by A. G. Howard
A flutter of nervous energy bounced through her stomach. So, it was she who had cured him!
Careful, you might never get rid of me this time. His flirtatious taunt circled around her thoughts.
I’m counting on it, she answered, lifting an eyebrow, though her upturned hand trembled slightly.
You do realize, I have orchards teeming with apples in the arboretum. Or perhaps you weren’t there long enough to notice.
Orchard apples have nothing on these. Effortlessly now, she reprised her role from their past. I made them special for you. She took another step, noting his height and how small she felt now that he wasn’t laid out on a dais. It was baffling—that he would seem larger than life, even as a man.
He clucked his tongue. I think you seek to tame me, just as you have my gatekeepers. He glanced at the stags grazing on the flowers she’d picked.
I don’t wish to tame you. I seek a partnership. Her fingers squeezed the apple, then reopened. To be your eyes in the darkness. To be your hands should you ever get trapped. To be your ears when you’re flying too high to listen.
A pained frown crimped his brow and she almost regretted saying it, but then he smiled, and she knew he understood: Although that door was closed to them now, they’d always have the past to share. And if anyone treasured memories as much as she, it was this prince who had lived two lives.
He rubbed his thumb across the whiskers at his jaw. I’ll gratefully accept the offer of your eyes, but I’ve other things in mind for your hands, and pretty words to speak into your ears. No more writing them in notes. He took another step. But first, you must be fierce enough to embrace me—body and soul.
Her palm stopped trembling and she stretched her arm as far as it would reach. I’ve already proven my fierceness is a match for yours, beastly brawn. She awaited the expected response, for him to demand she walk the final few steps.
Instead, he closed the gap between them and caught her wrist, turning her hand to toss the apples to the ground. That you have. Now I’ve something to prove to you.
In no more time than it took for her to blink, he spun them both in a circle, his free arm snug at her waist. His touch left her breathless. They waltzed together, there upon the rocky ground, flowing despite the rough terrain. Lyra’s surroundings hazed: the stags, the flashing lights—Vesper’s companions now descending toward them. She recognized Luce’s red hair and Selena’s silvery purplish braid—both smeared in the distance, like paintings left out in the rain.
Still twirling, Vesper pulled her close so his lips raked her ear. “I told you I could dance as well as any man,” he whispered. His warm breath rushed along her lobe, titillating every nerve in her body. His scent had changed—no longer singed with fire or grass, but a muskiness entirely masculine and human.
She threw her head back, soundlessly laughing. His laughter joined hers, and she reveled in the dizzy rush, giddy with relief, happiness, and desire, feeling almost as if she were flying with him at last. Their feet got caught in the lacewing cloak, and Vesper slowed their rotation to untangle them.
His features grew somber. Luce told me all that your aunt stole from you, Princess Lyra.
Lyra gasped. You know . . . who I am?
He nodded. Even before Luce told me, I knew you were more than you seemed. That you belonged beside me. And now I know you’re the princess of the prophecy. My princess.
Lyra pressed a hand to her throat, feeling the loss of her voice anew.
Vesper placed a hand atop hers. Voice or no voice, you were born as Lyra. That will never change. Your royal father’s and mother’s blood flows in your veins.
His assurance warmed the hollow chill where her working vocal cords should’ve been, and hearing him speak her true name to her mind was both a thrill and a comfort.
I know nothing about being royalty, Vesper. They took all those years of learning from me . . .
“I will help you.” His deep voice echoed in the cave, no longer isolated to her head. “And I’ll see that you have your revenge.” A spark ignited behind his eyes—the same fury that had driven Scorch to fiery rampages. “At the end of all of this, those who hurt you will answer to both of us, and will bow to you as their queen. And I promise you also, as you once promised me: I will never take anything from you that you’re not willing to give.”
Her eyes stung on the sentiment. Having had so much stolen away, they were the dearest words he could’ve said aloud. She touched him behind his right ear, a gesture that had once calmed the beast. And for that, I will give you all that I am.
