Chapter Thirty-Six
Pikquarrys
The final week of the Lunaplume Harvest Festival ends tonight, and I’ve spent most of it hiding away sharing joys and pleasures with my best friend’s daughter instead of reveling. Hours remain between now and the Lunaplume Ball, the final celebration. Afterward, I must return to the forge.
Thoughts of leaving Loreleivnna turn my stomach.
I consider staying longer, but I only prepped Cadmynthus for ten weeks at the forge on his own, and there are a few stops I must make on the return trip.
There’s no time to delay, and although she’s hinted that she wishes to accompany me, it would pain me to tear the princess away from her loving family.
If she chooses to stay in Svitaeryl, I’ll understand, but the distance will be vast and lonely until we meet again.
With the last of my travel bags packed, I retrieve the brocade doublet I commissioned last-minute from my wardrobe.
The moonsilk fabric is gold with raised purple amaranth thread that pairs well with the swatch of fabric Loreleivnna provided.
The colors are admittedly striking against my black and white pelt, where the tailor added a short surcoat that drapes partway down my barrel and flanks.
Rolling the sleeves up neatly on my forearms, I sling my best velvet cape over my shoulder before donning a crown decorated with aster, periwinkle, and mum flowers, with a tuskrabbit skull in the center.
The accessory brings the whole outfit together, and I’m blown away by Princess Loreleivnna’s creative brilliance.
I have no doubt she’ll curate a successful business that brings joy to people across the realm, should she pursue her idea of creating enchanted nature crowns.
Before I lose myself to another daydream of a future I cannot guarantee, I adjust my collar and exit my cabin into the bustling inner city.
The typically quiet streets are alive with giddy party-goers dressed in their finest. Satyruses, leshi’silvars, Dryadliors, and svitayl elves sashay through the courtyard, root-paint artwork decorating their skin in all the shades, showing off their prayers for the coming year.
Leaves crunch under foot and hoof, joining the chorus of laughter and excited whispers.
The crisp air wafts with cinnamon and roasted nuts the closer I get to the festivities.
It’s easy to get swept up in the jubilation.
The last ball I attended was Princess Loreleivnna’s debut, and I’d been too agitated imagining her falling to a weedling noble’s charms to enjoy a single moment.
There are plenty of worries sparking at the edges of my mind, but I refuse to let them stand in the way of a pleasant evening with my mate, especially if it’s the last night we’ll share for a while.
The entry courtyard is decorated with lavish seasonal trappings. I pause to admire the warm wash of colorful flora when wayward whisperbloom vine winds toward me, snaking around my shoulder.
“Greetings,” I say, bemused. The plants in King Vyrion’s gardens are much more spirited than those from Kings past.
The vine surges forward, then pauses like a fern-winged pup. I narrow my gaze, but obey its silent command. It curls and sways ahead of me, stopping every few moments to make sure I’m following.
It leads me away from the crowded cobblestone path to a discreet earthen one that winds deeper into the garden, yet still close enough to see the decorative entryway to the open-air ballroom. There, in the rosebushes, stands King Vyrion.
“Thanks a lot,” I grumble to the spiritvine, but it’s nowhere to be seen.
The King tenses. He leans close to a rosebush and mutters some foul-sounding words. I take it the plants didn’t relay their little scheme to him.
Still, he doesn’t turn, allowing me to take the coward’s way out. Tempting as it may be, I must face this head-on. King Vyrion is like a brother to me. If there’s any way to earn back his trust, I must try.
Taking a deep breath, I allow my hooves to fall heavily on the path, giving him time to prepare.
“Greetings, my king.” I bow at the waist, but keep it brief.
Unmoved by my show of fealty, his shoulders are set like petrified wood.
I tug at my cape, searching for words. Finding my brain empty, I scowl at the rich bronze gayfeathers that surround this pocket of fresh air.
They sway and swoon as though entertained by my discomfort.
Their antics remind me of the woman waiting for me in the ballroom, and thoughts of her bolster my courage.
“I never meant for it to turn out this way,” I say. “I swear on the Fallen Stars. The moment I noticed my eyes betraying our friendship, I fled! Hurting you, destroying your family, was the very last thing I wanted to do.”
King Vyrion’s spine straightens. He tilts his head just enough for me to see the anger flashing in his molten emerald eyes, shattering my heart like a frozen granite pebble dropped in a crucible.
