by Meara Platt
He sat up as she scrambled off him, tossing aside the wet handkerchief she’d dropped on his head when she’d fallen. His gaze locked onto hers. Melody’s breath caught in her throat, for his eyes were a vibrant blue, as cold and deep as crystal lake waters, a stunning blue that contrasted with the magnificent raven-black of his hair falling in perfect waves below his shoulders.
He appeared only a few years older than her own twenty, but there was something in those blue depths that made him seem eternal. He had the look of a man who was used to being in command.
What did he think of her?
Not that it mattered.
He was looking at her with a slight sign of confusion. “You’re not The Julia.”
Who?
She glanced down and noticed that he still had a light hold on her wrist.
“I must know who you are and what you’re doing here,” he insisted.
“I’m The Melody. Kindly let me go. You’re hurting me,” she said, though his grip was surprisingly gentle.
“Forgive me.” He released her, but continued to gaze at her with a thoughtful but puzzled look. “The Melody? What’s that?”
“It’s my name and I rather like it. Who’s The Julia you mentioned? Someone special to you?”
He nodded. “I had hoped she would be my queen, that she would be The One. Without her, I cannot survive.”
“What a lovely way to describe your sweetheart.” That he should have one came as little surprise to Melody considering his good looks. Yet, she felt an inexplicable disappointment.
“What is the precise meaning of this word … sweetheart? I’ve heard others use it before,” he said in a perfectly refined English accent that proved he’d been speaking the language all his life. “Some men speak it softly to the woman they intend to marry, while others say it to any woman they think will lift their—”
She frowned. “I don’t appreciate your jest at my expense.”
“Jest? My mission is serious. I must find my queen.”
“Well, if her name is The Julia you won’t find her here.” Melody groaned inwardly. The man was still drunk and rambling about a local girl who must have caught his fancy.
“She must be here. She is The One. It is written in the Prophecy.”
Melody decided to humor him until he was on his feet and safely on his way. “Ah, I see. If you’re looking for your queen, then you must be a king. A pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty. King …”
“Cadeyrn,” he said with regal authority, rising to his feet and once more taking her hand to bring her up beside him. “I am King of the Woodlands Faeries. A pleasure to meet you, The Melody.”
“No, it’s just … Melody. Not The Melody. Simply Melody.”
“Melody,” he repeated in a husky rumble that sent a tingle through her body that she chose to ignore. He was drunk, and drunken sots could not be trusted.
“Well, I must be going now,” she said, tugging at her hand to free it from his grasp. Oh, he was a handsome sot to be sure. Although it was odd that his breath held no trace of spirits nor did his clothes reek of spilled ale. In truth, he smelled rather nice. Like honeysuckle. Perhaps he wasn’t drunk after all.
Perhaps he was merely a rogue, or a London rakehell rusticating in the Lake District.
A well-dressed rakehell, for he was clad in a shirt of finest lawn and buff-colored pants of purest wool tucked into black boots made of soft, expensive leather. However, it was the sapphire ring he wore on his left hand that marked him as a wealthy man. Not a king but perhaps a lord.
He didn’t appear to be violent, but one could never be sure. “My family’s expecting me to cook supper. I should have started it an hour ago. I’m late. Quite late. We’re a large family, lots of big, hungry men,” she lied, for there was no one but her mother and stepfather, Borrowdale’s new vicar. “They’re much bigger than you, though you’re awfully big.”
Melody was of average height, yet she barely reached to his chin. “And they like to fight, for any reason and no reason. They just like fighting. They’ll come looking for me if I don’t return home soon.”
“Then I’ll not delay you.” He nodded and released her hand.
She felt a stab of guilt when he graciously accepted the lie she’d just told. It wasn’t even a good lie. “Borrowdale is that way,” she said, pointing eastward. “Just follow the path through the woods and keep Friar’s Crag to your right, then turn left at the river, though it’s little more than a stream really. It’s a short walk from there into town.”
“I know. I’ve lived here a long time.”
“You have?”
He folded his arms across his chest and arched an eyebrow. “But you’re new to the area.”
She nodded, now realizing he was in complete control of his senses and must have been having a little sport at her expense. King, indeed! It wasn’t very nice of him to scare her that way. She supposed it was some sort of odd welcome ritual concocted by the local gentry. “My stepfather, Thomas Axwell, is the new vicar. Have you met him?”
“Not yet. I’ve been … away and just returned.”
“He and my mother have been here for several months now. I arrived only a week ago and haven’t had the chance to meet the local parishioners. Otherwise, I might have recognized you and seen through your little game. Will you be joining us at services this Sunday?”
“Perhaps.” He bent and scooped a handful of bluebells out of her garden. “You’d best be on your way. Here are your bluebells. You did come here to pick them, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
Had she told him? She didn’t recall mentioning it. “Farewell, Your Majesty. I hope you find your One.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Indeed, I must. The survival of my realm depends on it.”
She smiled, willing to go along with his silly game for as long as he meant to keep it going. “Indeed, a weighty problem. Let me know if I can be of any help.”
“I don’t see how you can be, unless you’re able to fight dragons.”
She pretended to mull the notion. “Fire-breathing or just your ordinary sort of dragon?”
“Both.”
“Well, of course I can. Can’t you?”
“Not nearly as well as I’d like,” he said, now eyeing her with admiration.
Her body warmed and began to tingle, the feeling quite pleasant, which was ridiculous since she didn’t know this gentleman and their conversation was just about the oddest she’d ever had with anyone. “It isn’t hard to do.”
“How is it that you battle them with ease? Will you teach me?”
