arm with a self-satisfied smile as the two brushed the guards. Jasper waited until they were out of earshot of the guards, and bent his head down to her ear. “You know, you could have told me we weren’t invited,” he complained.

“Why?” She shot back with a smirk. “You might not have agreed to come then. Plus, I knew they wouldn’t turn a member of the Royal House away.”

“I don’t like being manipulated,” he replied a bit testily.

Guilt flashed through her eyes, but disappeared nearly as quick as it came. “I did what I needed to for our mission to be successful,” she replied softly. “Let’s not fight. Please, darling?” She spoke the last word louder than the rest and, laying her head on his shoulder, shot him a look begging him to play along.

Irritation surged through his veins, but Jasper promptly crushed it. Despite being annoyed with her, he had agreed to help - for his uncle’s sake, if nothing to else. Committing to the role of her lover, he plastered a quick peck on her forehead, before turning his eyes to examine the party.

He was utterly unprepared for the extent to which the lord had managed to transform the empty fields in which they camped. The ground, which around his tent was a mixture of snow and muck, had been scraped immaculately clean and covered in thick wool rugs. The tents themselves had been painted in bright, cheerful colors, and their flaps pinned up, revealing, as the two of them walked through the party, a large number of arranged delights - gambling, music, and dancing chief amongst them. Scores of nobles wandered between the tent while servants bustled amongst them, bearing trays heavily laden with drinks and delicacies of every kind.

“Would you care for anything, my lord?” One of the servants stopped near them and bent down to display their options. The servant's vestment, an orange and blue monstrosity that was adorned with hundreds of feathers from the strange blue ducks native to the region, was an eye-popping distraction and Jasper stared for a moment too long.

A sharp elbow from Gūla caught him in the ribs, and he hastily turned his eyes to the myriad of choices on the tray. Unfortunately, they proved to be as exotic as the servant’s clothes. An odd assortment of appetizers was scattered across the tray, very few of which looked appetizing. Amongst the options was something that resembled the foot of a chicken, if chickens had pale green skin that looked like the flesh of a zombie, a long pink piece of meat that was undeniably the tongue of something, and what appeared to be a snail as red as lava topped with an unidentified brown substance.

Feeling the need to take something, Jasper targeted the most unremarkable dish on the tray, a fluffy white pastry with a bit of blue stuffing seeping out of its edges, and grabbed a goblet of wine. If nothing else, it will wash it down. Gūla, on the other hand, oohed and ahhed with delight, and by the time the servant departed, she was balancing in her hands the snail, the tongue, and a pastry matching his own.

Jasper took a sip of his wine and eyed the pastry suspiciously. “So, uh, any idea what’s in this?”

She took a speculative nibble. “Tuttu berries, I think.” She turned her attention to the lava red snail and Jasper decided to try the pastry.

The delicate puff pastry was piping hot and the pleasant sweet taste of butter and berry filled his mouth. He started to chew and froze as his teeth closed on something decidedly not a berry. While she slurped down the snail, he discretely spat it out in his hand and cringed as a small eye stared back at him. “What the hell?”

She glanced over and her eyes widened with delight. “Ooh, they have pickled fish eyes in it too? I didn’t get one in my bite.” She hastily took another pass at the hot pastry and closed her eyes in ecstasy.

“Here,” Jasper said, shoving the pastry in her hands, “you can have mine.” Gūla happily accepted it, and they continued their stroll. “So what are we looking for,” he asked quietly.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

She gestured toward a large tent whose side was occupied by a bright blue eye on a background of red. “That’s got to be his tent, so we should start there.” As they meandered in that direction, Jasper watched the crowd. He had never had the chance to really get to know the Djinn nobility, so he wasn’t exactly surprised by the lack of familiar faces in the crowd. What did surprise him, though, was the number of people who blatantly stared back at him, their eyes quickly focusing on the colors he bore. Their reaction varied - from respectful nods to glares rife with open hostility - but the sheer amount of attention was a bit unnerving.

Feeling a bit like a zoo animal on display, Jasper sped up, intent on reaching the tent Gūla had identified as quickly as possible. They had nearly reached the lord's pavilion when the sound of the Djinn’s sickly trumpet wailed like a goat in heat. The conversation hushed as the crowd turned expectantly toward the red tent.

Aside from the Seraphs and the aberrant Moon-kissed, the Djinn that emerged from the tent was probably the tallest Jasper had seen, reaching nearly seven height. His height was further augmented by a pair of thick, spiraling horns that stretched another foot and a half into the air. A nearly sky-blue tunic fell from his shoulders, perfectly matching the pale blue of his eyes, and Jasper was forced to admit the man was a handsome devil. He greeted the crowd with a winsome smile and raised a jeweled goblet in a toast.

