Fifteen
Lord Killian Walsh
The call came in the early mornin’ hours. I had fallen asleep in a whiskey haze, after spending all night performing at a pub. Next to me was one of my band mates, Dexter, asleep. The sound of the vibrating phone didn’t ring him, thank feck. I glanced at the name that flashed across it. Cronan Spires. Fecking hell.
Gingerly, I got out of bed then went out to my loft apartment balcony. I answered the call as I closed shut the sliding, glass door. “Spires,” I hissed, “this had better be fecking good. What’s happening?”
“Bird’s pregnant,” he said.
I paused. “Is that supposed to be code?”
“No,” he answered, “Lucy Lark is pregnant with our newly crowned King’s child.”
I took a deep breath. I didn’t know whether or not to be proud
