Caring for others is like casting a net into the sea—you may catch beautiful things, but there's always a chance of a tangled mess.
Sweet
The next morning, Mica arrived just as the first light of dawn were about to touched the sky. I jolted awake to the sound of my window being practically ripped open. Mica, caught red-handed, paused mid-motion, freezing like a guilty cat caught sneaking into a birdcage. He stepped inside and closed the window slowly, carefully, like he was handling delicate porcelain instead of my shattered sleep. Magic protection or not, I was definitely locking my windows from now on.
"Good morning," Mica greeted, flashing me an apologetic smile.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, forcing myself into a sitting position. The yawn that escaped me was practically a roar, but I was determined to meet Mica's early-morning antics with all the enthusiasm of a vampire hunter without coffee. "So, how did the family dinner go?" I asked, my tone deceptively casual.
Mica's face twisted as if I'd asked him to recount the details of his worst nightmare. "Quietly," he finally managed, sounding like he was scraping the bottom of his soul for that single word.
I could picture it perfectly: Mr. Blutkaiser, Mica, and Coffee sitting stiffly around a table far too large for three people, everything cloaked in an uncomfortable, heavy silence. The kind of silence that comes with wealth, power, and a century's worth of repressed emotions. They'd sip their expensive, vintage blood from goblets that probably cost more than my entire house, each lost in their own dismal thoughts.
"And did you happen to mention to Mr. Blutkaiser that you're planning to marry his daughter?" I asked, barely hiding my smirk.
Mica flushed scarlet, an impressive feat for a vampire. "Shay! It's way too soon for that! I've barely even known her—besides, if I bring that up, Blutkaiser will probably have my head on a platter."
I shrugged nonchalantly. "You're the one who brought it up last time, not me." I got up and crossed the room, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I'm just worried about you, Mica," I said, my voice dripping with exaggerated concern. "I mean, I'd hate for you to stay a virgin forever. It's been years, man—"
"SHAY!" Mica's shout was loud enough to wake not just our neighbors but half the block, too. His face was beet red, and it was hands down the best reaction I'd gotten out of him in ages. Worth every second.
Mica spun around, trying to make a dramatic exit towards the window, but I caught his shirt before he could flee. "Come on, don't be like that," I grinned, tugging him back. "Hey, I was just kidding. Don't be mad..."
He didn't seem convinced, so I pulled out the big guns. "You know you're my favorite brother, right?"
Mica froze mid-step. He turned back so quickly that I barely had time to dodge. He whipped out his phone, thrusting it in my face. "Say that again!" he demanded, eyes sparkling with mischief now. But I just laughed, pushing the phone away.
Once the laughter died down, Mica's mood shifted. I watched the smile fade from his face as we got to the real reason for his visit.
"I ran into Jelal," I said, my voice dropping to a quiet, serious tone. The shift was immediate; Mica's whole demeanor hardened, his posture stiffening.
"When?" he asked, the warmth in his voice replaced by something colder, more guarded. He wasn't happy about it, that much was obvious.
"A few days ago," I admitted, keeping my tone light despite the heaviness of the topic. "I managed to get him to back off, at least for now. So you don't have to waste your energy hunting him down anymore."
Mica nodded, but the worry still lingered in his eyes. "So what's the next step?"
"Des and Alice are tracking Belizar and Derel. You could join up with one of them," I suggested, hoping to steer his focus elsewhere.
Mica agreed with a curt nod, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by the cool efficiency of a hunter on a mission. He turned.
"Hey, Mica, wait."
He paused, turning back with a raised eyebrow. I could see the exhaustion creeping in. He knew exactly what I was going to ask, but he still waited for me to say it.
"Crimson been on your case for recordings yet?"
Mica's sigh was long and weary, his shoulders sagging like he'd been carrying the weight of that question for days. "Of course he has," Mica grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "Multiple requests, actually. Wouldn't leave me alone about it. And just to make sure I got the hint, he sent a whole batch of books and recording artifacts through Mr. Blutkaiser."
I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "He really is relentless, huh? Must have thought sending them with Blutkaiser would scare you into doing it quicker."
Mica rolled his eyes, a flicker of annoyance crossing his usually calm face. "Yeah, well, joke's on him. Blutkaiser doesn't scare me—well, not much, anyway. But having him as Crimson's errand boy is… something else." He shook his head, clearly not thrilled about being Crimson's personal scribe.
