Condoms

Condoms ?

Condoms.....

Condoms!

My mind was nothing but a frantic, flashing echo of the word, ricocheting between my ears with the force of a cannon blast.

I stared down at the box in my hand, its gilt-embossed surface taunting me, and tried—desperately—to summon some princessly composure.

Instead, all I could manage was a strangled, "What the fuck, Lyra?"

The restaurant was packed, but the world had gone silent, as if the very sea itself was holding its breath.

All around us, villagers dined and laughed and drank, oblivious to the spiraling catastrophe unraveling at our table.

My cheeks burned hotter than the southern sun. I didn't know whether to throw the box at Lyra's head or crawl under the table and never reemerge.

She, for her part, froze mid-bite, her eyes wide with panic. "It's not—I didn't—just—give that here!" She lunged across the table, snatching the box from my hand before I could do anything but gape.

I hissed, leaning in close, voice low and sharp. "Why do you have that? What are you planning, pervert?"

Lyra's mouth opened, then snapped shut. She looked between me and the box as if hoping it might burst into flames and solve her problem for her. "It's not what it looks like! I swear—I'm not—It's not—"

I arched an eyebrow, channeling every drop of ice queen energy I had left. "Oh? Then do enlighten me. You just carry these around for fun?"

She winced, cheeks coloring.

"No! I mean—well, yes, I mean, no, I mean—I didn't buy them! The queens gave them to me. For—" She cut herself off, running a hand through her hair. "Gods, this sounds ridiculous."

I glared harder. "For what, exactly? Hoping to seduce some helpless villager? Or maybe you just go to every festival prepared for… 'diplomatic relations?'"

Lyra groaned, shoving the box back into her bag as if it were cursed.

"It was a joke. Sort of. Queen Marena handed them to me after the pirate raid. She said, 'You never know what might happen at the festival.' I told her she was mad, but she insisted."

I wasn't mollified. In fact, my irritation was only sharpening. "So you just—accepted? Without question?"

She shrugged, defensive now, eyes darting away. "What was I supposed to do? Say no to royalty? Besides, I wasn't planning to use them with you, Princess."

She leaned back, arms crossed, as if daring me to protest. "I thought maybe I'd find someone during the festival. Flirt a little. Have a good time. You know—get to the interesting part."

My mind spun, jealousy and outrage colliding like thunderheads. I opened my mouth, but the only word that came out was, "Pervert."

Lyra snorted, unrepentant. "Takes one to know one, Your Highness. Didn't realize you'd be so curious about my love life. Or lack thereof."

I wanted to shriek. Instead, I gripped my napkin so tightly it nearly tore in two. "I am not curious. I simply—expected you to act with more… dignity!"

She leaned in, lowering her voice, eyes flashing. "I have plenty of dignity. I just don't waste it pretending I'm above a little fun. And don't pretend you're shocked. You've read enough of those romance novels to know what happens next."

I blanched. "You—! How dare you—!"

She grinned, wolfish, leaning back as the server arrived with our next course—a platter of grilled fish and aromatic rice. The delicious scent was nearly ruined by the mortification still burning through my veins.

"Honestly," Lyra muttered as she began to serve herself, "if you want the box, you can keep it. Maybe you'll need it when you finally stop pretending to be made of ice."

I nearly choked on my water. "Excuse me?"

She met my glare with a shrug, not quite smiling, not quite apologizing.

"I mean, who knows what could happen at a festival? Maybe you'll find a girl of your own. Or a boy. Or—" Her gaze dropped to my mouth for the briefest, electric second. "Maybe you'll finally figure out what you want."

That was it. My temper snapped, all the heat and confusion bubbling over into one sharp, cutting retort.

"I know exactly what I want, Skyblade. And it isn't some clumsy, drunken festival hookup in a hayloft with a box of royal-issued condoms!"

The table behind us went quiet, and I realized too late that my voice had risen, carrying over the din. Several heads turned. Someone giggled. Lyra just grinned wider, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Sure, Princess," she said, dropping her voice to a private murmur. "You keep telling yourself that."

I scowled, picking at my food with as much royal composure as I could muster. But my mind was a mess, a spiral of what-ifs and what-does-she-mean and why the hell do I care if she finds someone else?

I barely tasted the meal. Every time I looked up, Lyra was watching me, amusement and something softer warring in her gaze.

Every time I glanced away, my fingers brushed the bracelet she'd made me—bright colors, rough knots, her touch lingering in every bead.

When the meal ended, I pushed my chair back with a huff. "Let's go. Before you embarrass us both any further."

She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Whatever you say, Your Highness. Just remember, I'm not the one who shouted about hayloft hookups."

"Shut up," I muttered, but there was no heat behind it. Only a desperate, dizzy longing to escape this whole ridiculous conversation—and maybe, if I was honest, to run straight into the fire.

As we stepped out into the sunlight, the festival crowd swept us up again, music and laughter swirling around us.

Lyra walked close, close enough that our arms nearly touched, close enough that I could feel the heat of her skin even through the press of bodies.