Wildflower

Chapter Thirty-One

The banquet hall is alive with chatter and gentle orchestra music arranged according to Card’s precise plans.

Similar to the Grand Hall, the spacious square room is decorated with white ribbons and flowers under sparkling crystal chandeliers.

Circular tables dot the edges, their elegant tablecloths also meticulously chosen, and they overflow with a mountain of food that will surely please Pigeon.

As soon as Will and I enter, people swarm around us.

They pat my elbow, offer anecdotes, ask how I am, and it’s only when Will swerves us away from the crowds with the politest excuse he can muster that I find myself able to breathe.

In a secluded corner, beside a large vase of perfumed white roses (grown in the castle greenhouses, not my own), Will exhales too.

“Don’t think I’ve ever had so many people want to talk to me,” he says. “Is it too late to go back to being unpopular?”

I give a short laugh and worm my hand around his waist again. Why is it so perfect if not for me to touch?

“No, you’re not allowed. You’re mine,” I say, enjoying how it feels to play with my words.

Will raises his eyebrows at me, even more so when I glance at the glisten left on his lips.

“Felicity Farrow…” He brings a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. There’s a slice in his sleeve outlined in dried blood that I frown at.

“They ruined your favorite jacket.”

“I can take it off if you like,” Will suggests, delectably.

“You know, I would just hate that.”

Will’s mouth drops open. A beat passes where he simply gapes at me, at my words, before he tugs up that sarcastic smirk and leans closer.

“Hmm. I’m sure we can agree on some kind of compromise.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Lark says with a dash of reluctance. He stands a few steps away and greets us with his fist over his heart in a traditional guard salute.

Storms instantly summon to Will’s eyes.

“I thought you both should know,” Lark says. “Morgana is awake, and it seems she’s lost her ability to use magic. The physicians agree it’s a side effect of the spell being misused. She won’t be able to cause any more harm. That’s…That’s all.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Will says. He angles his head, and I adore watching the fall of a stray wavy lock over his forehead. “Guess that dark magic book had more secrets than it told.”

“Just like it didn’t mention sharing the price of a life,” I add.

Lark’s green eyes rest on me. We’ve said everything we need to say to each other. The bridge of us fell into a fast-flowing river and washed the pain away.

“Then…I’ll see you around, Fliss.”

I nod, and Lark takes his leave. He refuses a drink from a passing servant and heads toward Pigeon, who has a face full of food at one of the tables.

I don’t see the weight of arrogance in him anymore.

He’s a sober stoic shield of a guard, with the ghost of Howell by his side.

The thought reminds me of an idea I’d had.

“There’s something I want to do,” I say, and tug Will over to where Godfrey is sitting with Nettle and Ava, a wine-flushed glow on their faces.

“Back to knock us out again?” Nettle asks, an arm slung over the back of Ava’s chair.

“If that’s what you’re into,” Will says.

Ava downs her drink and shakes her head. “I think I’ve aged ten years tonight. I’ll be retiring from captaincy if you two decide to get up to any more mischief.”

“We’ve got no current plans.”

“Good. Because Prince Bastion tells me he’s ordered a full pardon for you. I’d better not see you scrapping in the streets from now on.”

“Depends how annoying he is.”

Nettle’s hackles rise.

“Gods, do you ever shut up?” she snaps, then throws a hand at me. “First Lark, now this idiot. You have absolutely terrible taste, Felicity.”

“Yeah, he’s the worst,” I casually let slip, and shine a smile at Will. There’s a sparkle of a moment between us again where he notices what I’m doing, what I’m saying, and before his flush can redden too deeply, he clears his throat and turns to Godfrey.

“How’s your leg, old man?”

“Old man?” Godfrey chuckles, laugh lines deep. “I’m doing just fine, boy, don’t you worry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Willoh. I heard the truth of it.”

“Still…”

“If possible,” I say, “I’d like to be in charge of Howell’s memorial flowers. It would mean a lot to take on that responsibility. I owe him my life.”

