Vernal

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  I extend my hand to her, which she takes with a grunt.

  “Every muscle in me aches, and my thighs officially feel like someone has lit them on fire,” she pouts.

  “It will get easier.” I look at her as she limps to me. “Your blocking techniques have already improved tenfold.”

  Her smile is forced, as she twists her hair around her hand and then throws it into a loose bun. I stare at her neck and notice when she winces in discomfort.

  “You okay?” I ask, stepping closer.

  She nods. “Yeah. Just sore.”

  My fingers lift of their own accord to massage the muscle in the back of her neck. The touch elicits a shiver from her.

  “How’d you get that scar on your lip?” she asks quietly.

  “I was running through the woods at your uncle Asher’s coronation, and a tree branch caught me,” I answer.

  “Why were you running?”

  I hate what I’m about to admit. “I was worried about Abby when Asher’s father and his minions attacked.”

  “You were upset about my mom?” she confirms.

  “She was pregnant with you. I was concerned for your safety. I was two, Serena. I didn’t understand. Yours was the first aura I read. And it was in utero. My mother’s guards found me before I could go back,” I point out.

  Serena falls quiet for a long time, before her fingertips rise to graze the scar. “Scars are badges of honor. It shows how brave and strong a protector is. If you’re ashamed—”

  “I’m not,” I snap. It’s simply a reminder of how long we’ve been connected. “We should get cleaned up and head to the castle. We’re expected for dinner this evening.”

  “Okay,” she responds in a quiet murmur.

  I take her hand. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

  “I understand,” she squeezes my hand.

  No, she really doesn’t.

  “I’ll teleport us. It will be faster.”

  “Thank goodness,” she smiles, and we’re gone.

  After a long soak in the Jacuzzi tub and a nap, we’ve freshened up and are making our way to my mother’s castle, which is located on the other side of the realm.

  Serena wanted to walk so she could see more of the kingdom. As we approach the Victorian log-cabin fortress, an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. To be honest, it’s been with me all day. Like we’re being watched.

  I take one last look around the wooded area before opening the double doors of the palace and placing my hand on Serena’s lower back. The action is meant to both guide her and help ground my erratic emotions. But the minute my hand touches her I’m reminded of the way her body feels against mine. The way her mouth tastes.

  “Shit,” I bark out, just as my mother rounds the corner.

  Her eyes widen as she looks back at Rionach, who is following closely behind her. His normally easygoing demeanor falls flat at the sound of my foul mouth.

  “Prince Tristan, watch your language in the queen’s presence,” he barks, like the good general he is.

  “Apologies,” I offer, half sincere.

  A polite smile crosses mom’s lips. “I’ll overlook it once this evening, Tristan. Let this be the only warning.”

  “Of course, mother,” I dip my head respectfully.

  She smiles at Serena and holds her hands out for her guest to take. I watch Serena slide her hands into my mother’s, and an indescribable feeling spreads in my chest at the sight of the two of them. I push it away, instead focusing on the regal grace with which my mother guides Serena to the tall man standing to her left—his designated position.

  For whatever reason, my stepfather looks older than when I last I saw him. The realm’s troubles with the water fairies must be wearing on him.

  His golden hair has turned more gray than yellow, and his deep forehead is creased with new lines. His wide nose and large chin make him seem intimidating this evening.

  As usual, he’s wearing his general’s uniform. It’s green and gold—regal. A long, sleeveless, leather vest sits over it, presenting a less militia feel, as do his fingerless gloves.

  A true legionnaire, he always wears his sword on his waist, like an old friend. Rionach’s look is a combination of ancient Greek warrior and Irish guerilla. It made for an interesting combination, growing up under his protection.

  “Serena, I’d like to introduce you to my husband, Rionach. Rionach, may I present Princess Serena of the London clan of gargoyles,” her tone is formal, noble.

  Rionach offers Serena a warm Irish smile, and his blue eyes twinkle at her. “It’s an honor, Your Highness.” He takes a knee, and Serena dips her head like she’s been taught to do.

