Chapter 5
Iwasn’t entirely sure I was going for the apples. No one had asked me for our traditional spring apple pie yet, but it didn’t matter much. Baking was how I showed my love when words weren’t enough, and this year was no different.
Whether they ask or not, they’re going to eat the damn pie, stolen apples and all.
With a deep sigh, I ran a hand through my hair. It seemed the aggravating bundle of nerves that had settled in my gut was bleeding into all parts of me—my heart, my movements, even my thoughts.
“I’m just here for apples,” I whispered, rolling my shoulders and adjusting the basket in the crook of my arm.
The walk to the orchard was pleasant this spring, the sun warm and the air only slightly chilled, the breeze soft and birds’ chirping lively—the kind of day that offered promise and relief, but not even it could settle me, as much as I wished it would.
“Why am I so on edge today?”
The question was moot. In the very back of my mind, I knew it was, even as I fervently tried to convince myself otherwise, but the dress clinging to my form and matching bow tying half my hair back was answer enough. The soft blue fabric dipped low on my chest to reveal what little cleavage I had and hugged my curves while still allowing me to move, the color bringing out the blue in my eyes. At first glance, it may not look like much, but I wasn’t too humble to admit it complimented me.
Fidgeting with the sleeve, I released another sigh, hoping this one would release the tension from my chest. At this rate, between it and the corset cinching my waist, I was liable to faint before I plucked my first fruit from the stem.
My visits to the orchard had started over a decade ago. I stumbled upon on it by happenstance, and it stuck with me, pulling me back year after year. I found comfort in nature’s silence there, and I was hopeless to resist. Even Godrick encouraged my visits, claiming the apples were sweeter, the pies better; he did not, however, know they were stolen. In my defense, he never asked, and I never saw anyone to pay.
It was always empty.
Always.
Until it wasn’t.
Last time, I had seen a person, and not just any person: a Fae man, one I fully believed could be a god among men.
Was it not the same orchard I’d been to a dozen times? Was it different now? Had it lost its feeling of solitude? I knew other people frequented it. It was owned and maintained by someone—probably a few someones—but I had never seen anyone, so it had somehow felt like mine. It had become my special secret I could escape to, but now, I had seen someone else there.
It wasn’t my solitude. It was…ours?
He’d been alone too, albeit waiting for someone, but they never showed.
I winced, running a hand down my face. Was I really doing this? Was I really kind of…happy his love never showed, even after seeing the disappointment and hurt on his face as he stalked away in the rain?
I’m a horrible person.
None of that mattered though, me being happy or sad or empathetic, because he wouldn’t be here. I knew that. I had told myself that repeatedly, but it somehow wouldn’t get through my thick skull. Truly, what were the odds that we would both return on the same day, a full year later?
Nonexistent. The odds were nonexistent. Wearing my favorite dress to an orchard was idiotic. Having hope of seeing someone who so clearly belonged to another was foolish.
Having hope of seeing a man I saw once, a year ago, was foolish.
Why did I even care?
“I don’t,” I murmured. “But if a man like that comes here, I might as well wear my best dress. It seems an insult to nature herself to have me in anything less than my best with that perfect specimen in the vicinity.”
My feet paused when the end of the trail came into view. The small dirt path didn’t actually end, but as it dipped over the steep hill, it appeared that way. I could see the back half of the orchard from here, and even that stopped my heart.
What if he is there? I swallowed hard and lifted my chin. So what if he is? I was here first…I think.
I dropped my eyes, looking at my feet with a newfound confidence that didn’t quite register in my pounding heart. Move.
They didn’t.
“Move.”
They still didn’t. It wasn’t until a twig snapped behind me that my feet finally left the spot they were anchored to. I jumped and swiveled, my hand flying to my chest, only to find a deer watching me—a doe.
I stared back at her, her eyes brown and warm. She eyed me curiously, without fear or hesitation, her head lifting into the air, sniffing. She didn’t seem to be spooked at all; she even took a small step closer.