“My family is not a twig, so easily snapped under the hoof of one lecherous creature.” He takes a step to the side, almost facing me. “Now you admit your cowardice! Fleeing from the fate wound for you in the roots of the petal-fucking Wise.”
My mouth opens to answer, but snaps shut, my brows drawing together. “Speak plainly, old friend.”
Finally, he faces me fully, crowding into my space. With both hands as high as he can reach, he shoves my chest. It’s not enough to unplant me, but I take a step back in deference.
“The mystery of why my closest friend suddenly stationed himself a journey away, indefinitely, is no mystery at all.” King Vyrion’s finger pokes toward my face. “You ran.”
Shame cinches around me like reins, yanking like it means to turn me away, but I bear the brunt of his anger with a sorrowful huff.
“You robbed me of so much time!” He extends his hands to the sides, exasperated.
For a moment, he simply holds my stare, and sadness lurks around the edges of his fury.
“If you’d listened to the cursed fate-roots and come to me like a creature of dignity instead of acting like a dizzy mule, perhaps we’d be past this by now, enjoying each other’s presence as a family. ”
His words take time to process while I dumbly shake my head. With a frustrated huff, my front hooves stomp in place. “My sincere apologies for my many poor choices, Your Majesty.”
“Snip that fucking manure in the fates-damned bud, you daft fool!” King Vyrion shouts. He slices his hand through the air, then sighs, turning back to the roses.
“King Vyrion,” I try again, softer. “Vyrion, my friend. I was more of a fool and coward than you know. It wasn’t until Princess Loreleivnna opened my eyes that I saw my departure for what it was.”
Vyrion sighs again, his shoulders slumping. He runs his hand over the rose petals, then through his long, unbound hair. “It’s not only on you. The spiritvines kept my daughter’s secrets. I suppose I don’t exude trustworthiness.”
“Nature is bound to the will of the fate-roots. Don’t blame yourself.” I snort. “At least, not as much as you blame me.”
King Vyrion glances at me askance, and my heart lifts at the glimmer of humor there. “Wilt not. You bear the majority of the blame. Wise Ones know you have room for it, you talking packmule.”
I place a hand over my heart and bow my head. “I’m relieved.”
The silence doesn’t feel as charged anymore.
After a few moments, Vyrion sighs, his gaze straying toward the ballroom.
“I vow to be open while navigating this new cycle between us. If you and my daughter truly mate…” King Vyrion pauses, his lip curling a little, and I wince knowing he’s thinking of Loreleivnna and me copulating in the way that would bind our lifespans together.
He shakes his head and continues. “There will be many centuries for me to grow used to you as my relation.”
“I hope to maintain my status as your friend, too,” I add softly. “When you’re ready.”
“Our friendship is woven with the strength of the fate-roots, Pikquarrys.” He sounds convinced, though he won’t meet my eye. “In time, things will grow exactly as they’re meant to.”
I nod, relief blooming like a moonflower inside my chest.
King Vyrion clears his throat. He turns, studies me for a moment, then extends his hand. Normally he might clap me on the arm or embrace me, but I accept the offering, pouring every ounce of my gratitude into the handshake.
We approach the ballroom in silence. The east courtyard plays host to loitering creatures who nurse drinks and cuddle up to partners. King Vyrion’s rigid demeanor eases the closer we get. By the time we walk through the gap in the mum bushes and set hoof in the party, he’s grinning.
“Dearest,” he calls to the queen, who lights up at the sound of his voice.
Queen Soreivsanna’s gaze darts between us, a knowing smirk behind her wise yellow eyes. No doubt she’s been speaking to the roots again.
My gaze doesn’t stay on the Queen for long.
Behind her, Princess Loreleivnna floats into view like a dream.
Pink moonsilk as gossamer as a newly hatched drakefly’s wings billows around her legs.
The sheer fabric dusts the ground behind her.
In the front, it climbs up above her knees in the front to reveal a short skirt of deep purple amaranth underneath, her legs painted with the prayer of fertility and passion.
Brilliant golden vines cinch her waist in a seductive arch over her hips.
The same vines connect the gossamer fabric to her neck, leaving her back bare but for her long, burgundy hair, sparsely braided with autumnal flowers to match the crown upon her head.
She turns to the side, and I glimpse the slit between her breasts and her collar, the golden vines twining and cupping her breasts in a way that makes me tug at my collar.
My heart threatens to wither in my chest. Why the fate-roots deemed me worthy of a creature as lovely as Loreleivnna, I’ll never understand, but I’ll never question their wisdom again as long as I draw breath.