Chapter Thirty-Seven
Loreleivnna
Iyllo catches my eye from a chaise on the edge of the ballroom and winks. I scoff and raise my horn in a toast. The Lunaplume Ball officially began roughly twenty heart-ticks ago, and he’s already found himself sandwiched between two lavender-haired councilmen.
A hush ripples through the crowd. Creatures dip into bows and curtsies.
I assume Father has arrived and take another sip of lunar cider as I survey the extravagant ballroom.
Decorative bundles of copper amaranth and twinkling feybells hang from vines that lattice the open-air ceiling.
Mums, echinaceas, and asters of rich autumnal hues sweep through the room, creating pockets for socialization.
The ground, made of packed dirt, features walkways of hexagonal skyrite crystals that fracture the moonlight and cast the warm hues of the flora throughout.
My gaze drifts back toward my friend, who’s staring at me like a tuskrabbit caught in a trap. I squint at him, trying to decipher whether his sharp brows are a signal for help or if he’s just overheard an interesting crumb of gossip.
It’s no use. I gather my skirt and start across the room when Iyllo jams a finger toward the entrance. I turn. Father has indeed joined the celebration, but he’s not alone. Pikr stands beside him. And they don’t look like they’re going to break out in a fist fight.
Emptying my horn, I set it on a passing tray and hurry to meet the two most important males in my life.
“Hi,” I say shyly.
“Greetings,” the men reply in unison, then clear their throats, not looking at one another.
Eyes wide, I look to Mother, who smiles along with me.
“Grow now, lads,” Mother teases. “Take your ladies to the dance floor.”
“Yes, Dearest.” Father extends his arm, and Mother takes it, smiling at me as they pass.
“Hi,” I say again.
“Greetings, Blossom.” Pikr rakes his gaze over me, bolder without my parents hovering. I shift my weight from one foot to another, waiting for his assessment. When he meets my gaze, I swear I could bottle the emotion from his irises and make a love potion, which I’d sip from every lonely day.
“You look lovely.” He smooths a hand over the umber monarch lion fur on his shoulder cape, then gestures broadly at the spectacle surrounding us. “Too lovely. How long must we endure this?”
I giggle, my body growing warm at the insinuation. The way his cock feels inside me is a thought always lingering in the back of my mind.
“You look quite dashing as well.” I press my hands to his chest and lean in, inhaling his vanilla and woodsy scent. “How about two songs?”
“Sounds reasonable.”
Taking his hand, I lead Pikr to the dance floor.
Willowwisp harps strung with moonsilk pair with hollowed boneflutes to set a blissful mood.
Each deep, rumbling pluck of the cedardusk violone reverberates like a heartbeat.
The crystalline sounds expand like a mum blooming from my chest, floating outward until the notes melt softly into the crisp night air.
I almost pinch myself to be sure I’m truly awake, living the life I thought was unattainable.
But then I see Pikr, and the way he watches me like there’s no one else in the room, and I know it’s all real.
His gaze is full of longing, as though he’s a honeybee and I’m the last stalk of goldenrod before frost.
The ethereal instruments wane, taking on a slower, more intimate pace. Pikr tenderly cups my cheek, his other hand finding my bare lower back.
“You are the greatest gift the fate-roots have ever blessed me with.” He curls downward until our foreheads touch. “I’ll never run from you again, Loreleivnna.”
My heart soars, tears swelling in my eyes. Hearing the syllables of my name so loud and clear, it’s hard to believe I ever enjoyed the way they sounded like a secret on his tongue.
I sniff my tears away and take advantage of the moment. “You may run away, so long as I can run alongside. I’ve always dreamed of traveling through Eldrunna.”
Pikr pulls back. My heart pounds as he searches my face. When he says nothing, panic creeps up my throat and vomits out as rambling words.
“When the brightbloom deer appeared that day, I’d been fantasizing about the realms. It’s silly, but this whole time I thought it was illuminating that my path leads out of Svitaeryl.
” I lower my gaze. “Now I see it was probably a strand of fate-roots leading me in your direction, but still, I’ve studied the plants of other regions and I know I could learn to be helpful, and there’s the crowns I make—frivolous, I know, but they could pay my way so I’m not a burden until I become useful with enchantments—”
“Loreleivnna.” Pikr gently rubs his thumb across my jaw, tilting my chin up. “You don’t need to be of use to be by my side. It’s where you belong.”
It takes my brain a moment to catch up, but when it does, I dig my fingers into his muscular biceps. “You mean it?”
“Mhm. However,” he plants a kiss on my forehead, then looks down at my feet. “You will occasionally need to wear shoes.”
“Fine.” Disgust curls my lip. “Deal. Though you’re getting the better end of it. I’m young and fertile, mating to me will lengthen your life. My feet are not so fragile.”
Laughing, Pikr gathers me in his arms and pets my hair.
We sway to the rhythm of the song, a quiet and powerful emotion reverberating between our bodies where they press against each other.
The ballroom is loud and packed with creatures, but we are alone, and I revel in how right it feels to share this moment with the centaur of my dreams.