The impromptu open house held by the library was, in Oliver's opinion, too damned long.

Rowan at least seemed more than happy to give Centaura's tiny citizens the full run of the place, patiently answering their silly questions and nudging their parents to sign up for memberships. Oliver spent the better part of the fiasco keeping a silent watch beside a shelf of science textbooks. The children did not speak to him but they did stare in fascination as they wandered by. He and Rowan snuck the occasional embarrassed glance at one another.

Afterward, both men took to the streets in search of drinks, as it was decided they had earned it for the evening. Merchants were more than happy to oblige. As noisy and obnoxious as the Festival of the Crown could be, there were some admitted perks.

With two battered tin cups of jubilberry wine in hand, they walked aimlessly through the cobbled streets, chatting about this or that. The kingdom's northeastern Shady Hollow district was a maze of squat, unremarkable shops and houses with half-decayed roofs. Oliver wished he could take them somewhere nicer, the shoreline perhaps, but the streets were packed and no doubt all the carriages had been rented out by now.

Rowan swapped outfits for the occasion, and in truth he wore much nicer clothes (aside from a canvas bookbag slung over his shoulder) than his surroundings called for. His shirt was fine silk and midnight blue, while his suede trousers matched his raven hair. Unlike the average Centauran man, his clothes hemmed tight against his figure. As they passed under the glow of a streetlamp, the impression of his lithe, toned body became pleasingly obvious. Every glance stoked Oliver's lust, so he forced himself to concentrate on the street ahead.

"Have you always lived here?" Rowan asked, sipping wine. "On the island, I mean."

"Aside from the occasional overseas battle. The isles have always been my home."

"Have you ever wanted to travel? For fun?"

"Why would I need to go anywhere else?"

"For the experience! And the memories! In addition to the new towns, foods, drinks... and people!"

"I don't care for people."

"I can't say that's much of a surprise. Did you choose to become a misanthrope or were you born that way?"

"Serve in an army long enough and you'll understand. Don't see much good in my line of work."

Rowan held his gaze as he took another sip. "Anyone ever tell you you're a bit of a killjoy?"

"All the time." His honesty was met with a chuckle. "And what say you of people?"

"I say people are complicated. Kings, commoners, and misanthropic knights alike."

Oliver shook his head. "Not me. I'm as simple as they come."

"I don't believe that at all."

"I only say that with present company in mind."

"Your present company believes you are a multifaceted individual." He raked his hair off his face with delicate fingers. How could one person look so gorgeous doing something so banal? Oliver really did feel like a hulking brute next to him, his every movement labored and inelegant in comparison.

"I know of a person who might be seen as multifaceted. He's nothing like me."

"Describe this maverick, then. Whoever he is."

"I have not known him for long, but I will do my best. He appears to be a young journeyman of unknown provenance, who is literate, kind to children, a talented storyteller, and possesses a biting wit. Maybe too biting for his own good."

Rowan finished off the last of his wine. "He sounds like a nightmare."

"I haven't minded him so far."

This urge to make Rowan smile was foreign to the knight. One didn't take up the sword to become a people pleaser. He seemed to be rather talented at it despite everything, and the reward for his work was stellar.

The night marched on, as did the odd pair. Revelers swayed cheek to jowl, crooning drunkenly to anyone who'd listen. Oliver kept an eye out for troublemakers, just in case his skills in crowd control were needed.

Always a guard even out of your uniform, his sister liked to say with a pinch of derision.

Eventually they settled onto a humble rooftop patio at the edge of the district. Although the café was unremarkable, it offered a fantastic view of the castle and king's podium several blocks away. Niklas' speech had not yet started, which now made him hours late, despite Oliver's earlier efforts to reign him in. He could see a few of the councilors milling about the stage and nervously wringing their hands.

After ordering two cocktails that smelled of basil and lime, Rowan started on about the daily habits of Centaurans he found interesting (everyone greeted each other in the morning, even strangers), and how they differed from the citizens of the (rather unfriendly) port town he'd spent the last month in. Oliver listened, or tried to, for he found concentration difficult when their eyes met. He only realized he'd been staring when his companion's voice stopped.

"I feel as if I'm boring you."

Oliver shook his head and took a drink to calm his nerves. "Forgive me. Been a while since I've listened to someone speak about something other than patrol routes and defensive formations."

"Would I be more interesting if I was a knight?" he asked with a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Please, I would not wish that fate on anyone."

His companion frowned slightly. "Have you ever wanted to be anything else? If you don't mind my asking."

"I've never considered anything else. My father was a knight, his mother was a valkyrie, her father was a knight. My lineage has been one long blade."

"Did you feel like you didn't have a choice?"