  He stands, and she stares at him a moment longer. “I hope this doesn’t come out wrong, but you look like Ronin from that kids’ movie, Epic,” she says, and he smiles warmly.

  “I’ll take it. He’s young and quite handsome,” he winks.

  Serena laughs, and my breath hitches at the sound. I need to get my shit together tonight.

  “That he is. As are you,” she flirts, and does it well.

  I don’t like it. I bristle and step to her side, taking her hand out of my stepfather’s before standing slightly in front of her in a protective manner.

  My action doesn’t go unnoticed by mother. Her gaze latches on to Serena’s hand in mine, and I release it. So much for keeping myself under control.

  “Tristan mentioned that you were tired after your day yesterday. I do hope you’ve been able to rest, and that he has been most hospitable while you’ve stayed in our realm?”

  “He has. Thank you for your kindness and safe haven.”

  “It is our pleasure,” Queen Ophelia responds politely.

  “It’s about time you two showed your ugly faces,” Zander taunts, making his way down the hallway.

  I clear my throat. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  He juts out his chin, motioning between my mother and Rionach. “These two have been all kissy hand-holding eye-ogling at one another all night. Like teenagers.”

  I smile. “That’s nothing new.”

  They’ve been in love with each other since they first laid eyes on each other. It was love at first sight. It’s beautiful in a he’d die for her and she for him kind of way. At the thought, I’m hit with an unexpected pang of jealousy.

  My eyes slide to Serena, who is watching them with interest. “My dad always told me stories about hidden worlds, where brave warriors watch over and protect beautiful queens,” Serena says, and my mother blushes. “It’s nice to see there is some truth to the fairy tales.”

  “What a lovely thing to share,” the queen responds.

  “Shall we?” My mother motions toward the dining room.

  “After you, darling,” Rionach allows her to lead us in.

  I lean toward Serena’s ear. “I thought you didn’t believe in fairy tales?” I ask quietly.

  She shrugs. “I don’t. I believe in love, though.”

  I stand motionless as Serena follows my mother and Rionach into the opulent room for dinner.

  Zander claps me on the shoulder. “It’s nice to see you’ve got things under control,” he teases, and we both walk in.

  Rionach holds out my mother’s chair as she takes the head seat and then moves to her right, pulling out Serena’s chair in a gentlemanly fashion.

  Zander immediately slips into the seat next to Serena, throwing me a victorious look and leaving me to sit across from her, in between my mother and stepfather.

  “This is a beautiful room,” Serena compliments, taking in the large ornate gold chandeliers and dark wood-paneled walls. The fireplace has been lit for ambience, as have the candles in gold candelabras strewn about the room.

  “It’s actually my favorite room in the castle,” my mother replies. “Aside from the library, of course.”

  “Do you read a lot, Your Majesty?” Serena inquires.

  “As much as I can.” The two of them lose themselves in talk of hist
orical romance novels and alpha males.

  I watch their easy chatter and can’t help but smile.

  Rionach passes the rolls to me with a curious glare, forcing me to look away and focus on buttering my roll.

  “Tristan, how is the assignment going?” he asks.

  The hurt is still evident in his Irish brogue that I didn’t allow him to help me out of my protector sentencing.

  Rionach has been a father to me since I was a child. I respect and look up to him. He, in turn, treats me as if I am his own son. The fact that he isn’t blood, or a gargoyle, meant that he had no authority to stop my sentencing.

  Only Gage was able to do that, and I know it hurt Rionach.

  “As well as can be expected, sir,” I respond formally.

  “I see,” he glances at Serena, then back to me.

  Zander cuts in, saving me from further questioning. “Tristan is smoking again,” he waggles his eyebrows at me.

  All conversation halts, and my mother’s angry glare makes its way over to me.

  “Tristan,” she exhales.

  “I haven’t had a cigarette in over a month,” I assure her.

  “Still. I thought you’d released the habit. As you know, you can’t—” I stop her.