"Sounds like a blast," I teased, crossing my arms. "Bet you're loving every second of it."
Mica shot me a tired look, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Yeah, it's a real party," he said sarcastically. "Honestly, Shay, if he asks me to record one more thing, I might just set the damn artifacts on fire."
I laughed, appreciating the rare glimpse of frustration from my usually composed friend.
"Hang in there, Mica," I said, my tone softening. "It'll get easier."
"Yeah," he sighed, glancing one last time at the horizon. "Here's hoping."
With that, he slipped out the window as swiftly as he'd entered, leaving the room cold and silent once more. I watched him disappear into the early morning mist, the faintest trace of dawn just beginning to color the sky.
(...)
I was carefully forming letters with artistic precision, barely registering the presence of the most powerful dark mage in the world. Though I didn't look up, I could almost sense Mazen's mounting frustration, the familiar sigh he must be holding back, and the silent questioning of his decision to ally himself with me for what felt like the umpteenth time.
Once I had finished, I presented my work with a triumphant smile. Mazen regarded the piece of paper with a blank expression before offering a rather half-hearted compliment. I nodded and asked him to make some copies of my letter.
"So, how are things with your men?" I asked, starting to envelop the letters.
"They've been tracking Belizar's man without being noticed," Mazen replied.
"Okay," I acknowledged. "And how is Alex's training going?"
Mazen pondered for a moment before responding. "It's progressing quickly for a shifter," he said finally. "It appears he's not as much of a lost cause as I thought."
"Don't underestimate him, Mazen," I chuckled. "A werewolf can crush bones as easily as a stick. All monsters have their own dangers."
Mazen didn't respond, pointedly ignoring my comment.
"Rolo and I are heading out today, so you'll be practicing without us," I announced.
Mazen's brow furrowed. "What's your plan?"
"Sometimes rest is more important than practice," I said sagely. "I'm taking him to the gypsies."
Mazen hummed thoughtfully, aware that Rolo was nearing his limit. "That boy," he began, "has a very low magical affinity. Frankly, there's little chance he'll be able to match even half of your defenses."
"Maybe you're right, maybe not," I mused.
Mazen's eyebrows knitted together, a clear sign of his curiosity. I winced slightly and decided to address the question left unspoken in his eyes.
"So, you believe he struggles with magic, don't you?" I asked. Mazen nodded curtly.
I allowed myself a genuine predatory grin. "Only that boy had used magic before."
Mazen's skepticism was evident, but I didn't let it bother me. I twirled the pen between my fingers, reflecting on the memories and emotions of Rolo. I was beginning to understand him better: a child constantly ridiculed for his height and age, overshadowed by a brother who excelled in magic. Rolo was desperate to prove himself, even if his heart was weighed down by insecurity. If he can cast spells, why doesn't he unleash his magic? The only answer I could think of was that he was profoundly insecure about his abilities.
"We'll see in time," I concluded, handing the envelopes to Mazen.
He rolled his eyes, but within moments, the letters vanished from his hand. I hoped it was because he had delivered them to their destinations, and not because he had reached the end of his patience with me.
It was strange to see Alex trying to cheer Rolo up. Not that Alex was incapable of kindness—it was practically in his nature to lift everyone's spirits—but it was unusual for Rolo to accept it. That alone showed how much he needed this break.
When Edie arrived, Rolo and I set off.
"Where are we going?" Rolo asked, fidgeting with his hoodie.
"Surprise," I said with a small smile.
The moment we reached the gypsy's hut, Rolo attempted to backpedal. I grabbed his hoodie and gently tugged him forward toward the vibrantly painted house.
"Why did we come here?" he hissed, glancing nervously at the colorful decor. "It makes no sense!"
"Everything I do has a purpose," I replied evenly, and he knew better than to argue with that.
But Rolo wasn't ready to give up. "Why here?" he repeated, shrugging off my grip.
I shook my head, feigning casualness. "We're going to dinner."
Rolo scowled, ready to bolt again, but I caught him by the back of his clothes. "I'm the one who should be practicing the most!" he snapped. "I'm not going to waste my time here!"
"If we kept practicing today, your mind might collapse under the weight of my presence," I said as if I were discussing the weather. The words landed heavily, and I saw a shadow flicker across Rolo's face. "Do you still want to continue?"
Rolo fell silent. I thought so.
"Your Majesty," Lutist greeted as we stepped inside, his voice laced with amused sarcasm, "What an honor."
