Chapter Twenty-Three
Pikquarrys
The midday sun plays chase behind patchy gray clouds. Errant rays pierce my retinas, reminding me that I yet live.
I take the less trodden path around town square, where the revelry of the third week of the Lunaplume Harvest Festival is well underway.
I’m ashamed to admit the level of anxiety that’s coated my existence like a layer of turpentine since waking.
My fists clench at every shout or loud noise.
I’d feel better if my betrothed was safely within sight, but my heart thrums with excitement knowing she awaits me.
I thought my nerves would settle after stripping the silver-tongued cloud-striker of his enchantments, but I’m still a wreck.
I fear I won’t reach normalcy until the weeds that infiltrated Svitaeryl are eradicated.
Despite King Vyrion and I advocating for their immediate removal, the Isles of Aethereusum visitors were granted leniency for the envoy’s conduct during the joust on account of cultural differences.
The fact that the princess was put under a spell doesn’t bother the council; while disqualifying in the challenge, enchantments are not forbidden during the courting games of nobles.
The sounds of the bustling square fade away. I speed into a gallop down the hill, continuing until Voyeur’s Perch comes into view. My gut roils at the memory of finding Princess Loreleivnna there with a stranger.
In the heat of the moment, I hadn’t stopped to consider why she’d picked this spot to run away, but while I recovered, the princess was extra chatty while she kept me company.
It was a poorly veiled tactic to keep me from abandoning my hoofrest earlier than the healers suggested, but I used her concern to my advantage, prying information from her sumptuous lips and drinking it down like sweetened cider.
She confided that the grove comforts her.
Then, with a succulent splash of matte green on her cheeks, she admitted to enjoying the view from the perch many nights.
This pleased me to know, and I forged our conversation down a darker path until her blush was so deep her rich purple blood heated her skin with a deep midnight violet, which is how I know my gift has proven useful.
The scent of untamed moondrop and crisp hyacinth teases me on the next breeze, and I turn to bask in her presence.
Princess Loreleivnna is nestled in the valley between Voyeur’s Perch and town.
Sparsely braided burgundy hair gently sways down her back.
She wears a long, pink moonsilk dress with a laced bustier of moss-green velvet and sheer sleeves.
The iridescent fabric fractals in the sun, casting luminous patterns over her green skin like chartreuse envy hellebore petals frozen in the pastel rains of Aeros.
Wise Ones bury me, she’s beautiful. My whole body goes stiff as I attempt to capture the memory in my mind without alerting her. She’s mine for the moment, but Vyrion’s instructions were clear. I’m to give her back her freedom as soon as the manure-sodden Oranther leaves.
A piece of me dares to dream. In my fantasy, she chooses me, really chooses me, and we become genuine mates. For a split second when King Vyrion agreed to the joust, it’d seemed like he was amenable to the idea of his daughter marrying me. Perhaps he could be swayed, if it were her choice.
More likely, he will denounce me, strip me of all titles, and use me as fertilizer for the Spiritgrove.
“There you are!” Princess Loreleivnna turns, standing to greet me.
She shields herself from the sun with one hand, the other detaching a stray hair from her lip. Her smile is as radiant as the sunset over Ashfall Valley, and all thoughts of letting her go harden into a shard of volcanic glass that slices my soul with a thousand tiny cuts.
I’ll show her how it feels to be courted by someone who sees her beauty, inside and out. Then I’ll lay the choice at her feet, King Vyrion be damned.
“Greetings, Your Highness.” I drop to my left knee, my right hoof extended. My joints strain, still recovering, but I don’t rise until I hear Princess Loreleivnna’s sweet giggle.
“What a gentle creature,” she praises. “Where have you stashed my barbaric centaur?”
“He’ll come out and play at nightfall,” I share her mischievous grin and wink. “That is, if you’ve been good.”
Her eyes glimmer, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip. She nods.
“Good girls touch themselves every night.” I catch her chin when she tries to be bashful. “Have you been good, Princess?”
“Yes,” she says firmly.
“How big has it grown?”
Princess Loreleivnna holds her hands about seven inches apart, then makes a circle with her right hand, her thumb and middle finger a quarter inch apart. Heat pools in my undercarriage.
“A rosy start.” I take her hand and start toward the blanket she laid out for us, placed out of sight of meddlesome spiritvines. “I brought spiced cider.”
“Oh, yum!”
I quirk a brow. “Unless the petal prefers brandy.”
Princess Loreleivnna scrunches her nose, and I laugh.
We settle on the blanket in the same position we spent the days of my recovery, with the princess tucked against my barrel.
Children’s laughter rolls over the hill and into the valley as she tells me about the apple crumble muffins she stole from the palace kitchen, then recounts memories of other times she’s been caught stealing treats.
As she talks, the crisp clove aroma of the cider dances with her wild honey scent, crafting a seasonal blend that drives my senses wild.
The moonsilk of her dress tickles, and though it’s not unpleasant, I imagine us lounging like this in the stable-suite at my forge in Ashfall Alley, nude, her laughter the only thing taking space between our comfortable silences.
The sun is a flicker of candlelight on the horizon when Princess Loreleivnna reaches into the basket, producing a pumpkin pie.
“Dhek claims he baked this one just for us, for all the work we did,” she says. She hands me a spoon and, catching sight of my grimace, laughs. “You’re not still jealous?”
“Of course not.”
“Don’t lie. Do you even remember what book you were reading that day?”
I pluck the spoon from her hand and stab it into the pie. I shove my right hand up the back of her neck to grip the hair at her scalp, my left hand cupping her jaw. She yelps in surprise.
“Of course I was jealous,” I whisper. “My sweet princess was rubbing herself all over another creature.”
I caress her skin, traveling down her neck, her chest, lightly fondling her breast. She whimpers, and I lean down to breathe in the sound.
“I was jealous because you wanted me to be,” I say. Returning to her jaw, I tug on her lower lip with my thumb. “Little witch.”
“Pikr.”
My name looks so good on her lips, I want to taste it.
“The sun sleeps now.” I watch her squirm as I pull away. “Shall we move to the top of the hill?”
Princess Loreleivnna’s breath hitches. My eyes drop to her chest, where her heart beats erratically, then to her thighs, which are clenched tight.
“Naughty thing. You will make a good centaur wife.” The scent of her desire intensifies. I stand, scoop her into my arms along with the blanket, and make for Voyeur’s Perch before my cock can slide free.