  “I know. I’ve quit. It was a small misstep.” I glare at Zander, watching him laugh in amusement.

  The staff enter with silver-covered platters, and present our first course. The smell of butternut squash and sage assaults my nose, and I can’t help but groan.

  “This looks amazing,” Serena compliments.

  “Thank goodness you had me feed Serena last night,” Zander announces. “Poor girl was starving. Tristan only had Fruity Pebbles and expired milk to give her.”

  I meet my mother’s horrified expression.

  “Maria came earlier and stocked the kitchen,” I reassure her.

  “I should hope so,” she says, as she sips her soup.

  “Tristan has been a gracious host, Your Majesty,” Serena defends me, and my eyes glide over her in appreciation.

  She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder shirt, and her bare shoulder is on full display. I stare at her silky skin, remembering how soft and delicate it felt under my palm.

  Coming to my senses, I groan at myself. Apparently I have the attention span of a pubescent middle-school boy. I take a sip of water and pray for the second course to arrive quickly, as Zander chuckles at me.

  We make it through dinner and dessert without the world or realm blowing up. My earlier unease is now gone, and I exhale a small sigh of relief that it was in my mind. The conversation flows, and Serena seems at ease with my family. I smile at her unexpected comfort here as we make our way to the library for after-dinner drinks.

  The staff bring in six glasses and a selection of liquors to choose from. I notice the extra glass and turn to my mother, ready to ask whom it’s for, but the words die on my lips as the doors to the library reopen, and in walks in the bane of my existence, like she owns the place.

  “Ah, here’s our special guest now,” my mother coos.

  I swallow the bile in my throat and turn to Zander, who’s gone completely pale. He looks like he wants to disappear.

  Yeah, I know the feeling. This is going to end badly.

  Serena extends her gaze across the room, meeting angry gray eyes, dripping with nothing but hatred.

  I fight to control my temper as I take a restrained step toward Serena. My blood turns cold, thinking she might be in danger. At the same time, Zander takes a measured step in the nymph’s direction.

  “Freya,” his voice is low, a warning, or an attempt to calm her down. I’m unsure, since she looks ready to attack.

  Freya’s gray eyes snap to Zander. “Your Highness?”

  “Lets go take a walk, shall we? The gardens are lovely at this time of night,” he suggests in a lulling tone.

  Freya’s face softens, but only slightly.

  “I’ve only just arrived,” she replies. “As an invited guest, it would be rude of me to simply leave without being dismissed by Her Majesty,” she continues.

  “I agree,” my mother interjects.

  Rionach steps to her side, bends down, and whispers something in her ear. A disappointed expression falls across my mother’s face as she meets my eyes with sympathy. A moment later, her regal mask falls back into place and she squares her shoulders, not meeting my eyes.

  “Am I missing something?” Serena looks around.

  “Well, son,” Rionach pauses before continuing. “Aren’t you going to introduce Serena to your betrothed?”

  Serena’s eyes widen before they land on Zander and narrow like she might kill him if he speaks again.

  My brother shifts on his feet and takes an unhurried breath. Unrushed, he takes another step toward his childhood friend, but Serena’s faster. She steps between them, I think protecting Freya, while glaring at Zander.

  “You’re the prince Freya told me about?” she seethes.

  Confusion falls across Zander’s expression.

  Everyone watches Serena with interest. “Freya speaks very highly of her feelings for you, Zander. You would do well to remember that she is a lady, with feelings.”

  Zander’s face pinches. “What?”

  “Serena,” my mother interjects. “I think you are quite confused, dear. Freya is betrothed to Tristan. Not Zander.”

  The room falls eerily silent.

  Serena hisses in a breath, and hurt eyes meet mine.

  If it’s possible to hear a heart break, I just heard Serena’s shatter into a million pieces.

  Serena

  My world tilts and suddenly I can’t breathe. The air around me slows down, and all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears. I see Tristan move toward me, and I put my hand up to stop him. If he speaks in this moment, I will kill him.

