Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
For the second time in as many weeks, Owain found himself trailing Orla through the forest on the palace grounds.
This time, her heavy blue cloak impeded his view of her glorious backside.
He debated making it warmer as they walked but decided that would be an abuse of his power.
Making it warmer in her rooms or in the garden was for her comfort.
Even making it rain over the grounds for the past few days had been to make her happy.
If he made the trail warm now it would only be for his lust.
It had been over a moon since he had come to the palace to complete his mission.
Gain allies at court, implement a coup, and kill King Mikki.
It was a simple plan, which was part of its brilliance.
His father, King Vernon, would seize Emmental for his own.
And Owain, as the king’s only living son, would be legitimized and become the rightful heir and prince of these lands.
Truthfully, he had never wanted to be a prince.
That was Gwayne’s birthright and then Aengus’s after Gwayne.
But what Owain did want was to feel like he belonged.
To be seen as worthy in the eyes of the nobles who had turned their noses up at him since he was a boy.
He spent so much of his life on the outside of things, looking at the true born nobles with such envy.
Being a bastard in a kingdom like Edam had been difficult; being the son of a woman who worked in a pleasure house had been even worse.
He could only think of the ways his father and the other nobles would have reacted if they had known the full truth of his mother’s background. He had always felt less than.
Lord Calix’s words of his failure to complete their tasks while at court had made him feel all of twelve years old again, hiding out in his room as those at his father’s estate cast aspersions on him and his mother.
He didn’t feel that way with Orla. Though their first meeting was fraught with contempt, he had come to see that the version of her from the rumors in Edam couldn’t be further from the truth.
She was funny and kind. There was a fierceness about her even though she was soft in so many unexpected ways, clearly much more nymph than Elven.
He appreciated how much she enjoyed the outdoors and the way she narrowed her beautiful dark eyes when she was getting ready to tease him.
For the first time since he came to Emmental, he didn’t think he could follow through with their plans to frame her for King Mikki’s death.
The thought hit him like a blow.
He couldn’t move forward. Couldn’t have her pay the price for the crimes of her kingdom. Framing this funny, sensitive, kind female for what was about to happen to her kingdom left him stricken. The thought of what would happen to her if he moved forward with his plans left him physically sick.
“Where’d you go?” She had turned to look at him.
“What do you mean?”
“You seemed far away for a moment.” He shook his head, clearing the distressing thoughts from his mind.
He would talk to Chrys and come up with a different plan.
They could still kill the king and have a successful coup without needing to include Orla.
And he could find another way to appease his father’s thirst for vengeance over Gwayne’s death.
“Just wondering, if you already have one of the little red-and-white mushrooms, why can’t you increase the quantity? Unless this is an elaborate ruse to get me alone in the woods,” he teased.
“Nymphs can use their magic to increase the quantity of plants they already have. But my magic is… I never really learned to master it,” she admitted.
“It’s not something I am proud of, but my father said he didn’t understand nymph magic, and my mother wasn’t there to teach me, so I never learned.
” She looked him in the eyes as if daring him to tease her for it.
“But at Fontina… Your magic is legendary. Strong enough to take out two full armies.” She blanched, eyes widening at the mention of Fontina, and he knew he had made a misstep.
“I don’t talk about what happened at Fontina.” She stalked forward, putting distance between the two of them as they entered the same clearing where he found the tiny mushroom. With a few long strides, he caught up with her easily, being nearly a foot taller than her.
“I’m sorry, Orla, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He reached out to touch her elbow, but she shrugged him off.
“You didn’t,” she replied in a clipped tone as she continued to walk ahead of him.
“Let me help you,” he called after her before he realized the words were leaving his mouth. This was definitely not a part of his supposed plan.
“How could you help? You don’t know a thing about nymph magic.” That wasn’t untrue, though he couldn’t tell her that he knew of many different kinds of magic.
“It’s not a matter of the kind of creature wielding the magic, but of the emotions behind the magic. Let me help you. A goddess as powerful as you shouldn’t fear using her magic.”