“I don’t think so. Why don’t you ask your precious One?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I will when I find her. In the meanwhile, would you teach—”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t right now. I have other things to do.”
“What can be more important than training a king to defeat dragons?”
She tipped her head upward to meet his puzzled gaze. “Baking, for one. I’m making apple pie.”
*
Cadeyrn remained beside the bluebell garden’s hot spring, watching Melody as she walked away from him and disappeared into the vicarage. These humans were talkative creatures, to be sure. Melody in particular. He hadn’t understood most of what she’d said, especially that bit of nonsense about the hungry, fighting men in her family. These men didn’t exist, so why did she feel compelled to say they did? Perhaps to impress him. No matter, it wasn’t important.
Of importance was Melody’s ability to fight dragons, for most humans couldn’t. That she could had to be significant. Also significant was her ability to see him. She’d noticed him at once as he rested in the bluebell garden after spending a difficult night fighting Lord Brihann’s demons. He had meant to recover from battle, not make contact with Melody. Yet there she was, chattering away in that soft, lilting voice of hers as though she encountered faerie kings every day. “Curious,” he muttered with a shake of his head.
He’d learned his lesson and would take greater care with Melody.
Was she part Fae?
He dismissed the possibility, for there was a warmth to Melody’s dark green eyes and a vibrance to her brown hair that marked her as human. Her hair wasn’t a pure brown, but more of a chestnut color, an earthy, reddish brown that blazed under the sun’s glow. Fae hair was much finer, not as thick, and rarely curled at the ends as hers did.
“Your Majesty, what’s your decision?” the eldest of his counselors asked, reminding him that all twelve had come running to his rescue, swords drawn, the moment the girl who called herself Melody had touched him. He’d held them back with a silent command, for she was no demon and certainly no danger to him.
However, not all was as it should be. She’d seen him, but had not noticed the other Fae surrounding the two of them. What did that signify?
“I haven’t made up my mind yet, Fiergrin. I need more time.”
“We haven’t any time. Lord Brihann is on the march and his armies will be upon us by the rise of the next full moon. Until now, we’ve been fighting his advance guard, but they are mere scouts and spies. We’ll have no chance against his demon forces once they’re fully mustered, all Dragon Lords united under one banner, unless we find The One named in the Prophecy. Do you believe it is this girl, Melody? Is she your queen or not?”
Cadeyrn turned to face his Fae council. Comprising the wisest among his subjects, these elders had served him faithfully over the centuries and now depended on him to save their Woodlands realm. The Garden faeries, Lake faeries, even the English prince regent had sent emissaries to him, pleading for his help, for they all believed the survival of their realms rested in his hands. “You demand an answer I cannot yet give.”
“But the Prophecy—”
“Fiergrin! It is but a riddle written in stone thousands of years ago. A useless riddle that won’t save us. Only we can save ourselves … and only if we learn the way of the humans.”
“You dare refer to the sacred Stone of Draloch as useless!” Ygraine, eldest female on his council, stepped forward. By the nods of the others, Cadeyrn saw that she spoke for all of them. “The stone is the key to our salvation, the words written upon it our guiding light. Lord Brihann is desperate to stop us before we solve that useless riddle. He knows it will give us the power to destroy him.”
“And if we don’t destroy him,” Fiergrin added, his tone somber, “we’ll be forced to join him, forced to lose our fragile souls to the darkness as he did long ago.”
“I know. You needn’t remind me of the peril.”
“Well?” Ygraine stepped close and put a hand on his shoulder, surprising Cadeyrn. How long had it been since any of the Fae had touched each other in that purposeless, human way? Ygraine must have reached back thousands of years for that long ago memory. The girl called Melody had touched him as well, running her hands everywhere on his body … well, almost everywhere.
Cadeyrn turned to stare at the vicarage. “Give me one more moon rise. Then you’ll have your answer.”
END
Get Garden of Light Now!
Dear Readers,
I hope you enjoyed the Dark Gardens series Book 3, Garden of Dragons. This one is a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award winner in historical romance, and I’m profoundly grateful for the peer recognition. I’ve also given you a taste of Books 1 and 2, Garden of Shadows and Garden of Light and hope you’ll read all the stories in the Dark Gardens series. I look forward to your comments and reviews. Please be kind! These paranormal romances are a labor of love for me. It took years and years for the publishers to give this genre the attention and respect it deserves, and now I can’t wait for you to read the entire Dark Gardens series. So join me on a journey into the Lake District where bluebell gardens serve as portals into the realm of the Fae. An ancient Fae prophecy is about to unfold, a prophecy etched in the Stone of Draloch. The salvation of the faerie king, Cadeyrn, and his subjects is at risk and lies in the hands of a simple vicar’s daughter. But who is she? Will Cadeyrn find her in time? And how is the Duke of Draloch and his lost brother connected to the prophecy? Book 4, Garden of Destiny, resolves the fate of the Draloch brothers, two proud men who endured hardships and betrayals that scarred them for life. If you happen to be in the mood for romances with humor and heart, also look for my light-hearted Regency historical romances in the Farthingale series. The first is My Fair Lily, but there are five sisters in all, and a swarm of meddlesome, well-intentioned family members that I hope you’ll come to love.
Hugs always,
Meara
About the Author
Meara Platt is a USA Today bestselling author and an award winning, Amazon UK All-star. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her paranormal romance Dark Gardens series. Garden of Dragons, Book 3 in that series, is a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award winning story. If you’d like to learn more about the ancient Fae prophecy that is about to unfold in the Dark Gardens series, as well as Meara’s lighthearted, international bestselling Regency romances in the Farthingale Series, please visit Meara’s website at www.mearaplatt.com.