He rested his hand on the nape of her neck, his thumb stroking her in that tender place where he used to nestle his horse’s snout. “Then I will be the most fortunate man alive.” He started to pull her close, but the lacewing cloak still puddled at their feet between them. He nudged the fabric aside, wearing a wistful expression. “I wanted to be there, when you took your first step into the sunlight.”
You were. She smiled. You were my first ray of light in the ravine, all those years ago.
He smiled, shaking his head. “You know, I was too arrogant to tell you then. So I’m telling you now . . . every time I saw you, each day when your face appeared through the trees, or framed by one of those ridiculous empty windowpanes . . . you lit up my whole world. It was I who needed you. That’s always been the case. Make no mistake. I loved the girl with my horse’s heart, and now I’m ready to love her with a man’s.”
The beautiful sentiment curled around Lyra’s body like a wisp of steam from a soothing cup of tea. It was all she’d ever wanted: words spoken in earnest, touches and kisses freely shared, helping one another without expecting anything in return.
She stroked that soft patch of skin between his eyebrows where his flesh had never yielded to the curse. I’ve always said friendship has many rewards. Love is the culmination of them all.
His gaze intensified, and he caught her wrist. With his free hand, he touched her fingertips, then outlined the scars she’d suffered on his behalf and others made in ways she might never recall. Before she knew his intention, he lowered his face to nuzzle her palm, such a different sensation than it had been in the past, his lips trailing the same path his finger had in gentle, warm pulses.
A tingle awoke along her own lips, hungry to kiss him again, with no sunlight or torment to mar the experience.
What do you remember, of the shrine? she asked.
He lifted his head to look into her eyes. This.
Holding her face, he pressed a kiss between her eyebrows. Then he moved to her eyelids and a contented sigh broke deep in his chest as her lashes tickled his chin. She balanced on her tiptoes, fingers woven in the hair at his nape, and led his mouth to hers.
Their lips delicately sealed. His breath tasted of honey and spiced mead. His right hand tilted her chin to fit his, his left descended to her lower back to draw her body against him, leaving no question as to his complete transformation to a man. He kissed her with gentle confidence—a reminder they still had so much to learn about one another, but that they were in this adventure together, as they had been since she could remember. Lyra fell deeper into him, into this intimate newness so fiery-sweet she ached with both the urge to gasp and to never come up for air again.
A hand gripped her shoulder from behind and forced her to catch a breath in surprise.
“Time’s up.” Luce tugged them apart, moving between them until all Lyra could see was the back of the sylph’s red jacket and his illusory wings. “You agreed to the terms.”
Flushed and breathless, Lyra turned Luce to face her. What terms? she signed, still tasting Vesper on her lips.
“He owes me. For all those days I made you practice with the sunlight in your fingertips. For all the flowers I made you grow despite his hoof-beating tantrums about eating into your playtime. I’m practically what saved him. So, to repay me, he’s to honor my place as your guardian for the first time in our acquaintance.”
Lyra peered around a
wing tip to catch Vesper’s gaze. He winked at her reassuringly, then gestured to Luce. “He became a spirit and whispered his demands all the way here.” Vesper rubbed his earlobe and cringed. “Nothing like dog slobber to sour a pleasant trot across the countryside.”
Luce suppressed a smug grin. “Better than what a certain donkey used to leave behind on his trots through the ravine. You’re just jealous that I wear the wings now.”
“Can’t refute that.” Vesper’s voice was teasing, but Lyra sensed a hint of longing beneath the surface.
In Lyra’s periphery, Selena and a silver-haired man—one she remembered from the ravine earlier—exchanged bewildered glances and tremulous smiles. How long had they known of their prince’s alternate identity? They looked to be as astonished as she’d first felt upon realizing a Pegasus’s hooves beat within his heart.
Vesper cleared his throat, and Selena and the man stepped forward.
“Lady Lyra of the House of Eyvindur,” Vesper announced in a formal tone, and it made her feel something she’d never felt: regal. “This is my sister, Princess Selena Astraeus, and my first knight, Cyprian Nocturn. They are here to help arrange your passage to the castle.”
Selena curtsied, and Cyprian bowed at the waist.
