Chapter 208

Chapter 208
Several hours later.

If I had known stepping out of the car would feel like walking into a time machine, I would’ve worn something less… twenty-first century. The second my feet hit the gravel, I was nearly assaulted by the sound of bagpipes, a lute, and what sounded suspiciously like someone screaming “HUZZAH!” at the top of their lungs. I froze. In front of me was not Texas. Oh no. This was a whole medieval fever dream.

“Welcome to the Texas Renaissance Festival,” Nathaniel said in his smug announcer voice, bowing like some royal knight while holding out his arm like I should curtsy. “Don’t worry, my lady, I shall protect thee from wild turkey legs and drunk jesters.”

“Shut up.” I smacked his arm, though my jaw was basically on the ground. The place was massive—wooden gates decorated with flags, archways carved to look like a castle entrance, and beyond that? A full-on medieval village. People were everywhere—some dressed as queens, pirates, knights, elves, witches, even one dude who looked like he’d crawled straight out of Lord of the Rings.

A woman with a corset that looked way too tight walked past, carrying a literal tray of giant turkey legs. “GET YOUR MEAT, FAIR MAIDENS!” she sang, like this was totally normal. Behind her, two men in full knight armor were clanking their way down the street, swords at their sides like they were about to duel at dawn.

“Is this… cosplay Disneyland?” I whispered, wide-eyed, watching as a man dressed as a jester did a backflip while juggling flaming torches.

Nathaniel, of course, leaned close to my ear and smirked. “Admit it. You’re impressed.”

“I’m… overwhelmed.”

“You mean enchanted.”

I side-eyed him. “Nathaniel, I swear if you say ‘my lady’ one more time—”

“Ah, but my lady, thou art ravishing when thou art angry,” he said in the cheesiest Shakespeare accent known to mankind. He even bowed. Again. People walking past giggled at us, like they thought we were part of the act.
Rolling my eyes so hard it hurt, I tugged him forward. “Come on. Show me the food before I faint.”
That was a mistake. The food stalls looked like something straight out of a medieval fairytale—but Texas-sized. There were roasting pits with entire hogs spinning on spits, bread bowls the size of my head filled with steaming soups, and booths selling “dragon eggs” (which turned out to be spiced scotch eggs). A man in chainmail shoved a horn of ale into someone’s hand while yelling, “DRINK FOR GLORY!”

I stopped dead when I saw a sign: Funnel Cakes of the Realm. “Oh my god. Are you kidding me? They actually medieval-ified funnel cakes?”
Nathaniel shrugged innocently. “What? Knights need dessert too.”
“Lisbon, if you don’t buy me one right now, I’m hexing you.”
He chuckled, grabbing my wrist and tugging me along. “Patience, witch. First, jousting.”

The jousting arena was already roaring with cheers, bleachers packed with people waving flags as armored men on horses thundered past, lances at the ready. Dust flew up as the horses charged, and when the lances cracked against each other, the crowd went wild.

“Holy crap,” I muttered, clutching his arm as one knight flew off his horse in a dramatic tumble. “Is this safe?”

“Nope,” Nathaniel said way too casually. “But it’s fun to watch. Besides…” He leaned down, smirking again, “if I were a knight, I’d win every time. Obviously.”

I snorted. “Please. You’d trip on your armor before you even mounted the horse.”

“Excuse you,” he gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like I’d wounded his honor. “I would be Sir Nathaniel, Champion of the Realm, heartthrob of fair maidens everywhere.”

“Delusional,” I shot back, but my grin betrayed me.

He tilted his head, studying me with that stupid twinkle in his eye, and for a second I forgot we were surrounded by screaming people and medieval chaos. Just me, him, and that smug look that always made my chest feel like it was full of sparklers.

“Careful, Aya,” he said lowly, leaning just a bit closer. “Your sarcasm’s showing. People might think you secretly like me.”

“Ugh. Shut up and buy me that funnel cake before I joust you myself.”

And of course, Nathaniel laughed like he’d just won the whole damn festival.



Somehow—I still don’t know how—I let Nathaniel drag me into the costume shop. One second, I was happily chewing on my funnel cake (dusting sugar all over my black top like a powdered disaster), and the next, he had me by the wrist, steering me toward a wooden building painted with gold letters: “The Enchanted Wardrobe.”
Inside? Oh, lord. It was like Hot Topic had a baby with a Shakespearean play and then let it loose on steroids. Corsets, flowing gowns, velvet cloaks, feathered hats, crowns, leather boots, even full suits of armor lined the racks. People were already bustling around, trying on things, laughing, snapping pictures. There was even a sign that said: “Transform thyself for the realm!”
Nathaniel was too excited. His eyes gleamed like he was plotting something—never a good sign.
“You need a costume,” he declared, arms crossed like a smug king. “How else will the kingdom know you’re my evil sorceress girlfriend?”
I choked on my funnel cake bite. “Excuse me? Evil sorceress?”
“Exactly.” He grinned, plucking a long black velvet cloak from the rack and tossing it dramatically over my shoulders before I could protest. “See? Fits you perfectly. Dark, mysterious, dangerous.”

“Or maybe it just screams ‘dragged here against my will.’” I deadpanned, trying to shrug it off, but he was already digging through racks like a man on a mission.