Late that night, they arrived back at the castle, to their home.
The moment they stepped through the doors, Arbor flickered the chandeliers in a warm, excited welcome, casting golden light across the grand entryway. The temperature shifted just slightly warmer, the scent of vanilla and something faintly floral drifting through the air like a sigh of relief.
Annie arched a brow. "Arbor missed us."
Malvor sniffed the air suspiciously. "It smells... unusually fresh in here."
The fireplace lit itself with a cheerful roar.
Annie narrowed her eyes.
Malvor glanced at the sparkling floors, the perfectly rearranged furniture, and the suspicious lack of any clutter whatsoever.
"Arbor..." he said slowly, eyes narrowing with theatrical suspicion. "Did you throw a party while we were gone?"
The hallway lights blinked innocently.
Annie smirked. "That is a yes."
"I knew it," Malvor declared, pointing dramatically at the nearest sconce. "I knew you were untrustworthy the moment you betrayed me over that bathroom door. I want a full report. Guests, theme, damage costs—"
Arbor flickered rapidly, as if offended. One light dimmed slightly, then returned to full brightness with an almost smug air.
"Malvor," Annie said through a yawn, "leave the house alone. We will interrogate it in the morning."
"I am not mad," Malvor muttered, still suspicious. "I am just... disappointed."
The floor lights beneath him flared in a way that could only be described as a taunting wink.
Annie stifled a laugh as she pulled off her shoes. "Come on, drama king. Home sweet chaos."
And as they wandered further in, their hands brushing once, then clasping, the house settled with a satisfied hum.
The morning was slow, warm, and golden.
Annie stirred to the smell of cinnamon, vanilla, and freshly brewed coffee. She blinked sleepily, stretching under the covers just as Malvor entered the room, shirt rumpled, hair wild. Carrying a tray with an exaggerated flourish.
"Breakfast in bed, for the goddess of my mornings," he declared dramatically, setting the tray down like it was a royal offering.
She blinked at it: thick slices of golden brown French toast dusted with powdered sugar, a swirl of whipped cream, a small bowl of fresh berries, and a perfect cup of coffee, creamy and strong, just the way she liked it.
"You made this?" she asked, blinking at him.
"From scratch," he said proudly. "With mortal ingredients. Me. Malvor. Kitchen god."
She laughed softly and sat up, accepting the coffee with a grateful smile. "I am shocked the kitchen survived."
He flopped beside her on the bed, watching with eager anticipation as she took her first bite.
She moaned. "Oh my gods, this is really good."
Malvor beamed, smug. "Of course it is. Only the finest for my Annie Crème Brûlée."
She rolled her eyes but could not stop smiling. "You are ridiculous."
"And you," he said, toasting her with a berry, "are worth every cinnamon-laced second."
The bed was warm, the food was perfect, and for a few stolen moments, nothing else in the universe mattered.
Malvor lounged across the foot of the bed, sipping his coffee, shirt slightly askew, hair still messy from sleep. He looked entirely too comfortable for someone about to attend a formal divine event.
"Annie, little mouse," he drawled, voice velvet soft, "I have to attend Luxor's birthday party today."
She looked up from her plate of French toast, suspicious already. "And you are telling me this why?"
He smirked. "Because I would love for you to come with me." A pause. Then, with a shrug that was far too casual, "But you do not have to."
"What kind of party is it?" she asked, tilting her head. "And what are you not telling me?"
"Only the most absurd, extravagant, blinding event of the century," he said dramatically. "Luxor, darling golden boy that he is, likes to celebrate with flair. His realm is a temple city of endless light, think golden sands, ancient pyramids, mirror-lined halls, marble everything, and a sky that never fully darkens. The sun always shines just a little."
He sat up now, warming to the topic. "There will be fireworks that shoot in geometric patterns. Lasers everywhere. Light shows that could sear your retinas if you blink at the wrong time. Fire dancers, floating lanterns, and music that reverberates through your bones."
She blinked.
"But," he added, grinning, "the best part? The puzzles. You know Luxor, intellectual pride incarnate. His parties always include elaborate puzzle rooms scattered across his waterfront temples. Solve one, you get a prize. It might be a treasure, a magical artifact, or even just a divine favor."
Her eyes narrowed. "So it's... a rave at the Louvre... with homework?"
Malvor beamed. "Exactly."
She gave him a long look, then arched a brow. "And what happens if I go?"
"Well," he said, stretching like a smug cat, "you will get to walk in on the arm of a devastatingly handsome god. You will be stared at, admired, envied, and whispered about for the rest of the year. And—" he added, voice low and teasing, "—you will get to watch me suffer through socializing with people I mostly hate. Which, honestly, is worth it on its own."
She sipped her coffee slowly. "Tempting."
He grinned wider. "So... what do you say, my sand snack?"
Annie set her coffee cup down slowly, already regretting her decision. "Fine," she sighed, "I will go. But what are you going to wear?"
Malvor's grin could only be described as wicked. "Oh, Annie," he purred, standing with theatrical elegance, "the theme this year is Ancient Egypt. So, head cover, neck cover, bracers, kilt. The works."
She blinked. "No."
He raised a hand and snapped his fingers.