I leaned forward a fraction. “You scared me. I think it’s supposed to be the other way around.”
At my words, she bounded off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the thick foliage, taking some of my anxiety with her. Her presence, calm and steady, had bled into me, and I was grateful for it.
Smiling slightly, I turned toward the orchard and strolled along, over the hill and down the path. The small white gate was already unlatched and propped open, dozens of white daffodils blooming along the base of the picket fence. I quickly unlaced my boots and set them in front of a post before sighing. The cool, plush grass under my feet would never not be one of my favorite feelings.
With a mixture of hope and anticipation, I walked forward, keeping my eyes glued to the trees. I didn’t come here to look for him, and if he was here, I didn’t want to fall into his unintentionally-laid trap again, as the sight of him would undoubtedly ensnare me.
Apples, I reminded myself. Just apples.
Spying the perfect one, round and red, shining with a glint of sunshine, my smile deepened, and I strode toward it. It was a bit high for me, but I reached regardless, extending my arm and standing on my tip toes as much as I possibly could. My fingertips missed it by an inch or so. With a slight grunt of frustration, I tucked my hair behind my ears, took a deep breath, and reached again, this time for the branch holding the damned fruit.
My fingertips grazed the bark, but not enough.
Just when I was about to turn to find a stump or stool to stand on, another hand reached around me, and I froze, utterly still, not even daring to breathe.
His arm—undoubtedly a man’s—was lean and tanned, his corded muscle revealed by his white sleeve messily rolled up to his elbow. When my breath finally returned, my cheeks flushed with heat as I inhaled the intoxicating scent of ocean, leather, and…rain?
How does anything smell like rain?
The hand plucked the apple, and I turned, following it as he pulled his arm back, only to be met with a solid chest clothed in the white button-up. My gaze slowly slid up, noting the top few buttons undone, and finally landed on his face.
My lips parted in a gasp, and he didn’t miss the small movement. His eyes, as gray as the deepest storms, swirling with near-imminent rain, flitted to my mouth before lifting back to meet my gaze.
Him. My heart screamed—in excitement, in satisfaction, in fear, in hope.
The corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin, revealing adorably crooked white teeth. “I think this is yours.”
His voice… Oh dear Goddess, his voice. I couldn’t begin to imagine how many people had fallen to their knees just because he had asked them to do so.
He cocked a brow, tilting his head, and I finally realized he was holding the apple out to me. The flush in my cheeks burned.
“T-thanks,” I said, hiding my wince at the unsteadiness in my voice, which only deepened his smile, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. Lifting my hand hesitantly, I wrapped my hand around the apple, and our fingertips grazed.
Grazed wasn’t the right word.
Collided? Tilted the world on its axis? Sparked? Could skin spark at the contact of another?
Because I believed mine just did.
Neither of us moved. Nothing moved. Not even time.
Everything stilled as our fingers touched, hers dainty against mine, and there was a current, a tangible electrical charge, a warmth that spread from her into me, racing up my arm and into my heart, into my damned soul.
And there she remained, settled in my chest, consuming every bit of air in my lungs and replacing it with a fire that caught me viciously off guard, like her red and orange strands were actual flames. Perhaps they were. Perhaps she had magic. Perhaps…
Time resumed. My heart lurched, then raced. My breath left me in a whoosh. Everything moved too fast, especially my thoughts.
I stumbled back a step, jerking my hand away from hers.
Perhaps this human was my mate.
My mate?
I swallowed hard.
This woman, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, the one I’ve been obsessed with for years, is my mate?
My eyes flicked to hers, and they swallowed me whole, like I was falling through the sky—into the sky.
She was my mate.
There wasn’t an ounce of doubt, not as I held her gaze. I could feel it, could feel her, wanted her, needed her more than anything else. I had never needed anyone so badly.
But the desire was nearly matched by a fierce wave of fear.