"Shut up," I growled, making the gypsy chuckle as he led us toward the garden.
There, a lively scene greeted us. Gypsies lounged on beanbags and blankets, cooking, drinking, and reveling in the cool evening air. Luna waved from her spot by the pot she was stirring, and a few others nodded or gave casual greetings, but no one rose to fuss over us, for which I was grateful.
"Hey!" Luna greeted us warmly, approaching with a grin.
"Mind if we join for dinner?" I asked.
Her smile widened. "Great idea!"
We settled on an open patch of grass, quietly watching the scene unfold. Laughter erupted now and then, mingled with snippets of songs and sudden bursts of dancing. In one corner, a scuffle broke out, escalating quickly until a wooden bench snapped in half.
"They're a lively bunch, aren't they?" I said with a soft smile, watching Rolo's wide-eyed reaction as the brawl dissolved as quickly as it began, broken up by a stern look from Luna.
"There's a lot we could learn from them," I continued, turning my gaze to Rolo. "These people don't give a damn what anyone thinks of them."
Rolo's eyes remained fixed on the gypsies, captivated by their uninhibited spirit.
"You don't have to worry about other people, either," I said, pulling his attention back to me.
Rolo was silent, unable or unwilling to answer.
"Stop worrying about what you lack and start appreciating what you have," I suggested.
"I have nothing," he said bitterly.
"Is that what you think?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "After everything we've been through together?"
Rolo's expression softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. "That's not what I meant."
"I know." I nodded. "So, what else do you need besides your friends?"
Again, silence. Maybe Rolo himself didn't know the answer.
"A lot of people would give anything to be in the court of the Hueless King," I said. "That's worth something, isn't it?"
Rolo hesitated. "I don't know, Shay. I don't know how good of a decision that was on your part."
I sighed, understanding the weight of his insecurity. "Kids always want to grow up so fast," I murmured.
"I'm not a child!" he snapped.
"Of course, of course," I said, smirking. "But you're still the youngest among us."
"That doesn't matter," he insisted, but I knew he was hardest on himself.
"I'm different from other kings," I said plainly. "I didn't choose you because you're the strongest. But I'd still trust you with my life any day."
Rolo looked at me, wide-eyed, as if seeing me for the first time.
"I've proven that, haven't I?" I continued. "You're the only one who knows my secret. My life is literally in your hands. If someone broke into your mind and found that memory…"
Rolo's face twisted at the thought, the realization of his importance sinking in.
During our talk, it struck me that I might never lift the burden from Rolo's soul—maybe he needed it and clung to it. If Alex knew how much pressure I just put on Rolo, he'd likely spend an afternoon yelling at me.
"If you can't be stronger for yourself, be stronger for me," I grinned. "And don't give a damn about what people think! I've already accepted you, insecurities and all, so you're stuck with me."
Rolo stared at me for a moment, then laughed—a sound that echoed with the innocence of the child he once was. For the first time, I felt I'd given him the words he'd longed to hear.
"Don't be so full of yourself, Your Majesty," Rolo said, smirking. "The world doesn't revolve around you."
"Really?" I muttered, feigning disappointment. Rolo rolled his eyes, amused.
We settled into the lively company of the gypsies, enjoying the food and warmth of a rare, carefree evening. As the night wore on, I watched Rolo sit quietly, staring into the flickering firelight and the lively chaos of the gypsies around him. My words must have been bouncing around in his mind.
I let him sit in that silence for a while, not wanting to push him too hard. But eventually, he turned to me, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Do you ever feel like… you're not good enough?" Rolo asked, still watching the flames dance. It wasn't a question I expected from him, but I could hear the raw vulnerability behind it.
I nodded, my gaze softening. "More times than I'd care to admit," I said, and it was the truth.
He didn't respond immediately, but the way his jaw tightened and his fingers fidgeted with his hoodie told me the words had struck a chord.
Before I could say anything more, one of the younger gypsies—a wiry girl with wild hair and an infectious grin—bounded over with a small drum in her hands. "Hey, kitten," she said, poking Rolo lightly. "Wanna try this? Bet you can't keep up."
Rolo blinked, pulling back a little as if the drum was some kind of threat. He shook his head quickly, holding up his hands in refusal. "No, thanks," he muttered, avoiding her eyes. "I'm not… I'm not good at that kind of stuff."
The girl just laughed, not letting him off the hook so easily. She beat out a rapid rhythm, eyes sparkling with challenge. The other gypsies laughed, clapped along, and urged Rolo to give it a try.
