Page 14 of Many Ruined Vows on a Forbidden Frolic

Pikr says nothing as he picks up the tools beside me. His nearness makes my left arm tingle so severely I worry it’ll go numb, but I don’t spare him a glance. His hands, so big and capable, could easily make fast work of the task, but he matches my speed.

The tray of seeds and goo is overflowing when we finish, and I still haven’t looked up. The tingling hasn’t stopped, either, but it’s grown comfortable, like a steady ray of sun beaming between wispy cirrus clouds, warming me from the outside in.

Pikr leans over me to pick up the tray, revealing a second tray underneath for us to separate the seeds into.

A few minutes into this, laughter at the river draws my attention. With my gaze averted, I dive a hand into the pile of mush. My fingers snag on something hard, too large to be a seed. I look down, expecting to find an acorn in the goop.

To my mortification, I’m pinching Pikr’s forefinger.

All of the blood in my body rushes to my cheeks, and I yank my hand away. For the first time since he’d joined me, my gaze snaps to his.

“Princess Loreleivnna,” he says my name in one breath, and I’m wracked with a vivid memory of his breath on my neck and my title-less name whispered like a precious secret.

In the next blink, his hooded eyes are wide open, his black iris flickering with mischievous shadows.

“Sorry,” I mumble and rush to rearrange the workstation into two clear sections.

“That’s right, ornery petal, stay on your side.” Pikr quips. “What will you do next, climb onto my back?”

I scowl. The barbaric male is devoid of empathy. I’ve just been rejected, and he’s teasing. I want to scream and shove him, or stomp away to hide in the palace gardens, but I can hear his voice echoing in my head: little brat, brat, brat.

“Dumb horse,” I mutter.

“Foolish brat,” he retorts, louder and more amused than my petty grumble.

Insufferable barbarian! I lift my hand, oozing with pumpkin goo, and throw it at his annoyingly chiseled abdomen.

It lands with a splat, marring his black-and-white complexion with a splatter of orange. My mouth drops open, but before I can do something stupid like apologize, I snap it shut.

Pikr’s ruggedly handsome face is long with shock, which fills me with such a sense of pride I no longer feel the urge to apologize. Serves him right.

The next thing I know, wet, squelching fruit innards coat my nose and cheeks. I close my eyes and flinch, feeling the mess clump in my eyelashes.

“Agh!” Shoving him away, I use the back of my wrist to wipe my eyes, which sting with tears.

“Mmm, you look much better now.” Pikr’s gaze rakes over me in a way unbefitting of the situation. He licks his lips. “What a mess.”

Things are happening in my intimate bits that make no sense, but I hold fast to my anger. “You evil, incompetent, barbaric pile of compost!”

“Ah-ah, Princess, I see you’re still new to foreplay.” He easily swats away my attempts to punch him, and the tears that stung before now threaten to fall with embarrassment. “You meant, Evil Barbarian, sir.”

I wrench myself free of his rough, claiming grasp. He raises his hands, palms out, and nickers.

My heart blusters in my chest like a blizzard ahead of its season, but his broad smile cuts through the clouds. His freshly trimmed beard and mustache accentuate the plushness of his lips and the brightness of his teeth. The splotch of black on his right cheek is exaggeratedly lopsided, and he looks so much younger with glee painting his features.

If only it weren’t at my expense. The dumb, bratty youngest daughter of his dearest friend. I sigh. At least he’s capable of a genuine smile.

“Apologies, Princess Loreleivnna.” He reaches for me, ever so slowly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“I know.” His hand looms ever closer, and I’m frozen to the spot where my toes are dug into the ground. “That’s what barbarians do. Act on sheer impulse.”

Pikr snickers. The storm in my chest whips into a funnel cloud as his thumb lands, swiping the mess from my cheeks. I close my eyes, and he caresses my eyelids, his other hand joining the first.

I’m floating. The wind whirls around me, my world spinning and spinning and spinning.

“Loreleivnna.”

I open my eyes, and the world isn’t spinning at all. I stand steady on two feet, Pikr’s strong hands cupping my face with all the strength of ancient tree trunks.