I had wanted to speak with her for years, her face a steady image in my mind, piquing too much curiosity. I had simply wanted to meet her, to see if her voice was as sweet as she looked, but a mate? That was too much.
That made her dangerous.
Goddess be damned.
I clenched my jaw, averting my gaze against the overwhelming urge to hold her expectant one, because her eyes, as beautiful as they were, were a carefully laid snare, specially designed by fate to entrap me of all people.
A mate bond meant…
My head swam.
Leave.
Leave before the damage is done.
Walk away and never look back, never think of her again.
My mind screamed at my body, but no part of me moved. My heart ached, and it was far stronger than rationality. She was a human for Goddess’ sake; they died faster than anyone.
My gut twisted. I’d outlive her for multiple human lifetimes.
No, I could not—would not subject myself to that.
Why did I come here? Why was I even looking for her in the first place? This was foolish, so fucking foolish.
And then, like venom, a thought seeped into my mind: was it the mate bond calling me back here to her? For some reason, that didn’t settle well with me. I hadn’t wanted to fuck her into oblivion…at first, but now, doubt rolled through me.
Was that truly why I was here? Was it the mate bond holding me hostage?
I wasn’t entirely sure what I hoped to find with her, but it wasn’t lust—that much I knew. Maybe a friend, maybe more, if I was honest with myself.
But in every scenario I’d ever imagined with her, absolutely none of them ended with her being my damned mate.
I took another wide step back. I should take another and another. I should turn away from her and stop looking at her, stop drowning in her blue. I should leave her here. The deep-rooted fear clawing at my chest demanded it, a clear warning I would heed. She was already too carefully wound through my being for me to remain here; any additional second was dangerous.
Then why wasn’t I leaving? With love came loss. Not that that was what this was, but a mate bond signified one thing and one thing alone: children. It paired souls that would produce the strongest offspring, and that would be a love lost I wouldn’t survive.
After five hundred years in this realm without a mate, I had thought I was in the clear, but here she was, the embodiment of temptation.
Everyone dies,I reminded myself with a hard swallow, a millisecond from bolting, but then, she giggled—softly, but it was enough to give me pause.
She clutched the apple to her chest, her face lit with amusement. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you.”
“Spook?” I couldn’t stop the surprised chuckle that slipped past my lips. “You didn’t spook me. You…”
She tilted her head, studying my face as I studied hers. It dawned on me in that moment as I took in her relaxed expression, happy and unbothered, a hint of mischief in her eyes. She didn’t feel the bond, and I didn’t think I liked that, not one bit, even if I didn’t intend to act on it.
“I what?” She twirled a finger through her hair, and my eyes fell to the strand wrapped around her finger, momentarily jealous of the absentminded movement.
I wanted to touch her hair, to see if it burned my skin like the flames it resembled. Burning in her fire wouldn’t be so bad, I thought. Not if she burned with me.
No. I took several steps back, preparing to turn away once and for all, giving her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. It was?—”
The breeze blew then, at quite possibly the worst moment. It enveloped me in her sweet cinnamon vanilla scent, anchoring my feet to the ground, and I inhaled slowly, letting her fill every crevice of my body, which reacted immediately.
A wave of sparks spread under my skin, rushing to my hardening cock, a low moan rumbling in my chest.
I’d heard of the lust induced by the mate bond, but this? This was much more than I expected. This was not simple want. This was torturous, demanding need.
“Are you okay?” She laughed, snapping me from her trance.
I blinked rapidly, shaking my head. “I’m fine.” In complete shambles, but fine.
Her eyes flashed, and she nodded incredulously, strolling closer with an innocent smile, her hands clasped behind her back. I stiffened as she got closer and closer—too close for how volatile this bond made me feel.
“Are you sure?” She bit her lip, suppressing a giggle. “Because you seem like you might be…in pain, if I’m honest.”
