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“I haven’t. I’m fine.” Lysander shoves something at my chest — the wet, crumpled flag. “Take this, Ezra. We won!”

“Jesus.” I ignore the flag and haul him into my arms. My pulse is going ninety miles a minute. “Damn right, we did. You won.”

He lets out a wet, choked laugh. “It’s for you.”

“Hell no. I can be Midsummer Queen. That’s a thing, right?” I have to kiss him just then, hard and a little desperate. He clings to my shirt.

Plato makes a noise of despair. “Never mind the race! Why didn’t you tell anyone you couldn’t swim?”

“I wanted Ezra to win,” Lysander says stubbornly, getting to his feet.

He lifts the flag in his fist, showing the boats and the festival-goers on the far shore.

A cheer goes up across the lake. I get up and sweep him into another kiss, and he laughs into it this time, his wings fluttering against my arms like he’s happy even though he just fell into the lake.

I scan the shore when he isn’t looking, just in case. But whatever I saw — or imagined — isn’t there anymore.

Lysander huddles under the canopy of the motorboat that speeds us back to the far shore until we land and Antoinette and I drag the boat up the beach.

He stumbles out and accepts the fresh towel I hand to him, using it to squeeze the water out of his hair.

Antoinette points us firmly toward the medical tent.

I dig out a juice box for him. “Cold?”

“A bit.” He pulls the towel tighter around his shoulders and pokes the straw into the juice box, his worried expression melting when he tastes the sugar.

I don’t want to scare him, but I gotta know.

“What did you see on the island earlier?” I ask quietly. “Azeroths?”

He shakes his head. “It couldn’t have been. They can’t come out during the day.”

It seems to me the azeroths who attacked us did it in daylight — granted, it was sunset, but still. “Maybe we should tell Syril.”

He frowns. “I already feel silly. It’s fine, Ezra. It must have been my imagination. Let’s not raise a fuss.”

“Raise a fuss about the fact that you almost drowned?” Orion pipes up, ducking into the tent.

“I didn’t almost drown! I had a lifejacket on.” Lysander flushes.

“Syril’s smug as hell that the two of you won.” Orion gives me a crooked grin.

“What if we’d lost?” I roll my eyes. “I thought participation was the goal.”

“You’re also the only staff representative, so actually winning was the goal.” Orion pats me on the shoulder. “Good job.”

I get to my feet. “Where’s Fitzie?”

“I’m here,” Fitzie says, leaning into the tent. His eyes widen when he sees Lysander. “Jesus, Ez, get him some dry clothes.”

“I got it.” Orion flips the lid off a bin and digs through it. He holds up a pair of jeans and a Lake Caldor Rowing Club t-shirt, two sizes too big, with holes in the collar.

Lysander takes them like they’re made of asbestos. “My clothes will dry in the sun.”

“Wet clothes off ,” Antoinette chirps loudly from the entrance, startling us all. “Spirits only know what’s in that lake water. I won’t have the prince of wildlings taken down on my watch by some kind of brain-eating amoeba. And make him eat something!”

She tosses an object wrapped in wax paper at me and I fumble to catch it. “Brain-eating what ?”

“Amoeba,” she says darkly, and sweeps out of the tent without another word.

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Orion mutters.

I open the wax paper and the strong smell of something green and earthy attacks me. It looks like a bunch of seeds held together with a greyish paste, and it’s far from appetizing. My nose wrinkles instinctually. I hold it at arms’ length.

“What is this, and is it food?”

“Oh, one of Plato’s energy balls,” Orion says.

Lysander gives me a plaintive look. “I’d rather have a lemon bar.”

It’s a no-brainer to get my ass to the dessert tent.

A crowd gathers under the gazebo for the ‘coronation’. Syril gives a little speech about community and everyone cheers, but I’m not paying much attention. They produce a big, gaudy, glittery crown, looking between us.

“It’s for Ezra,” Lysander says. He takes my shoulders and switches us so smoothly that I can only blink like a dumbass as I stumble into place. Before I can open my mouth, Syril is lifting the thing onto my head.

It’s heavy, like it’s made of real gold. I reach up and touch it, feeling like it’s about to fall off my head. The metal is warm from the sun. Syril grabs my wrist and lifts my arm into the air.

“Our human Midsummer King!”

The club staff and Fitzie whoop loudly and obnoxiously. Even the rest of the monsters cheer. I feel my face turning red as it goes on.

I hate the spotlight. But catching a glimpse of Lysander’s tiny, victorious smile, the crown on my head is suddenly light as air.

“So, King Ezra, what’s your first edict?” Syril says.

“Uh. Go have fun?”

Syril chuckles. “Well, you heard him. Go enjoy the lake. Stoneskins who need lifejackets, meet Plato at the boathouse. Sirens and riiga —” Syril’s gaze lands on Belle, “— remember there’s to be no drowning play.

This is a day of harmony, and I don’t want any hurt feelings.

And at sunset we’ll have some family-friendly stage performances. ”

Lysander meets my eyes behind Syril’s back, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling. There’s zero chance we’re sticking around for the stage shows. I’m not gonna wait that long before I drag Lysander back to his room at The Sanctum to worship him for being such a brave, perfect soul.

“It would’ve been a real mood killer if you’d drowned,” Fitzie says, coming up as the crowd disperses. “You really can’t swim?”

“I never learned.” The admission comes out cool and calm, as if he wasn’t freaking out the second he got in the boat. “I have a phobia of water. It’s not as bad as it used to be, but I’d happily never get in a boat again.”

I groan. “You bet your ass we’re sitting this out next year. No more boats. No more lakes or rivers. Not even a single creek.”

“Most forms of transportation are a nightmare, if you think about it,” Fitzie interjects. “Boats. Cars. Planes. Bicycles. You’re seconds away from drowning, getting sucked into the atmosphere, or dying in a fiery explosion.”

Lysander looks worried. “I suppose you’re right.”

“You’re not helping,” I tell Fitzie.

“This is why I don’t drive. Passenger princess for life,” Fitzie says primly, ignoring me. “At least if we crash, I won’t see it coming and it’ll be someone else’s fault.”

“ My fault, given I’m the one who drives you around,” I grumble. “And I don’t get into accidents. I’m a great driver, thanks.”

“Orion isn’t. He drives like a maniac. I fear for my life every time he hits a curve in the road.”

“Me, too, but don’t tell him I said that,” Lysander admits.

Fitzie soon abandons us, leaving me and Lysander in the gazebo, leaning over the rail to watch Orion set up the bonfire at the base of the hill. Lysander nudges me with his shoulder, his damp hair brushing my arm.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs. “It’s better for relations if you’re the Midsummer King, don’t you think?”

His skin is still cool from the lake, pebbled nipples peeking through the thin borrowed t-shirt. I rest my hand in the warm small of his back, just below his wings. I’ll never get enough of the way he melts into my touch.

“You planned that.”

“You pledged to me. I want to return the favor.” His gaze is bright and hot, sending tingles down my spine. “Your Majesty.”

“Oh yeah?” I growl.

He drags his thumb across his lip as if he’s considering something, eyelashes dipping. “I could get on my knees for you.”

I lean down and capture his soft pout with my lips, my cock twitching in my pants. He tastes like lemon and fresh water and vitality. He gasps when I pull away, his eyes glazed over and his bottom lip wet with saliva.

“Let’s get out of here,” I rasp.