Page 199 of May: Bloom & Bane

“She made these fresh this morning,” Damon murmurs, his glowing eyes shifting back to me. “I think the Littlest Reaper would fancy a treat. Poppy puts a dash of nutmeg in the cream cheese.”

I slide onto a kitchen stool, my hand smoothing over the shadow still coiled around my stomach. Damon lifts a danish and places it in front of me.

I sink my teeth into the turnover, and an involuntary moan slips out.

Ashán growls in Damon’s direction.

“No comment,” Damon murmurs, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

His skin looks almost velvety in this lighting.

“I told you they were good. Poppy saves me the last batch on Thursdays,” he murmurs. “She calls me sugar. I would level kingdoms for that woman, and she only charges me four dollars.”

“Speaking of your favorite people,” Therael interrupts. “Where is Damien? His scent is all over this place.”

“Damien’s napping in the spare room,” I say before taking another bite. “He’s been here most days lately. Nook tinted the windows and removed the mirrors.”

Something dark crosses Damon’s face, and a single raven feather falls to the floor.

“He is sleeping?” He quirks a brow. “Hm. Good. That is… good.”

He reaches for his third danish.

“Little Empath, this is the best morning I’ve had in a century, and I once watched Therael get bitten by a swan.”

“It was a cygnet,” Therael corrects. “And it was remarkably aggressive.”

I snort, inhaling a flake of pastry.

A familiar thump-thump-thump comes hurtling down the stairs.

“Oh no,” Sage hums.

Droot rounds the corner at full gallop, ears pinned, his light already cycling through colors like a tiny carnival as his eyes land on the pink box.

The Dark Bird has brought tribute to the King, he chirps.

“He says you’ve brought tribute to the King,” I giggle.

He launches onto the island, and Sage’s hand snaps out on pure reflex, catching him mid-arc over the danish box. Droot hangs there, paddling with indignity.

“Forgive him,” Sage sighs. “He has no fear of Death.”

“Clearly.” Damon chuckles. He leans in, eye level with Droot, gold eyes swimming with delight. “And what kingdom do you rule over, magnificent one?”

Droot puffs out his chest.

“Chirp!” he announces, his nose twitching rapidly.

“He says he rules the kitchen island and the area immediately surrounding the trash can,” I translate, wiping a tear from my eye.

“A King of taste, then,” Damon purrs as Droot swings mid-air, trying to lick the glaze off his knuckles. “Therael, look at him. He has the soul of a conqueror. If you had half his bravery, you wouldn’t have lost to the baby swan.”

Damon breaks a corner off a danish and holds it out like he’s presenting a tribute to an actual throne. “Your Majesty. From the kingdom of the Afterlife, with respect.”

Sage releases Droot, and he accepts it with both paws, immediately stuffing the entire thing in his mouth.

“Chirpet,” he murmurs through bulging cheeks.