  Right here in front of his mother and—fiancée.

  My hand automatically covers my heart. Holy shit.

  I look over to Queen Ophelia, and she looks worried. I need to compose myself before someone gets the wrong idea. Or the right one. I swallow my pride and place the mask back on my face that I’m so good at hiding behind.

  “Serena, are you all right, dear?” the queen asks, approaching me and touching my forearm.

  I hope she can’t feel how badly I’m shaking.

  Standing taller, I force a quick bright smile.

  “Yes of course. Apologies,” I swallow the pain. “Such surprising and happy news.” I meet Tristan’s steely gaze. “I had no idea. Tristan, you never mentioned your fiancée to me.” With every word I’m saying the knife in my heart twists a little more. I turn to Freya. “Congratulations. I wish you both all the happiness.” It comes out rushed.

  I’m numb as I offer her the unfeeling words.

  Freya throws me a withering glare, and it’s then I realize her angry demeanor has been directed at me this evening.

  Of course it has. And rightfully so.

  I watch as she moves to Tristan’s side and he takes a step away from her, with annoyance crossing his features. She falters for a moment before returning to glaring at me.

  “Serena, perhaps you,” Zander emphasizes, “would care to see the gardens?” His voice cuts through the echoing sound of my heart banging against my rib cage.

  All of a sudden, I can’t find my voice.

  Zander’s hand intertwines with mine, and he squeezes to get my attention. He nods in encouragement. “Say yes.”

  “I would love to,” I whisper.

  “Wonderful,” Queen Ophelia claps. “Tristan, this will give us a few moments to discuss the ceremony with Freya.”

  My knees weaken, and Zander wraps his arm around my shoulders, supporting my weight so I don’t collapse.

  “Now is not a good time, mother,” Tristan bites out. “I need to speak with Serena, as her protector.”

  “Nonsense,” Ophelia says. “She’s safe with Zander. He’s second in command of my army, and quite capable of keeping
her safe for twenty minutes. Aren’t you?”

  “That’s me, the twenty-minute protector.” Zander turns to Tristan. “I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

  Zander waits for a moment before Tristan nods his head.

  “Great. We’ll see everyone later. Let’s do this, champ,” Zander states cheerfully, leading me out of the room.

  Within seconds, he has me outside and is dragging me through the private grounds, which are made up of a maze of green bushes and vines. I barely notice the cultivated gardens as we move at a quick pace through each turn.

  When we finally get far enough from the house, Zander pulls me toward a bench and sits me down, pacing in front of me and swearing under his breath. In shock, I sit on the bench and just focus on breathing. It sounds easy, but in this instance, not so much.

  “I warned him it would blow up in his face,” Zander says, more to himself than to me.

  I snort. “Good advice.”

  He stops in front of me, crossing his arms and tucking his hands under his armpits. “He should have told you.”

  “It would have been useful information,” I reply numbly.

  “Are you okay?” he asks awkwardly. “You’re not going to . . . cry, or anything, are you?” he waits for a response.

  “No,” I respond.

  “I’m not good with tears,” he bites his lip in worry.

  “I’m not going to cry.” My tone is clipped.

  “You sure?” He pats himself down. “I don’t have tissues.”

  I drop my head into my hands. “I’m ninety-eight percent sure that no tears will escape my eyes over this, Zander.”

  “It’s the two percent that has me nervous.”

  “I’ll be fine. I just need to breathe, or something,” I exhale.

  He nods and takes a seat next to me. “Breathing works. In and out. Slowly. If you pass out, I will feel you up.”

  “Noted.”

  We sit in silence while he bounces his knee up and down nervously. The motion is making me queasy.

  Or maybe it’s the fact that Tristan is engaged to someone else. I swallow the bile crawling up my throat.

  “Why didn’t he tell me?” I ask.

  “You’d have to ask him that,” he replies quietly.

  “Before or after I kill him?”

  “Before. Otherwise you won’t get an answer.”