"Rowan, look at me. What else could a man of my height and carriage and comfort with sharp objects do?"

He considered this for a moment. "How about knitting?"

Oliver laughed, for perhaps the first time in a long while, and it felt damn good. Rowan joined him, and their raucousness drew stares from their fellow café patrons. When they settled back down, Oliver heard footsteps fall behind him. Rowan's gaze shifted just over his shoulder. "Is that a friend of yours?"

He looked up to find Naxa, that strange astralmage, face open with vague curiosity. She wore a black cloak woven with arcane symbols of threaded gold that had the effect of making her look even more peculiar than usual. Oliver stood at once, snapping into a practiced routine. "What's the problem?"

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"Why must there be a problem," Naxa said rather than asked. Her voice was like wind rustling the thick crown of a tree. "I was merely hoping to say hello. And meet your friend."

When she turned to Rowan, her curiosity became outright fascination. He stiffened under her wide, starry eyes. Oliver's jaw set as he slowly returned to his seat. "Rowan, this is..."

"Naxa Istri-Fhalamey of East Vendiyana. Arch Witch of the Astralmages."

"Took the words out of my mouth," Oliver said flatly. His companion only offered a stiff nod.

"I was walking aimlessly through this, erm, lovely neighborhood when I had a vision of King Niklas' beloved guard in a state of sublime happiness. It struck me as confusing. The man who spent our first meeting with his hand clenched so tightly around his sword's hilt it threatened to shatter? Happy? Perish the thought, I said. But then I glanced to the sky and saw you atop this establishment with a man whose beauty rivals even my colleague Hjulan's, and, well... my curiosity started fluttering like butterfly wings."

Even in the feeble moonlight Oliver could see Naxa was clearly enjoying this. Could she read his or Rowan's thoughts? He was unsure of the total scope of an astralmage's powers - something to do with projecting themselves into other realms of being? - though he didn't feel comfortable asking the one grinning down onto him. Instead he made a jumbled, awkward introduction for Rowan, who kept staring at his drink as if avoiding the stare of a large predator.

Naxa traced a finger along their table and played with a bead of moisture left from their ice-cold drinks. "Do you have a last name, Rowan?"

"Janshai-Li. Ma'am."

Oliver had never thought to ask for his surname. He'd never heard of the Janshai-Lis.

"And where do you come from, Rowan Janshai-Li?"

"The All Continent. Ma'am."

"An awfully large place. May you narrow that down for me? Country, region, town?"

Oliver made a deep, unpleasant noise. "Why not ask for the blanket his mother wrapped him in as a baby? Does interrogation fall under your suite of powers, astralmage?"

Naxa's expression became brittle. "Pardon me?"

"Can we enjoy ourselves in peace? This is a night of celebration."

"I was only making polite conversation. A skill that perhaps should be taught in knightstudy. But I shan't be a bother anymore," she said breezily. "Seems there's plenty around here to distract dashing young men like yourselves."

When she was gone Rowan rubbed his arms like he was overcome with a winter's chill. "I've never met an astralmage before. They're, erm, spirited, aren't they?"

Oliver rolled his eyes as he took another drink. "She arrived just today, her and the Red Eclipse. They're a peace coalition of mages."

"That's a terribly sinister name for a peace coalition." He hugged his arms close to his chest. "Do all astralmages come across that way?"

Oliver leaned forward, frowning with concern. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "It's just that it felt like she was gazing right into my mind. Like I'd been standing guard of a vault my entire life and all of a sudden this smiling stranger approaches me with the key in her hand."

"I'll speak to her the next time I see her, which I imagine unfortunately will be soon."

"No," Rowan shot back with a force that surprised him. "No, please. Forget it. I was just- I wasn't prepared, is all."

"But if you were made to feel uncomfortable I will-"

"I'm an adult. I promise I'm fine." A soft grin, and then he touched their hands together. Oliver suspected Rowan often used this charm of his as a distraction – but a distraction from what? Why had he frozen under Naxa's scrutiny? Yes, she was prodding, but he couldn't imagine why Rowan would feel embarrassed about where he grew up, his clothes, accent, and sophisticated surname pointed to a refined upbringing.

His own curiosity aside, Oliver didn't like when people interrogated him about personal details, so he didn't press the matter. Instead, they drank and settled back into their easy flirtation, one large, calloused hand atop a smaller, softer one. Rowan's eyes drifted to Oliver's left arm a few times but he never asked about it. He must have noticed something during their brief but wildly passionate encounter back at the library. Hands were everywhere, after all...