A loud laugh escaped me, and she jumped in surprise, her smile widening. I was in pain, but her playfulness popped the bubble of lust I was in with a needle of humor. I wasn’t sure what I expected her to say, but it certainly wasn’t that; regardless, it was exactly what I needed. I released a breath of relief and raked a hand through my hair.
Lifting a brow, I leaned down until my face was a mere few inches from hers to whisper, “It’s not me you should be worried about, little human.”
Her face fell slightly, her spine straightening, but the flush in her cheeks deepened to a heated red—a sight I was decidedly fond of.
“Elora,” she said in a rush before clearing her throat and regaining her composure. Her easy smile returned. “My name is Elora. And for the record, I may be the human here, but I still think it is you we should worry about. I’m not the one who looks like I’m about to faint.”
I suppressed a groan. Of course, her name was Elora.
“Figures,” I said with a chuckle, stepping away from her, but my eyes dropped to her feet when she matched my step with one of her own. My lips twitched, fighting back a ridiculous grin; she was barefoot, the little nymph.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Elora means sun.” I strolled to a nearby tree to pick another apple for her. She took it without hesitation and dropped it in her wicker basket. Turning back to the tree, I plucked two more. “Sun ray, specifically.”
She didn’t answer at first, her silence mildly intriguing, but when I turned to hand her the fruit, she asked, “But why did you say figures?”
I stared for a moment, suddenly realizing she was still here with me. She could have left. Hell, she could have been terrified—a human woman alone with a Fae male. She…trusted me, for some odd reason, at least enough to not hurt her, and she wanted to talk to me. I couldn’t decide if that made her sweet or reckless.
And because of that, for a split second, my reasoning slipped. I stepped closer and tucked a finger under her chin to tilt her face to mine. She gasped at the contact as if I had shocked her—maybe I had, either catching her by surprise or my magic running rampant. I could feel it sparking under my skin; I wouldn’t be surprised if it escaped into hers.
Her red lips parted, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t even tense. No, it seemed she nearly melted as my eyes flitted back and forth between hers. Not good. Not good at all, but fuck, she made it so easy.
“I said figures, because your eyes are such a bright blue that if you told me you held the clear skies right there in your irises, I would believe you. It’s only fitting that your name would mean sun, to accompany the sky you carry.”
“The sky?” The words were barely a whisper on her breath. “In my eyes?”
“Do you need me to repeat that? Because I have no quarrel doing so.”
Her smile appeared then, so sudden and genuine that I couldn’t help but return it. She shook her head as she took a step back this time. “What is your name?”
I blinked once. Twice. She didn’t recognize me—not that she should have; she was human, but most did. This could be my chance to be someone other than the King of Ravaryn. I could just be…me without the pretenses or crown or reputation.
Hopeful excitement sparked in my chest. Could I allow myself today and then walk away, never to return? A small twinge of guilt dulled the excitement for what I knew I was about to do, but would my name really matter if she only knew me for a few hours?
This was anything but smart—foolish, idiotic, self-destructive, dooming, selfish—because I knew that once I said these words, I would stay, at least for the rest of the day.
After an abnormally long minute, I cleared my throat and looked back to the branches as I answered somewhat honestly, “Wryn. My name is Wryn.”
My childhood nickname was Wryn, so it wasn’t entirely a lie.
I plucked another apple and handed it to her without pulling my eyes from the tree. She took it, and I glanced down at the sound of her biting into it with a loud crunch. She sat at the base of the tree, nestled perfectly among the blooms, and reclined against the trunk with a contented sigh.
Damn. It. All.
After swallowing, she asked, “Pray tell, what does Wryn mean?”
I couldn’t stop the ironic chuckle that left my lips. Who allowed me to be king? I clearly didn’t have a wit about me. I should have known she’d ask that question next. “Funny enough, it means little ruler.”
A laugh burst from Elora, and I whipped around to face her, another apple in hand. Her gaze was already on me, as warm and full of mirth as the delicate sound bubbling from her lips. Her laugh was infectious, though, a sweet disease, and I found myself thoroughly infected and laughing along with her.
