Silver and Solstice

By TJ Nichols

Calvin is good at two things: stealing and being the worst boyfriend ever.
He can't help his sticky fingers, even though Rafe has pleaded with him to stop. When a job goes horribly wrong, Calvin's fate is in the hands of his silversmith boyfriend.

Rafe has done everything he can to put distance between himself and the restrictions of being a princeling. He has a craft, a shop, a shifter boyfriend, and lives a completely disreputable life. But to save Calvin from spending Solstice in a cage, Rafe will have to step up and face his father, head of the city guard.

Rafe's father has had enough of Calvin flouting the law. Shifters are supposed to be collared in the city. Calvin finally knows what to make for Rafe for solstice, though it breaks the promise they made to each other….

• Language: English
• Publisher: TJ Nichols
• Release date: Oct 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215776445

Book preview

Chapter 1

Calvin browsed the market stalls. At the far end, Rafe would be selling his wares, all shiny and silver—it was the silver that had first attracted him to the smith. But Rafe’s elvish eyes had been faster than Calvin’s hand, and he’d found himself making lame explanations and then repaying the debt in some rather fun ways.

Nearly a year later and they were still together, much to the horror of Rafe’s royal parents. Calvin’s parents didn’t really care one way or the other as long as he was out of their hair. He had five younger siblings and his parents had bigger problems than how he made his coin.

The market was a crush of people buying last-minute gifts for tonight and food for tomorrow. It was the perfect place to take a little extra. He never did any big jobs in his adopted city, but the occasional bit of pilfering was fine.

The merchants always overcharged him because of his tufted ears. Plenty saw him as little better than a talking animal. As an uncollared crested cat, by city law, he could only shapeshift within the designated areas—all of them in public. He refused to go to the pens to be stared at, so he was hardly ever a crested cat. At home he sometimes prowled the house and ran up and down the stairs, playing with Rafe, just to remember what it felt like to be on four feet.

He smiled and nodded at a pair of crested cats who made their way through the market. If not for their pointed ears with the tufts of hair at the ends, they could’ve passed for human at first glance. But the second glance revealed teeth that were a little too pointed, eyes that were too wide, and freckles across their cheeks where whiskers would grow when they shifted. One looked at him, gaze dropping to his neck, then hissed and turned away. Their gold necklaces glinted in the morning sun. They were collared. He shouldn’t have wasted his time.

The snub chafed, even though he should be used to it. He was uncollared and living, while not illegally, certainly not legally. Cats like them saw being collared as a status symbol; they had someone. Those who didn’t often picked up the sword, as soldiering was one of the few professions that accepted cats and gave them full rights without belonging to one person. Soldiers didn’t wear gold around their necks. Their collars were leather thongs with iron tags.

He snuck a piece of fruit from one seller too busy haggling with three other customers and ate as he eeled his way through the press of people. His life would be easier if he were collared. Collared cats had protections and privileges. But he didn’t want to surrender his freedom to someone else. Not even Rafe. And Rafe agreed. So they lived in a dangerous gray area where if Calvin was caught shifting at home, there’d be trouble. And without an elf or human laying claim to him, few would believe his word.

Rafe’s stall would be doing well. At least Calvin wasn’t the only one who’d left it until the day before solstice to buy gifts. He had an excuse, though; elves were hard to buy for, and princelings even harder, and Calvin was getting rather short on coin because he’d been trying to behave himself.

No big jobs meant no coin. He didn’t have a trade, had no desire to pick up a sword, and knew even if he moved back home there wasn’t enough work for him in the family mill. It had been luck that he’d landed on his feet and ended up in Rafe’s workshop and bed.

A stall of brightly colored scarves caught his eye, and he wandered closer for a better look. The blue one drifting lazily on the breeze would look amazing on Rafe. Much prettier than the old one he used to wrap his hair up when he was working—he’d cut his hair short in a fit of pique after another argument with his father. Royals didn’t cut their hair. Calvin missed the long silvery strands and batting the end