Rolo shot me a pleading look, his shoulders tense. "I don't want to," he said under his breath, glancing between me and the eager gypsy crowd. "I'll just mess it up."
I leaned closer, my voice low. "It's not about being good, Rolo. They're just having fun."
But Rolo's reluctance was palpable. He looked at the drum like it was a ticking time bomb, his brow furrowed in a mix of anxiety and frustration. "I don't want to make a fool of myself," he admitted, voice barely audible.
The girl, sensing his hesitation but undeterred, held the drum out to him with a grin. "Come on, it's just a beat."
Rolo glanced at the drum, then at me. He sighed, his resistance faltering just a little under the combined weight of encouragement and the infectious energy around him. With visible reluctance, he took the drum, his movements awkward and uncertain. His first attempts were shaky, stumbling over the beat, which earned him some playful jeers from the gypsies—but they were good-natured, urging him on rather than tearing him down.
At first, Rolo's face was a mix of concentration and discomfort, like he was constantly bracing for some invisible blow. But as he kept trying, missing more beats than he caught, he began to loosen up. The gypsies didn't care if he messed up; they just wanted him to try. Slowly, Rolo found a bit of rhythm, imperfect though it was, and his expression began to soften. For once, he wasn't trying to prove anything. He was just… Rolo.
I watched him relax, his eyes brightening as he lost himself in the moment. When the drumming finally slowed and the girl tousled his hair playfully before running off and all the gypsies were loudly clapping and cheering. I leaned in closer, my voice gentle but firm.
"See? You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be you."
Rolo glanced at me. He didn't say anything, but the slight easing of his posture was more than enough.
As the night deepened, the gypsies' energy only grew more infectious. Laughter echoed, feet pounded rhythmically on the ground, and the air was filled with the scent of spiced meat and smoky firewood. I watched as Rolo settled back, thinking he might finally be able to relax, but the gypsies had other plans.
One of the older women—a matronly figure with silver-streaked hair and mischievous eyes—approached us, her movements fluid and graceful despite her age. She pointed a bony finger at Rolo, then gestured towards the center where a group was already twirling and clapping along to the music.
"Come on, kitten," she called out in a sing-song voice, her tone full of warmth but leaving no room for refusal. "Let's see if you can keep up with the real dance."
Rolo's eyes widened, and he instinctively shrank back into his seat, shaking his head vehemently. "No, I'm… I'm good here, thanks," he stammered, his discomfort plain as day. The idea of dancing in front of everyone was clearly the last thing he wanted.
The woman simply chuckled, unperturbed. She grabbed his arm with a surprising strength, pulling him to his feet. "Nonsense, boy. You're too young to sit and brood like an old man."
Rolo looked to me, his eyes pleading for an out, but I just gave him a small, encouraging nod. "Might as well try," I said lightly. "What's the worst that could happen?"
But Rolo wasn't convinced. Well, the woman grabbed him so he didn't have a choice.
He stood stiffly in the center, surrounded by spinning dancers, his every move radiating awkwardness. The gypsies circled him, clapping and whooping, and although their smiles were genuine, Rolo couldn't help but look like he was about to bolt at any moment.
One of the younger boys playfully nudged Rolo's shoulder, trying to get him to move. "Come on, just follow along!" he said, demonstrating an easy two-step that even a child could manage. But Rolo remained rigid, his feet barely shifting as he tried to mimic the movements, his discomfort etched into every line of his body.
He stumbled over the simplest steps, his cheeks flushing red whenever he missed a beat or collided with someone else. The gypsies didn't care in the slightest—they cheered louder, laughing with each misstep, urging him to keep going. But Rolo's unease only seemed to deepen, his movements growing more tense the longer he stayed in the spotlight.
In the end, they decided to grab and spin Rolo, handing him to each other like a ragdoll. But Rolo's eyes darted around, every fiber of his being screaming that he'd rather be anywhere else. I could tell he was on the edge of his patience, a mix of frustration and embarrassment threatening to overwhelm him.
Finally, when one of the gypsies tried to spin him in a playful twirl, Rolo pulled away, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out of the circle. He retreated to my side, his face flushed, and his breaths coming quick and shallow. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, glaring at the ground as if it had personally offended him.
"They don't take 'no' for an answer, do they?" he muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of annoyance and something more vulnerable.
