The plaza's witch-lanterns had fully awakened now, bathing Starfall Court in a soft, pearlescent glow. The night air carried the faint sweetness of spilled wine from nearby taverns, the distant chime of crystal glasses, and the low, constant murmur of hundreds of hopeful voices.
Elaric shifted his weight from one aching foot to the other, the line still a sluggish serpent winding toward the guild doors. He turned to the blond fisherman's son beside him, voice low so the others wouldn't hear.
"Brenn… where are we even sleeping tonight? Registration doesn't start till dawn, right?"
Brenn scratched the salt-stiff stubble along his jaw, squinting up at the floating sigil overhead. "Yeah, they lock the desks at midnight, reopen at first bell. Most of us just curl up right here on the marble. Warm enough, and the wards keep the cutpurses honest." He grinned, crooked and sun-cracked. "How'd you know the schedule already, anyway? You've been here five minutes."
Elaric's cheeks warmed (he could feel the heat climbing his neck like spilled honey). "A baker in Lowmarket told me. Maris Calder. Kindest woman I ever met." His voice softened without meaning to. "She drew me a little map on a flour sack, fed me till my stomach stopped trying to eat itself." He reached into the inner pocket of his coat, fingers brushing the folded napkin still faintly warm from his body heat. When he pulled it out, the cloth unfolded like a secret.
Inside lay the last treasures of the day: one fat honey bun glistening with sticky glaze, two currant cookies dusted with sugar that sparkled like frost under the lantern light, and a single perfect apple tart, its golden crust still flaking delicately at the edges.
The scent rolled out between them (warm yeast, butter, spiced apple, dark sugar) so rich it felt obscene in the cool night air.
Brenn's eyes went round. His tongue touched his lower lip without thinking, a quick, unconscious flick. "Seven hells, mate…"
"Here," Elaric said, voice shy but steady. He broke the honey bun carefully down the middle; the inside steamed, revealing soft golden crumb studded with fat raisins. A thread of honey stretched between the halves, glistening like liquid amber. "Take it, bro. Can't eat all this alone."
Brenn hesitated, throat working. "You sure? That's… that's real food, Elaric."
"We're friends, aren't we?" Elaric nudged the larger half into Brenn's calloused palm. Their fingers brushed (rough fisherman's skin against orphanage-soft), and for a second neither pulled away. "Friends share."
Brenn's grin broke wide, bright as sunrise on water. He took the bun like it was made of glass, then immediately tore off a huge bite. His eyes fluttered half-shut; a low, involuntary moan rumbled in his chest as the honey hit his tongue.
"Fuuuck," he whispered around the mouthful, cheeks bulging. "Marry her. Marry that woman tomorrow."
Elaric laughed, softer, and bit into his own half. The glaze coated his lips instantly, sticky-sweet. He licked it away slow, tasting butter and sunshine and the ghost of Maris's flour-dusted smile. Warmth spread through his chest, down his belly, pooling low and sweet like the honey itself.
Brenn swallowed, licked a stray bead of glaze from the corner of his mouth, then slung an arm around Elaric's shoulders without asking (heavy, warm, smelling of salt and cheap rum and honest sweat). "Besties for life, yeah? Swear it on the tides."
"Besties for life," Elaric echoed, voice muffled around apple tart. Sugar dusted his lower lip; Brenn reached out without thinking and brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. The touch lingered half a heartbeat longer than it needed to.
They stood like that (shoulder to shoulder, sharing breath and sugar and the first easy laughter either of them had tasted in weeks) while the guild doors loomed ahead and the night stretched wide with impossible stars.
Somewhere behind them, Kalia wolf-whistled. Toothless yelled for them to get a room. Neither boy paid any attention.
They had honey on their tongues and a place on the marble to sleep tonight.
For now, that was the entire world
The plaza's marble still held the day's warmth, but the night breeze carried a teasing bite that made the crowd pull cloaks tighter. Elaric and Brenn stood shoulder-to-shoulder, cheeks sticky with honey, grinning like idiots. Brenn's arm was still slung across Elaric's shoulders, thumb absently brushing the nape of his neck where baby-fine hair curled damp from the climb up the Blue Stair.
Kalia had been watching them for a while, dark eyes narrowed in amusement. She sauntered over, braid bells chiming softly, hips swaying just enough to remind everyone she'd grown up balancing on rolling barge decks.
"Sooo," she drawled, folding her arms under her chest and cocking one eyebrow, "you two getting married tonight, or do we have to wait till morning for the ceremony?"
Elaric's face went scarlet so fast it was a wonder steam didn't rise off his ears. On pure reflex (panic and orphanage survival instincts combined), he planted one patched boot in Brenn's ribs and shoved. Hard.
Brenn flew sideways like he'd been shot from a ballista. He hit the marble with a solid *thump*, rolled twice, and lay there blinking up at the rotating guild sigil as little silver motes drifted across his vision.
"NO!" Elaric yelped, voice cracking into the stratosphere. He flung both hands up like he was warding off evil. "No, no, no, no, no! I'm straight! Nine generations of perfectly straight Voss men! I like girls! Girls like—like you, Kalia!"
The last part tumbled out before his brain caught up with his mouth.
Silence.
Then Kalia's cheeks went the color of ripe cherries. The bells in her braid seemed to tinkle louder, as if laughing at her. She punched his shoulder (not gently), but her fist lingered a second longer than a punch had any right to.
"Smooth, country boy," she muttered, trying to glare and failing because the corners of her mouth kept twitching upward. "Real smooth. Is that your idea of a confession?"
Elaric swallowed so hard his throat clicked. Somewhere inside his chest his heart was trying to batter its way out through his ribs.
"Yes," he said, hoarse and deadly serious. "I mean—yes. I liked you the second you laughed at Brenn. You've got… bells in your hair and a scar that looks like a lightning bolt and you called me statue-boy and I— yeah. Yes."
Kalia stared at him. One heartbeat. Two.
Then she laughed (real, delighted laughter that rang off the marble like temple bells). She grabbed the front of his ragged coat, yanked him down to her height, and kissed the sugar right off his bottom lip. Quick, fierce, tasting of the potato spirits she'd been passing around earlier and something sharper that was just her.
When she pulled back, her forehead rested against his for a breathless second.
"Idiot," she whispered, grinning. "Took you long enough."
Behind them, Brenn was still sprawled on the ground like a gutted fish. One arm flopped dramatically over his eyes.
"Besties for life, he says," he groaned to the stars. "Shares his last honey bun, he says. Then kicks me into next week the second a pretty girl looks at him. I see how it is."
Kalia flipped him a two-fingered salute without breaking eye contact with Elaric. "Go to sleep, fish-boy. You're cramping our moment."
Elaric, dazed and half-certain he was dreaming, let Kalia tug him a few steps away. They sank down against one of the plaza's fountain basins, shoulders touching, knees brushing. She stole the last currant cookie from his pocket, broke it in half, and fed him his share with sticky fingers while the guild lights shimmered across the water.
Brenn watched them for another moment, shook his head with a long-suffering sigh, and pillowed his head on his own arm right there on the marble.
"Fine," he muttered to no one. "I'll just die here, dramatically betrayed. Wake me when the wedding invitations go out."
Above them, the great guild doors stood open, spilling gold across the square, and tomorrow waited with brass tags and brand-new lives.
Tonight, though, there was only the taste of sugar shared between new lovers, the soft huff of a best friend pretending to sulk, and the low, steady heartbeat of a city that had finally decided to let three broke kids dream.