Narrowing her gaze on him, she replied, “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
They worked in companionable silence collecting all the mushrooms that had sprouted in the forest since Owain called forth his rainstorm.
Orla found more of the little red-and-white ones, as well as a few deep brown ones that looked like trees that she said were good for eating.
Orla was a wealth of knowledge about the little mushrooms, even going so far as to make sure Owain didn’t collect the smallest ones since they hadn’t spored yet.
As they worked, she shared her knowledge of the fungi.
She pointed out which ones were edible—noting a tan fan-like variety that she said were her favorites—which ones were medicinal, and she found him a large flat mushroom that she said he could draw on.
He was skeptical about that last one, but when she found one high up on a birch tree, he climbed up to grab it.
They found berries of the deepest black, that contrasted with the light green bush they grew upon, and Orla set to work collecting those as well.
She popped a few of the juicy berries into her mouth.
With rapt attention, Owain stared as blackberry juice ran down her lovely, pointed chin.
After reaching back into the bush, Orla let out a hiss of pain and withdrew her hand.
“Damn thorns,” she said as she examined her hand. One of her fingers had come away bloody.
“Let me,” he said as he took her finger and gently sucked the bloody digit into his mouth.
It took all his control not to moan at the sweet taste of her.
The taste of blackberries with the smallest tang of iron was intoxicating.
He pulled her hand away from his mouth and held on longer than he needed, admiring the way her rich dark skin contrasted with his own golden hue.
The cut on her finger had sealed itself.
“What was that?” she asked, lips parted and eyes wide. She glanced down at her hand. “You have healing abilities?”
“I do,” he replied.
“And they require you to put my finger in your mouth?”
“No, I just wanted to do that.” They stared at each other, eyes heating as he continued to hold her hand, stroking delicate circles in her palm with his thumb.
He watched as her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip.
What he wouldn’t give to feel her lips on him, to feel her soft curves up against him.
Without realizing it, he reached out with the hand not holding hers and ran his thumb along her full bottom lip.
She let out a soft moan that devastated him.
His trousers were suddenly far too tight.
“Tell me about Edam,” she said, swallowing as her gaze drifted to Owain’s mouth. Remembering himself, he straightened, dropping his hand from her lip.
“There isn’t much to tell,” he said as he drew one last lingering circle on her palm before dropping that hand as well. “It’s bitterly cold. As the northernmost kingdom on the continent, we don’t experience weather as you all do here. There is only winter and colder winter.”
“You don’t like it there?” she asked as they walked along the clearing towards the trail that would take them back to their horses.
“Hells no,” he said. How could he like a place like that?
Where everyone was so caught up in Elven notions of status and purity that he was treated so cruelly as a boy.
Where even now they whisper “bastard” at him behind his back.
He had never liked Edam. But it was his home.
He didn’t know another way besides the ways of Edam, no matter how much he loathed it.
“It isn’t like here in Emmental, not very diverse.
As the oldest kingdom, we broke off from the other kingdoms before the migration of creatures from Iridaceae.
The Elves that rule are traditional, so it was hard growing up there as a bastard.
” He rarely shared how much his childhood had affected him.
Only Chrys knew the depths of the pain he felt at how he was treated as a child, and even then, they never spoke of it.
“I know what you mean. Benin is a small village near Iridaceae. I was the only non-Elven person around for leagues. It was challenging.”
“I imagine these delicate, rounded ears didn’t engender you many friends,” he teased as he ran a finger along the top of her ear, causing her to shiver.
“Gods no, I used to hide them! One boy in school called them ugly when I was a girl, and I hated how much they made me feel different.”
“I’m glad you don’t hide them now,” he said as he gazed down at her.
How anyone could think one inch of her was ugly was beyond him.
He had never seen such an exquisite creature in his thirty-six years.
All nymphs were beautiful, but Orla defied the word.
She was all soft lush curves, but it would be foolish to mistake that softness for weakness.