Godfrey and Ava smile, two captains of two ages, two people Howell entrusted Alrick to.

“That’s a lovely idea, Felicity,” Godfrey says, and creativity stirs in the back of my mind.

Flowers as grand as the man himself, colors and scents and expertly arranged bunches to represent Howell’s lifetime of service.

Just like with Simon, the lower square will be a flurry of petals once more.

I’ll see to it. We say our goodbyes and wander next to Mum and Ruth, who are sharing a plate of cake in the corner of the hall.

“Have you tried this yet?” Mum asks, tipping her head in greeting. “It’s delicious.”

“Blueberry,” Ruth adds.

“How did you know where to find us?” I ask.

“From the note Will sent this morning,” Ruth says, and readies another mouthful. “We knew Morgana would be here, so we came as fast as we could.”

“Not by horseback,” Mum says pointedly, letting me know she hasn’t forgotten our quick escape.

“We ran into a very kind guard by the castle stables on the way in. They assured us Jeremy is being safely looked after.”

“You can take him home,” Will says. “I don’t mind walking.”

Ruth holds her spoon out contemplatively. “Hmm, I think I’ll stay at Lilibeth’s tonight. I’ve done too much rushing about today. Gill will be wanting some dinner, though….”

Will lightly brushes my lower back, and it sets my chest alight. I don’t miss Ruth’s implication that she’s leaving the cottage empty for us. I could finally have Will to myself, away from all this attention.

Mum sighs into her spoonful of cake. “We should probably talk to Fern at some point too. Garland sent her to bed with a sleeping draft, but she looked a wreck. Maybe in the morning she’ll be up for visitors, but it could be months, years, before she fully recovers from the poison.”

“You’re right,” Ruth says. “Both she and Garland will be needing a lot of treatment. We chose isolation before. This time, we choose compassion.”

“Well, I mean, after I give her a talking-to about how she’s treated my daughter. She’s not getting off too lightly.”

“Have fun with that,” I say, and it feels weird to keep tossing out words so carelessly.

Mum waves her hand and turns her focus back on the cake. “Go enjoy yourself, darling.”

“Keep my workshop tidy,” Ruth deadpans, and Will groans.

“Okay, bye,” he shoots back, and steers me away by my shoulders.

The rhythmic sounds of the orchestra fade, and as they reset their bows and breath, I take in the room.

The king and Card are hugging in the center of the dance floor, apologies on the king’s mouth and a laugh on Card’s.

They appear to have just finished a few awkwardly stumbled dance steps together.

The king leans on a cane that’s been supplied by the court physician, but there’s a joyful, and rare, pink flush on his face.

Bastion gazes at them fondly from the high table, unaware that Merit is stealing a sip of his drink.

Nearby, Pigeon squishes napkins of extra food in her satchel and grins at Lark’s disapproval, Nettle drags Ava up for the next dance, and Mum’s laughter floats in time with the first flute notes of a new song.

I stamp the scene in my mind. My bouquet of loved ones, crowned in victorious laurels.

“How are you feeling?” Will asks.

“A little tired.”

“Too tired for a dance?”

I eye him curiously.

“A dance with Alrick’s most infamous villain?” I tease. “How could I refuse?”

A tendril of wind wraps around my waist and spins me into his arms.

“What scathing words you have, Felicity. A dance will certainly make up for it.”

Will guides us onto the dance floor, keeping us on the outskirts away from the other couples and groups.

I lean into his chest and close my eyes, grateful for a moment of peace.

The music is as gentle as he is, and we sway in silence, every slight brush of his fingers a shiver, every breath as warm as the notes in the air.

It’s a slow, stripped-down song that plays—a single flute backed by strings, poetic and ethereal, like the breeze itself is composing the music.

The melody builds like ambition, hypnotically layering over each harmony, and in Will’s arms, I feel full, like there’s no room for my heart to beat.

Like my greenhouse that’s been struggling for space.

I giggle and tilt my head up to look at Will.

