Page 29 of Many Ruined Vows on a Forbidden Frolic

“My workshop, a gift.” Beads of sweat appear on his brow. “Top drawer.”

“For me?”

He nods briskly. I lift the horn to his mouth again, supporting his neck with my hand as he drinks.

“Be a good girl and fetch it.” The words come out in a rush, ending with a sigh.

I nod and hurry to obey, not wishing to cause him any further stress. I rush through the swinging doors of his stable-suite, across the living area, into the compact workroom.

I’m greeted by the woody scent of fire and linseed wax, and the smell comforts me. The workroom consists of a hearth, a firepot the size of a large boiling pot, a stump and anvil, and other tools I don’t know the names of. In the center is a long worktable. Inside the top drawer, I find a polished willowisp box the size of my forearm from elbow to longest finger. It’s lightweight, and so lovely, it must be what he’s referring to.

A groan sounds from the other room. I grab the box and rush back to Pikr’s side.

“This?” I hold it up. Something shifts inside.

He grunts, eyes fluttering with the strain to stay open.

“What is it?” I start to open the box, but Pikr reaches out, then clutches his head. I freeze. “Don’t exert yourself! The healers said—”

“Use it,” he says, his words already fading. “Decide if you truly want what you think you want.”

“Okay.” I have no idea what I’m agreeing to, but I set the box down and rush to give him another sip of water. “I will.”

I sit back down on the bench and resume working on my flower crowns. I select a half-broken tuskrabbit tusk to attach to the front of this one, glancing at Pikr now and then until I’m sure he’s asleep.

Once his soft snores fill the space, I lift the box and rest it on my lap. My lip slips under my teeth as I realize he had to have made this before the joust.

The smooth wooden lid slides off, revealing a metal item in the middle of cream moonsilk padding. The item itself is no bigger than my middle finger, and twice as wide. It looks dainty and unassuming inside the oversized package.

I scrunch my nose, casting an incredulous glance at the sleeping centaur. He’s so pretty, so unassumingly gentle, propped upright as if his stunning two-tone eyes will open at any moment.

“Decide if you truly want what you think you want.”

I lift the small, cylindrical object. What does he think I want?

My mind replays all of our recent encounters as I run fingers along the smooth metal. There’s a raised lip at the three-quarters mark. One end is flat with a slight flare, and a slit in the very center.

Oh.

Oh.

My cheeks heat, my thighs simultaneously growing damp as the purpose of the object becomes clear.

It’s the spitting image of the drawings in my dirty novels, but adorably miniaturized. I drop it back into the moonsilk-lined box and cover my face with my hands, unable to stifle a giggle. Pikr is a master at spellcarving. If the size of the box is any indication, the trinket won’t stay miniature forever.

Dragging my fingers through my hair, I send a sly smirk toward the centaur who fought for my hand, protecting me even when I forbade him to.

“Barbarian,” I mutter.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Pikquarrys

The midday sun plays chase behind patchy gray clouds. Errant rays pierce my retinas, reminding me that I yet live.

I take the less trodden path around town square, where the revelry of the third week of the Lunaplume Harvest Festival is well underway. I’m ashamed to admit the level of anxiety that’s coated my existence like a layer of turpentine since waking. My fists clench at every shout or loud noise. I’d feel better if my betrothed was safely within sight, but my heart thrums with excitement knowing she awaits me.

I thought my nerves would settle after stripping the silver-tongued cloud-striker of his enchantments, but I’m still a wreck. I fear I won’t reach normalcy until the weeds that infiltrated Svitaeryl are eradicated. Despite King Vyrion and I advocating for their immediate removal, the Isles of Aethereusum visitors were granted leniency for the envoy’s conduct during the joust on account of cultural differences. The fact that the princess was put under a spell doesn’t bother the council; while disqualifying in the challenge, enchantments are not forbidden during the courting games of nobles.