Page 25 of Many Ruined Vows on a Forbidden Frolic

Pikr means to defeat my betrothed and claim the position of my first mate. Days ago, I would’ve happily accepted him as my mate, but nothing makes sense anymore.

The ground vibrates with his hoofsteps like a heartbeat, coming to a stop behind me.

“I’m so confused,” I whisper. How did everything go so wrong?

A tear slips down my cheek. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath, trying to keep more from falling.

“It’s the enchantments.” Pikr circles me. I duck my head, hiding my face.

“They’re for his health, you rotten sack of manure!”

“He lies,” Pikr growls. “He means to steal you from your home.”

“So what?” I scream at the patch of gold and purple lilies that tangle in my fists. “What if I wish to leave?”

“I won’t allow it!” Pikr rears up, his front hooves sending angry vibrations through the soil when they land in front of me. “I won’t let him take you from me.”

“From you?” I shoot to my feet, throwing clumps of dirt and lacrimae lilies at Pikr’s chest. “You’re a coward. You knew how I felt, yet you waited until I was happy to accept that you feel it, too.”

“You almost speak the truth.” I glare and swing my arm wide, but before I can speak, he continues. “I feel it whenever you’re near, and even when you’re not. If I were to retreat to my forge, I’m certain I’d feel it thrice as strong with the distance. I feel it, and I’ll never feel anything else ever again, not anger or pride, not even hunger.” He runs a hand over his face, then tosses his hands toward the sun. “All I’ll ever feel from this moment on is how badly I want you, how painfully I need you. You may resent me, but I cannot go back to the way things were before. So you’re right, I feel it, too, and yes, I am a coward.” He shoves an index finger in my direction. “But you are not happy.”

My head shakes, unable to keep up with all this madness. Unwilling to believe he speaks truth. Loathing him for waiting too long to mend whatever was between us.

“That isn’t fair,” I grind out. “You’re too late. Call off the joust.”

“No. You still love me,” he snarls. “And you’ll remember that as soon as the cloud-snake’s enchantments clear your mind.”

“Love?!” A shrill laugh rips from my wilted core. “I don’t love you, Pikr. How could I love a man who would rip all the petals from my soul?”

“You can call it love, or you can call it nothing. I know what I feel between us.” His voice is dark and menacing, and he steps closer, until I have to tilt my head all the way back to meet his gaze. “I will win your hand by any means necessary. If I must fight for you, Princess Loreleivnna, I will not fight fair.”

“Then you will be disqualified and my happily ever after with Halor is assured.”

His black eye swirls with bottomless shadows, like the horror of a cold, lonely night. The grin that splits his face sends a shiver down my spine.

He twists a tress of my hair around his finger. “Tonight, I’ll send that conniving serpent back where he came from.”

Pikr tucks the hair behind my ear, his hand drifting down my jaw. My eyelids flutter as he trails further, to lock his fingers around my neck.

He bends his head down to whisper,“And you will be my wife.”

Chapter Nineteen

Loreleivnna

Day six of the second week of the Lunaplume Harvest Festival comes to a standstill. Harvesting duties abandoned, every creature and their estranged family members loiter around the arena, fashioned from a burnt field. Bodies blot out the green of the hill that rises behind the makeshift arena. They’re all gathered here to watch my betrothed battle my…Pikr. My family’s longtime friend and hero of the realm. To pause the sacred week of harvest for this spectacle is blasphemy.

In the airspace above, Halor’s companions float on conjured clouds, and I briefly wonder if Tumula is up there, watching my nightmare unfold.

My sisters and I huddle close on the stands Father erected from spiritvines. The king’s presence in front of us is a glare against the sun, eclipsing my thoughts with anger and betrayal every time he shifts from one foot to the other.

“Creatures of Svitaeryl, I’m blessed to apricate in your light,” Father begins, and I glare at my toes. “You are all looking lovely, like roses among thorns this day. How the Wise Ones have nurtured me with such a beautiful garden!”

Beside Father, a leshi’silvar blessed with zephyr magic named Juniphaver ensures his voice reaches the furthest creatures in the crowd. Her long, fox-like fern ears twitch toward him as his flowery words fill the space. Whoops and peels of laughter ripple through the crowd, but each sounds like an axe against healthy trees to me.

“Many of you have never witnessed a joust,” Father continues. “The tradition was put to rest while I was still a sapling. The rules are simple.”

Feivryn squeezes my hand, then points at the field. Father’s words fade into the background, drowned out by the pulsing of my heart. Pikr and Halor have emerged from their pelt-walled tents and now pace the far lengths of the arena. My betrothed, whom I met two days ago but feel as though he’s known me for far longer, tosses his intricate halberd between hands leisurely. He smiles like it’s a regular gathering and not a deadly battle that will change my life forever.