By the time their drinks were finished, the patio had cleared out and so had the streets below. King Niklas was finally taking the stage and there was a great rush to watch him speak. Nik had grown quite a following among his people since ascending to the throne, due in part to his humble upbringing and proficiency as a physical fighter. As for his nocturnal adventures (Oliver thought of the dozens of times he'd walked in on Nik and a farm hand, Nik and a stable boy, carpenter, miller, grocer's son, armorer...) the kingdom mostly looked the other way or just saw it as some rowdy quirk of his.

"Do you want to watch your friend's speech? Seems like the popular thing to do."

"With all due respect to Nik, I'd prefer to stay right here."

Rowan bit his lower lip. It looked inviting. "If he's a true friend, he'll understand."

"Luckily, Nik is the truest friend a man could have. Though I'd never say such a thing to him. Another round of drinks?"

"That's very kind of you."

"I'll return shortly. Don't run off, now."

Rowan arched a brow. "And have you chase me? That'd be quite a sight."

Oliver was halfway down the stairs to the café's main floor when he was struck by an awful smell. The air was heavy with a wet, metallic scent, one that he recognized instantly. It was stone silent, too; he did not hear the usual background noise of glasses clinking and servers taking drink orders. Even if the area had largely cleared out to watch the king speak, it shouldn't have been this quiet.

Something was wrong.

Oliver turned around just as a large, hairy arm swung down in his direction. He dodged the blow but lost his footing in the stairwell's cramped, awkward space. His attacker charged forward, using his momentum to shove him off his feet. Oliver tumbled the rest of the way down the steps, landing painfully on his side.

Oliver wretched as he scrambled to stand, ignoring the hot slice of pain along his torso and leg. The café was, literally, a bloody mess. There was only one body – the poor owner – but it was enough to make the room look like the back of a butcher shop. Standing before Oliver were four unnaturally tall, bare-chested men. They were halfway between human and wolf, with yellow eyes that gleamed like amber in sunlight, bare skin matted in dark hair, and hands adorned with sharp, bloodied nails.

Lycanmen. Here in Centaura. Oliver never thought he'd see the day. He'd never heard of any sightings on the island. Most people thought the they were a myth, to scare children out of wandering too far into the woods.

His attacker from the stairwell, the largest of the beasts, stepped into the room and made a show of cracking his considerable knuckles. He spoke with a voice deeper than the ocean trenches. "Where's your armor, then, big boy?"

Deep snorts of laughter from the alpha's underlings. Oliver readied himself in a defensive stance. He'd heard enough about these monsters not to show them any weakness.

"You think I need chainmail and steel to take you lot out for your walks?"

"That tongue of yours won't be so smart when we rip it out your face," snarled one of them, which caused the alpha to strike him across the face.

"Wait your turn," the alpha spat. "First we collect what we came for. Then we can have our fun with this royal bootlicking trash."

Hungry eyes and bared teeth turned in Oliver's direction. Without waiting for them to strike, the knight grabbed the nearest table and flung it in their direction. The alpha bolted out of the way as it crashed into one of the smaller beasts instead, sending it flying across the room in a shower of splintered wood.

The alpha snorted. "This one's strong!"

"Nice chewy muscles I'll bet," said one of the underlings before he leapt through the air. Oliver pivoted, striking the beast hard in the back as he sailed by. The lycanman crashed into another table but got back on his feet with supernaturally quick reflexes. He pounced Oliver again, this time making contact as sharp teeth sunk around the knight's arm. But the beast became confused – he was not lapping up the exquisite taste of flesh and blood. In fact, his teeth did not seem to break skin at all. He tore his mouth away with the shirt sleeve trapped between fangs, revealing Oliver's metal arm. Rune symbols glowing with luminescent power were etched along the perfectly sculpted muscles. The beast only had half a moment to react before a shining silver fist knocked him unconscious.

Breath heaving in his solid chest, Oliver turned to stare down the alpha and his remaining two underlings.

"Secrets, secrets, secrets," the alpha hissed, sneering lips pulled up into something resembling a smile. "How many more does the iron guard hide?"

In a flurry of motion so swift that his human eyes could not perceive it at once, the alpha was suddenly inches away, so close that his rancid breath hit him like a wall. With one clawed hand around his throat, the beast heaved the knight off the ground with impossible strength.

"Give us who we came for. We can smell him all over you."

Oliver's response - Give you who? - was lost in the vice grip of his opponent. Words could not escape his throat, which was one squeeze away from being crushed. The knight was considered one of the mightiest in a battalion already full of men and women who were the most formidable of their kind. But he had not fought these monsters before - and they were besting him with the indifferent ease of a child trapping an insect.

"This can end peacefully, iron guard." The alpha's golden yellow eyes narrowed as he used a word Oliver had never heard before. "Just give us the libriomage."