Chapter 8 Kieran #2
“A vampire who is unsafe in direct sunlight enjoys doing something outside?”
I shrugged. “I garden at night.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
“It’s a hobby for me, something that…” Kept me from becoming too stodgy, though I wasn’t going to say that. “I remember all their names, their blooming cycles, and how to help them thrive best.”
Her expression softened. “You love this place.”
“I loved what it was.” I swept my gaze over the dark hedges. “Before duty replaced wonder.”
We reached the center of the gardens where the entrance to the hedge maze loomed, an archway of ivy and blackthorn, taller than two men.
“This,” I said, pausing, “was designed by my great-great-great-grandfather. He believed every ruler should be reminded of how easily they could lose their way.”
Cyrene tilted her head. “That sounds ominous.”
“Accurate.” I gestured her forward.
She smirked. “Lead the way, Your Majesty. I’m sure you know every turn.”
“I do. I spent my childhood racing through these paths until my governess shouted herself hoarse. I remember every twist. Every hidden alcove.”
The hedges whispered as we stepped inside, the air cooling instantly. Sunlight fractured above us through narrow seams of green. The maze smelled of earth and dew and old magic. Quandary fluttered overhead, his wings catching glints of light, purring like a cat who’d found a way to make mischief.
At my direction, we turned left, then right, then another left. The hedges closed behind us, shifting enough that the previous path vanished.
Cyrene glanced back, frowning. “Did the shrubs move?”
“They do that sometimes. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her tone dripped disbelief.
I kept going, pretending confidence that was quickly seeping away. Another right, down a narrow passage, then a fork. I chose the left and paused, peering back. The hedge behind us had sealed shut completely.
Cyrene tapped her foot on the grassy ground. “Nothing to worry about, huh?”
I frowned, retracing my mental map. This wasn’t right. “It’s simply recalibrating.”
“Is that the royal term for you being lost?”
I ignored her and took another turn. Then another. My certainty began to curdle.
“Kieran?”
“Yes?”
“You’re frowning.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re lost. Admit it.”
“I’m considering alternate routes.” I stopped, tilting my umbrella to cut the sun’s beams streaming in from my right.
She grinned. “You’re adorable when you’re defensive.”
“I’m not—”
“Adorable? You are, you know.”
Quandary shot upward, his wings flaring wide.
“He’ll find the exit,” she said, but before the drake could clear the top of the hedge, he struck an invisible barrier. Magic rippled through the air, and he tumbled down toward the ground.
I moved, catching the little beast midair. His tiny body quivered against my chest, his wings fluttering. “You’re safe.” I gently place him back on Cyrene’s shoulder.
Her gaze flicked up to mine. “Thank you for catching him.”
“I’m told reflexes are one of my many redeeming qualities.”
She bit back a smile. “That, and your modesty.”
I gestured for us to keep walking. “I think the center of the maze is this way.”
My patience thinned with the hedges pressing closer. I ran my hand along the trimmed shrubs, searching for a seam or door, but I found nothing. “My great-great-great-grandfather incorporated a labyrinth charm. The design must be messed up.”
“You’re saying we’re stuck?”
“For the moment.” I exhaled, trying to find humor in the situation. “Consider it a unique tour experience. Very exclusive.”
“Uh-huh.”
Quandary puffed a tiny flame, clearly unimpressed.
After we’d strode down two more passages that closed off behind us, she stopped, tilting her head. “What if I try something?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Define something.”
“My magic. Joy seeks connection. Maybe it can sense an exit.”
“Joy seeks—” I blinked. “That’s not a thing.”
“Maybe not for vampires,” she said sweetly. “Witches prefer solutions that don’t involve brooding.”
I wanted to argue, but I was brooding. I’d wanted to impress her and instead, I was disappointing her. “Fine. Do it.”
She closed her eyes and held up her hands. Golden light shimmered between her palms, soft as sunrise. It drifted upward in small, glowing orbs, floating through the air like the lanterns that had enchanted me from the moment I’d met her.