“You know, when the good king sent us all to wallow in the snow and muck, I can’t say I was too pleased.” The man grinned as titters rippled through the crowd. “Really, I don’t know how you Northerners stand it up here. But hey - at least some charitable soul keeps setting fires to keep us warm, am I right?”

A rumble of laughter filled the pavilion, accompanied by a nearly equal number of angry mutterings. Jasper suspected he could divide the crowd quite neatly between the southern and northern tribes by their reaction alone, but Nas̆ru continued blithely onward. “But tonight, forget all that. The snow is gone,” he beckoned to the carpets covering the ground, “and the wine flows freely. Tonight, the House of Nas̆riddin extends to all the olive branch. Enjoy!”

Lifting his goblet, Nas̆ru drained in the cup in a single draft and flipped it over to cheers. The hubbub of conversation swelled as the crowd turned back to its pursuits, but Jasper kept an eye trained on the Djinn.

He lingered outside the entrance to his tent, his hand idly playing with the empty goblet as he searched through the bustling group. The cocky grin had stayed on as long as he held the crowd’s attention, but as soon as the crowd had returned to the revelry, the Djinn had watched them with the predatory eyes of a hawk - and then he caught sight of Gūla.

His red skin may have hidden the angry blush that rose to his cheeks, but the hardness in his eyes was unmistakable as he stared at the pair. With an imperious wave of his hand, the noble beckoned them over.

“Just follow my lead,” Gūla whispered as they weaved their way through the crowd. The Djinn didn’t bother to greet them, but, spinning on his heels, stalked into the pavilion. As the two trailed after him, Jasper debated whether he should prep his truth spell or a combat one and, just to be safe, he prepared both.

“What are you doing here?”

The man’s voice was deceptively calm, but he wasn't able to hide the rage in his eyes.

Gūla clung to Jasper's arm and shrugged her shoulders casually. “Am I not free to attend this party, Lord Nas̆ru? You don’t make my decisions anymore.”

“Does he know what you dragged him into?” Not giving her the chance to respond, Nas̆ru’s piercing eyes turned to Jasper. “I recognize the colors, of course, but I’m afraid we haven’t met, Lord-“

“Yas̆peh,” Jasper grunted out.

“Lord Yas̆peh. I do hope you didn’t take offense at my little joke about King S̆ars̆adnû,” the Djinn replied with a strained smile.

“If a man can’t joke freely over a mug of beer, when can he?” Jasper replied. The Djinn’s eyes fell on the jeweled goblet he was holding, one filled with spiced wine and definitely not beer, and narrowed - uncertain whether Jasper's words were sincere or the sort of carefully constructed barb the court was known for."

“My sentiments exactly,” the noble with false cheer. “But if I can offer you a bit of advice, Lord Yas̆peh, I’m afraid you’re being taken advantage of. This woman is..." his lip curled in distaste, "a whore.”

Jasper tried not to wince as Gūla's hand spasmed and her nails dug into his arm. “I am not a whore,” she hissed. “I did nothing wrong.”

The man ignored her completely, fixing his gaze on Jasper. “You see, she was engaged to me and yet she bore another man’s child.”

“You know it was my previous betrothed’s,” she spat.

He finally turned to look at her, his gaze as cold as ice. “And yet, you he did not see fit to marry you either, did he? Was it perhaps not his?”

His eyes flitted back to Jasper. “I don’t know how she managed to glom onto you, but I assure you, Lord Yas̆peh, she is trouble. Feel free to stay if you’d like, but I’m afraid she is not welcome here.”

Jasper hesitated for a moment, fully expecting the fiery Djinn to speak up in her own defense, but silence filled the tent. Glancing down, he saw a few tears staining her cheeks, as she chewed on her lower lip. Irritation flared up - both at the Djinn, who seemed like a dick, and at Gūla - for frankly, he suspected she was once again manipulating him.

“Perhaps, just for tonight, you can bury the hatchet. We'll try to stay out of your way,” he offered, not wanting to unnecessarily escalate the conflict. “Surely there’s no need to banish my date over a misunderstanding that happened years ago.”

The man’s grip around the goblet tightened. “I see you truly are of the Royal House. You weren’t even invited and yet come around making demands. Perhaps if you were S̆arrāhīl or As̆ib-S̆ams̆a, someone important, I would tolerate it. But you? You’re just a hornless bastard. I doubt anyone will care to object if I kick you out. Get out - both of you, or I’ll see you chased off.”

Jasper’s irritation blossomed into a full-fledged rage. “Better to be a hornless bastard than a sniveling traitor,” he fired back. “Maybe we should have a little chat about the fires that keep getting set around camp? You know, the ones that you found so terribly funny?”

A metallic clank filled the room as the man unsheathed his sword. “Get out,” he growled again.

A spell pooled on the edges of his fingers as Jasper raised his hand. “Make me.”