Luce raised his wing, cutting off Lyra’s visuals of everyone as he turned to her. “First, the ground rules. I agreed the prince could have one dance with you, and a kiss. Now it’s done, and until I hear marriage vows spoken and you are both crowned, you’ll always have a chaperone, either me or Lady Selena. And when I’m the one chaperoning, you’ll speak where I can hear—or see—the conversation. None of those rude silences where you disappear into your own little world together.” He slanted a glare at Vesper. “I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”
Lyra never thought Luce and Scorch would stand together like comrades. If only Crony were here to witness this momentous occasion. But she’d told Lyra she had something to do in Eldoria, so it would wait until they were reunited.
Lyra’s fingers formed eager questions. We’re going to Nerezeth’s castle now? Everyone knows I’m the princess? It’s over?
Vesper and Luce shared a similar reaction: fists clenched and backs stiffened.
“Both kingdoms think Lustacia is the real you,” Vesper finally answered, his thick eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “They heard her voice, watched the flowers come to life, and then I awoke—cured. Everyone is so preoccupied with magic, prophecies, and fairy tales, they embraced her wholeheartedly as the cause. No one saw you. Even I couldn’t remember all of it. Only your kiss, your touch, and your promise to fight for me.”
Then how did you know it was me kissing and not her? You never saw me.
His eyes widened, as if the question surprised him. “In the ravine, I was driven only by instinct. I learned your lips when they kissed my forelock. I learned your hands when you fed me apples; and I learned your secret voice as it gentled my rage. I’ll never need to see to know it’s you.”
Once again, he’d rendered Lyra off-balance with his words. Vesper returned her silent appraisal, focused solely on her lips—a profound fascination that traced their shape like a touch.
“Get to the plan, Prince,” Luce said testily.
A muscle in Vesper’s jaw twitched as he looked away. “Right. Both kingdoms have rallied behind your cousin, and both are so desperate for the sky’s unification they’ll force my marriage to Lustacia and imprison anyone who stands in the way. And since everyone thinks I’m haunted by delusions from my death sleep, none give credence to my claims. We’ve no proof of your identity.” He gestured to her hands. “I thought, if we could have you raise more flowers for everyone to witness . . .”
Lyra held up her fingers. The soft glow, along with the dull sting that accompanied it, was gone. Frowning, she retrieved a trampled clematis at her feet. Her touch couldn’t revive its withered petals. Another part of herself now lost . . .
She shook her head.
Vesper’s hopeful expression fell. “You used it all up saving me.” His eyes softened and he took her hand. “For which I’m eternally grateful.” His fingers squeezed hers. “But Luce says even your childhood portraits were altered. Our lack of any proof puts you in danger. Our best chance is to devise a dramatic arrival like the one Lustacia had. Since we no longer have the magical edge she commandeered, perhaps we can make people stop and wonder with a procession of unexpected creatures. You could ride with me on Lanthe. Dregs has gone to gather some goblins from the badlands. And we’ll take some stags for effect.” He tipped his chin to his sister. “Selena, that crag should provide cover for Lyra to assume the proper guise.” He gestured to the same overhanging rock Dregs had used earlier to escape the stags.
His sister picked up Lyra’s saddlebag along with one she’d carried on her mount, then took Lyra’s hand. Lyra aimed a questioning glance to Vesper.
“I’m not trying to change you,” he assured. “I merely want to lull the cynicism of our two kingdoms by making you what they expect on the outside. Then we’ll shock them awake upon revealing your insides, which are exceptional—a strength any kingdom would want in a queen. A strength I see each time I look at you.”
She smiled, for she shared the same respect for him.
Luce took up the explanation. “Some things are already in motion. If you appear looking like a royal, it will add to the confusion . . . convince everyone there are two princesses.”
Vesper nodded. “I’ve a suspicion how they attained your cousin’s moonlit skin and hair—so perfectly mirroring yours as they once were.” He looked at the stags resting peacefully, and that flaming fury burned behind his eyes again. “First, I have questions for Dyadia, and Dregs is seeking his cousin for a witness. But whatever we learn, that simpering fabrication is not worthy of your crown.” His brows furrowed as he rubbed his chin. “And I’m going to use that overblown prophecy to prove it. We’ll discuss details after you’re dressed.”