“And what do you rule, Wryn?”
So many things, my sweet sun ray. More things than I would like.I paused, tapping my finger on my chin as if I was actually mulling it over, before shrugging and throwing my hands out to the side. “This orchard, I suppose?”
She sat up straighter, her eyes widening. “You own the orchard? How—what?” Her smile slid from her face, and she slapped a hand over her mouth before giggling into it. “Oh, I’ve been stealing your apples for years.”
I gasped in mock outrage, placing a hand over my chest. “Years?”
She laughed harder and nodded. So very easy with her.
“Oh, dear Elora, I do believe you owe me, then.”
“What do I owe you?” she whispered.
Nothing. I should say nothing. She doesn’t owe me anything. I should have left when I had the chance, because this question opened a door I hadn’t seen at first.
I should have done a lot things, but I wanted more with her: more smiles, more laughs, more time, more…words.
“Write me.”
Am I a masochist? I must be.
She froze, clearly not expecting those words. “Write you?”
“You do know how to write, yes?” I cocked a brow, the corner of my mouth tipping up in a smirk.
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Of course, I know how to write.”
I took a seat beside her and leaned back on my hands, stretching my legs out, feigning nonchalance when I felt anything but. “Then it should be easy enough. Write me a letter for every apple you’ve taken.”
She shook her head slowly. “Why do you want me to write you?”
Confusion furrowed between my brows. “Why?”
“Yes, why? You don’t know me. Why would you?—”
“Because I want to know you.” My heart skipped a beat as the words left my mouth before I had a second to consider the truth in them.
But it was exactly that—the truth. I wanted to know who she was, down to her core, the very essence of her person. I wanted to know her soul, because fate had decided ours would be powerful together, and I wanted to know why.
She still hadn’t answered me, which only made my heart race painfully. She eyed me curiously, and I suddenly felt like I might explode if she didn’t reply soon.
When I couldn’t take it any longer, I gently asked, “Would you like to know me, Elora?”
For some unfathomable reason, I needed her answer. I needed to hear her say she wanted to know me too.
With a thoughtful smile, she finally replied, “Sure.”
With that, she slipped a hand into her basket, pulled out an apple, and tossed it to me. I lurched forward, catching it with one hand, and brought it to my mouth, but stopped mid-bite when she said, “You seem like you could use a friend.”
I chewed and swallowed slowly.
#1
Wryn,
Can I be completely honest? I’ve written this letter at least ten times, but none of them have felt…substantial. I’m just rambling.
What am I to say in these? I haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to write you, but since you want to “know” me, I’ve decided on this:
My favorite color is blue, if that wasn’t made apparent by my choice in clothing.
My favorite hobby is baking, specifically apple pie (I promise I’m not laughing while writing that).
My favorite season is spring.
There’s your start. I expect the same from you in your reply.
Sincerely,
Elora
PS. I’ve decided we should number the letters. I’ll be odd, and you even (although you should be odd, for obvious reasons).
PPS. That was teasing. You’re not that odd… Well, maybe just a tad, but aren’t we all?
#2
Elora,
Ramble if you wish. I‘ll read it all regardless.
As for your request…
My favorite color, oddly enough, is also blue. I prefer the ocean to land. Perhaps that’s why.
I haven’t really thought about which of my hobbies would be my favorite. I enjoy creating in general, but if I had to choose, I would say painting. There’s something so satisfying about changing a blank canvas to something colorful and meaningful.
My favorite season is autumn. The waning colors are so warm—much like your hair.
For your next letter, tell me of your dreams. Any kind of dreams: sleeping, life, goals, anything.
Like I said, I’ll read whatever you choose to send me. My days are dull, so excite me, Elora.
Sincerely,
Wryn
PS. I like the idea of numbering our letters. I’ll let you be odds, for obvious reasons.
PPS. Indeed.