I shrugged, offering him a sympathetic smile. "They don't mean any harm. They just want you to have fun, Rolo."
"Well, it's not fun for me," he snapped, though there was no real heat behind his words—just a weary kind of resignation. "I'm not… I'm not like them."
I leaned back, letting the sounds of music and laughter wash over us. "You don't have to be. They don't care if you get the steps right or if you're having the time of your life. They just want you to join in, to be part of something. It's their way of showing you're welcome."
Rolo let out a long breath, still visibly on edge but slowly, hesitantly, starting to ease back into his seat. His eyes drifted back to the dancers, watching them with a mix of envy and detachment, as though he was trying to figure out how they could be so carefree.
For the rest of the evening, the gypsies continued to try and pull Rolo back into their revelry. They would toss him a smile, a playful challenge, or a lighthearted comment, each time met with Rolo's polite but firm refusals. His reluctance never waned, and every time he was approached, he would stiffen, a shadow of discomfort crossing his face.
But the gypsies were nothing if not persistent. They danced around him, including him in their energy without forcing him into the center again. And while Rolo never quite joined in the way they hoped, I could tell that a small part of him was beginning to appreciate the gestures, even if he didn't fully understand them.
As the night continued, Rolo sat just a bit closer to the edge of the group, still guarded but noticeably less stiff. His eyes followed the dancers, lingering on the fluid movements and easy camaraderie that filled the space. He wasn't smiling or laughing, but he was watching with a reluctant fascination, the smallest cracks appearing in the fortress he'd built around himself.
Luna noticed this shift and, with her ever-present mischievous smile, decided it was time to nudge Rolo a little further. She approached us, balancing a tray filled with a variety of colorful, bite-sized sweets that looked as festive as the atmosphere itself. Each piece was intricately decorated with powdered sugar, nuts, or candied fruits—small works of art that shimmered under the lantern light.
"Thought you might need a little sugar to sweeten up that sour face," Luna teased gently, her eyes twinkling as she held the tray out to Rolo.
Rolo looked at the sweets, his initial reaction guarded as always. He glanced at Luna, then at me, as if unsure whether this was another ploy to get him to participate. I just gave him a nonchalant shrug, silently encouraging him to accept the gesture.
"They're good," I said, picking up one of the sweets and popping it into my mouth. "And I promise there's no hidden agenda in a piece of dessert."
Rolo hesitated for a moment longer, but Luna's warm, patient gaze didn't waver. She simply held the tray closer, her smile unwavering. "They're made with love, not magic," she said playfully. "Unless you count my grandmother's secret recipe as a kind of magic, which… some might."
Reluctantly, Rolo reached out and took one of the sweets—a small, honey-drenched pastry topped with a sprinkle of pistachios. He examined it cautiously, as though expecting it to reveal some hidden trick. But when he finally took a tentative bite, the sweetness hit him immediately. His eyes widened, and despite himself, a small, surprised sound escaped him.
"See? Not so bad, is it?" Luna grinned, clearly pleased with his reaction.
Rolo swallowed and nodded, still a bit reserved but clearly enjoying the treat. "It's… good," he admitted, his voice soft, almost begrudging.
Luna beamed, as if his reluctant compliment was the highest praise she could receive. She settled down beside us, crossing her legs and setting the tray between us. "There's plenty more. Eat as much as you want."
Rolo reached for another piece, his movements still cautious but less hesitant now. He bit into a sweet filled with spiced nuts, savoring the unfamiliar but delightful flavors. It was a small moment, but seeing Rolo indulge, even slightly, felt like a victory. For once, he wasn't overthinking every little thing—he was just a kid enjoying something sweet in good company.
Luna glanced between the two of us, her expression thoughtful. "Sometimes it's enough just to sit, eat something sweet, and let yourself be, right?"
Rolo looked down at the half-eaten sweet in his hand, his brow furrowing slightly. He didn't reply but continued to nibble at the dessert.
Luna didn't press further. She just leaned back, picking up one of the sweets herself and popping it into her mouth with a satisfied hum. "We all need a little sweetness now and then," she said, her eyes twinkling as she nudged the tray closer to Rolo.
Rolo nodded absently, still deep in his own thoughts, but he didn't pull away this time. The gypsies continued their lively celebration. As the music played on and the fire crackled warmly in the background, Rolo quietly reached for another sweet, letting himself enjoy just a little more of the moment.
I smiled. It wasn't much, but it was a start. And sometimes, that's all you need.