Once hidden behind the craggy rock, Selena offered Lyra some leathery smoked fish and grainy bread wrapped in cloth. “Vesper worried you would be hungry.”
Lyra shook her head, too nervous to eat.
Selena put the food away then helped Lyra out of her torn gown and scruffy boots. Lyra shivered in the chill. The Nerezethite’s eyes glinted amber in the dimness as she assessed Lyra’s goose-bumped, half-dressed form; each scar and stain lit up beneath her scrutiny. Lyra’s gaze fell to her bare feet.
Selena offered a cloth she’d wet with water from her flask and Lyra scrubbed herself, though couldn’t erase the stains from Crony’s enchanted sun solvent. She braved a glance at her companion’s flawless moonlit complexion, wishing she could explain why no amount of water would rinse her skin.
Selena placed the cloth on a rock beside them, then signed the words: I know the ancient language.
Surprised and relieved, Lyra signed back: Does everyone in your kingdom speak it?
Selena smiled. “Just those who belong in court. The council, the prime minister, and the military. Vesper insisted we learn, so when you became our queen, you could be understood and never have anyone question your authority.”
Lyra shook her head. Such a kind gesture.
“Yes, he has turned out to be a generous and wise sovereign. Our lord father would’ve been proud. But he still has a stubborn side that drives our lady mother to madness at times.”
Lyra grinned. I’m well acquainted with it.
Selena laughed. “I should say better than anyone, since you didn’t even have his gentler side to temper it.”
Lyra bit back a laugh of her own. She was liking Selena more by the minute. Lifting the wet cloth, Lyra demonstrated that she was as clean as she could get by scrubbing at the grayish smudges on her face and shrugging.
“I see.” Selena answered. “Well, on to dressing then.” She lifted a corset from her bag—an ice-blue confection with wire boning and satin ties.
Lyra arched her spine as Selena laced
the back and drew it tight until the sagging bustline at last conformed to Lyra’s modest curves. I’m sorry you haven’t a more pristine canvas—she paused signing to indicate her body from head to toe—upon which to depict a princess.
Selena stopped Lyra’s hands in midair by dragging velvety-peach sleeves up her arms. “I disagree. The best canvas has flaws and furrows . . . and tells a story of its own before the paint is even added.”
Lyra pondered the lovely wisdom of the words as a feminine floral-citrus scent wafted from the fabric.
Selena secured the gown’s bodice with a buttonhook. “My appraisal earlier wasn’t to disparage your scars. I was admiring them. Admiring you. My brother told me of all the times you saved him. Of how you never shirked from discomfort or danger. I’m not sure you realize, but you kept that part of him alive beyond his heartbeat and his breath. You challenged his spirit and nurtured his soul. You helped him view the world through your eyes, and he’s grown from it.” Crouching, Selena adjusted the skirt—the same velvety peach as the bodice—over its attached petticoat, then arranged the top layer of ice-blue lace to cascade down to the ankle-length hem, providing glimpses of the underskirt through the lacework. “It’s why he wants you to do this together . . . to get your kingdom back. It’s his way of thanking you, of living up to his end of your partnership.”
Lyra’s fingers were swift to correct the Nerezethite princess: He’s already lived up to his end. He saved me, too. Many times, in many ways.
Coaxing Lyra to lift her bare feet, Selena slipped silver satiny boots lined with white fur into place up to her knees, having tucked wool into the toes to make them fit. “Ah, but this is different. Kingdom politics and domestic squabbles, that is Vesper’s expertise. He was born and bred into it. Trust him.”
I do. Lyra’s answer rustled the layers of fabric draping her arms.
Smiling, Selena pulled out a handheld mirror and arranged it so Lyra could see the final result.
The rippling blue light from the tunnel revealed details she couldn’t see while Selena dressed her: blue crystal beads with a pearl center glittering all across the neckline and overskirt, the wrist-long sleeves overlaid with matching beaded lace and cinched at the elbows with peach ribbons. She had no words; it was the most dazzling ensemble she’d ever worn . . . at least that she could remember.