The hedges reflected their light, the thorns turning molten gold.
The orbs bobbed gently, brushing the tops of the hedges, nudging at the invisible barrier where Quandary had struck. Each impact rippled through the air like a sigh.
I watched, forgetting to breathe. The memory of another night hit me.
Six years ago at the midsummer festival, she’d conjured the same light to lead two lost children through the fairgrounds.
I’d stood back, transfixed by her laughter while the glow caught in her hair.
I’d thought her magic was beautiful then.
I hadn’t realized how dangerous it was because it made me feel.
One orb drifted closer. When I reached out, it brushed my fingers. Light flared, and suddenly, I was somewhere else.
The fairground. Music playing in the background. Her hand in mine. Laughter so loud it drowned out the world. Our first kiss, soft and hesitant and utterly right. The scent of baked apples and honey in the air. The rush of wanting something I couldn’t have.
The vision vanished, leaving me breathless.
Cyrene stared at me, wide-eyed. “Did you see the festival?”
“Yes.” My voice came out hoarse.
She swallowed hard. “That was—”
“A shared memory.”
Her magic remembered me. Intimately. Completely.
Before either of us could speak, another orb drifted to the right, colliding with a hedge. As it floated in another direction, an opening appeared where it had hit.
We stepped through and into a small garden I’d never seen before, one encased on all sides and even overhead with overgrown ivy and roses that had long since gone wild.
The vines let in enough light to see but not enough I had to use the umbrella.
Closing it, I lowered it to the ground and peered around.
A stone bench sat in the center of the garden, half-buried under moss. The air smelled of lilac and fall leaves, an odd but lovely combination.
I turned in a slow circle. “I’ve never been here before, and I thought I’d explored everything this maze had to offer.”
Cyrene ran a finger along a cluster of violet flowers sprouting from the cracks in the stone wall. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be found until now.”
I brushed away leaves and sat on the bench. “It must’ve been part of the original maze design. A secret heart.”
Quandary flew down to the ground from Cyrene’s shoulder and began chasing insects in the grass, chirping each time he caught one.
Cyrene settled beside me on the bench, and we talked for a while about everything and nothing. The weather. The holiday bread she made each year. My ineptitude at diplomacy. She teased me about counting castle rooms.
Finally, silence settled between us, and I knew I had to speak of what I couldn’t shove out of my mind.
I stared at the pattern of sunlight filtering through the leaves. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
She looked up at me, wary. “That tone never means good news.”
“Our marriage isn’t only ceremonial. We’re under scrutiny. My advisors expect proof that our bond is genuine.”
Her brows arched. “What kind of proof?”
“They haven’t been clear about that,” I said.
“That’s not fair.”
I sighed. “It’s not.”
“They don’t…expect me to get pregnant, do they?”
The thought of her carrying my child shot through me. I’d do anything to see that happen. “No. Not everyone is able to conceive.”
“I agree.”
“We have thirty days to convince them,” I said.
She blinked. “And if we don’t?”
“If we fail, the magical communities will remain divided. The treaty will fall apart.”
“You’re speaking of an annulment.” At my nod, her mouth tightened. “They’re testing us, then. Testing me.” Her eyes flashed. “It’s insulting.”
The air shifted. Her magic, so bright and contained before, burst outward, rippling through the overgrown grass. Flowers that had withered bloomed in riotous color. Roses of crimson and apricot, vines dripping with starlight blossoms. Moss receded, and the dull stone around us glowed with life.
I stared, amazed at the transformation.
She exhaled, her magic dimming as quickly as it had flared. “Sorry. It happens when I’m angry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve made this the most beautiful place in the castle.”
Pink colored her cheeks.
And for the first time in years, I smiled like a man, not a king. She was looking at me like I was something more than a crown and a curse, and fates help me, I wanted to be whatever she needed.
“It was already beautiful,” she said softly, her gaze locking on mine. “You just couldn’t see it.”
I realized she might not be talking about the garden at all.