“What is it?” he asks softly.

“So…when do I get this bigger greenhouse you promised?”

His surprised burst of laughter is enchanting. I don’t think either of us care if it draws people’s attention or not.

“Well, we do have a lot of space at the cottage,” he says. “You can grow whatever you want and stay whenever you like. I mean, only because Gill would mope if you didn’t. He got rather attached to you, I think.”

“Oh, I see,” I say. “So it’s purely for Gill’s benefit, then.”

Will rattles with laughter. I doubt I’ll ever get bored of hearing that sound. Of being the one to make it happen.

“I suppose there might be something in it for me too,” he says, and nudges our noses together.

I lift up on my toes and kiss him.

He almost died. He almost didn’t make it back to me. We almost didn’t have this, and I’ll never take it for granted. I’m uncursed and free and choose this. I choose him.

From now on, I won’t be able to speak and know the truth.

I won’t be able to calm arguments or solve misunderstandings as conveniently.

And that’s okay. Because no one else can either.

In return, it means no more averted eyes or hushed whispers in my wake.

I could actually make new friends. It means no more demands from the queen.

No more agonizing stress over who to tell what, and when to speak, and how to word it.

I’m not cursed anymore. I’m simply, wonderfully, me.

“Will.”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

His chuckle tickles my nose. “I told you. Anything for you, Princess.”

He needs to know I’m being serious.

My precious boy. My sunshine, my love.

“Will,” I say again, and fight the brimming tears. I’ve cried enough. “Look at me.”

He does. He holds my waist and we forget the world exists.

I know my next words.

“I love you.”

There’s a hitch in his chest.

“Fliss…”

“I love you.”

He’s speechless like he’s never been before. Willoh Vane without a sarcastic comment, swept away and stammering, eyes poring over me like I’m the moon herself, a sky away from the party and infinitely more resplendent. I hover my mouth closer.

“I love you,” I whisper once more.

I plant a quick kiss on his lips, then peck all over his cheeks, his forehead, his pierced ears, until he melts into a laughing, wriggling mess.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” Will says, and catches my hands.

“You told me to live. This is me doing that!”

He snorts a laugh, and I smile at the sight of him. Those damned waves, his flushed skin, his glinting hazel eyes, admiring me the exact same way.

“I love you too,” he says.

My need for him is a trembling allure, a desperate desire to burn up in his atmosphere. I rally the sarcastic tone I’ve heard in so many other voices. The one I’ve never been able to use before now.

“Gods, how terrible it would be if someone were to whisk me away from this party….”

Will’s eyebrow quirks. He leans toward my ear, and in a gravelly whisper that tugs at the bottom of my stomach, he gives me my orders.

“Keep talking.”

“A classic Fliss-and-Will move?”

“As you wish, Princess.”

He catches me the moment I jump into his arms. His hands take hold of my thighs under the layers of tulle, and I press myself against him, draped in layers of flowery fabric.

It’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

With delicate fingers, I caress the pounding pulse of his throat, his breath a heavy quaver.

Gods, I want him, unrestrained and relentless.

“This princess is wearing a dress with an incredibly simple corset,” I lie. “I’m sure I’ll need absolutely no help getting out of it.”

“Yes, it was becoming quite the distraction.”

“Perhaps I could use some assistance.”

He summons a breeze around us, ready to aid our escape as he has so many times before.

“Oh, darling,” Will breathes. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

I want to kiss him, so I do. I want those hands I’ve thought so much about all over me.

So I place them there. I want flowers in my hair and him against my lips.

I want the cottage garden and the aroma of wildflowers and the sound of birdsong.

I want Gill in my lap and cozy afternoons with tea and cake and clear skies.

I want the peace of that life with the people I love.

I want to make the most beautiful bouquets and find the rarest flora. I want my flowers to continue to make a difference. I want my flowers to change lives, as they changed mine.

I want to choose myself. Be myself. Find out who I am without my curse. And I will. I promise. That’s the truth.