Page 33 of Many Ruined Vows on a Forbidden Frolic

“Why?”

“You owe me a frolic, Stranger.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Loreleivnna

I blink at Pikr. None of my personal explorations have cultivated a climax so strong, and my mind is still fuzzy.

Bits of pollen crest the hill, sparkling in the moonlight, giving him an ethereal glow as words I’ve dreamt of hearing for years slip from his plush lips like starbeams.

Somewhere between that moment in the woods a lifetime ago and now, Pikr saw what I’ve always known. We are meant to be together. Perhaps Mother was right that the Fallen Stars blessed me with a fated love, only I was wrong to believe she meant Halor.

“Are you all right?” Pikr reaches for me. “We can slow down.”

“No!” I slide off of him and fix my skirt. The dress was a style choice, certainly not a practical one, but Pikr has kept me warm so far. “Let’s frolic.”

Pikr chuckles. He stands, and I notice his cock has retreated into its hiding place. I lick my lips at the thought of it coming out to play in the Spiritgrove.

Pikr scoops me into his arms. He lopes down the hill, slowing when we reach the bottom. I lay my head in the crook of his neck, one hand circling his nape. With the other, I reach out, stretching my fingers toward the sky.

Fluffy pink particles collect on my outstretched hand. They fall lazily, speckling Pikr’s strong hindquarters, which flex with every powerful stride. On the black spots of his pelt, they look like constellations. On the white, they look like the petals of a luminberry blossom.

I giggle. Pikr glances down at me, brow quirked. I take his braid in my hand and twirl it around my wrist, using the end to dust the mysterious, elegant tattoo of winding branches.“What’s the meaning behind this one?”

He pauses mid-step, his features turning stoic, but he recovers quickly. “What made you think of that?”

“If it’s special, you don’t have to say.” I release his braid. “We’ve only been courting for a planted two hours.”

“I’ve been courting you since I woke up on the healer’s recliner.” He gives me a playful jostle. “If you recall, I used all of my strength to give you a courting gift.”

My heart flip-flops, recalling the many conversations we shared during his time in recovery. It never occurred to me that we were courting. I thought I was an unwanted prize and he was making the best of his winnings.

Pikr stops at the edge of the field. He traces the shape of my face with his knuckles, then kisses my forehead before setting me gently on my feet. “For you, I’m a vast, open garden. Forgive me—I’ve never done this before.”

“Me either,” I admit. I glance at the nearest Aevumoon Iris trunk. Many firsts are happening lately.

Pikr takes my hand. He bows at the waist and gestures toward the field. We start walking, my heart floating up, up, bobbing against the back of my throat like a freshly hatched drakefly trying to escape into the sky.

“It’s frivolous, really,” he starts. “Not special at all, though it feels like it. I got it on a whim after the last Lunaplume Harvest Festival I attended. I was still drunk the morning after the ball, and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. Like it was planted there by the Wise Ones.”

“Mother would say that doesn’t sound like a coincidence.” My brow furrows. “What were you doing during the ball? Did you see a picture in a book? Supposedly, that will happen, and it’s the Fallen Stars showing your fate. They see it in your roots, or something.”

“No books.” He chuckles, as if to himself. “I was very interested in the party that year.”

“Mother thinks a lot of things are the meddling fate-roots. It could be nothing.” I roll my eyes. “Was there something with that pattern that caught your eye?”

Pikr pauses. We’re inside the field now, surrounded by fat, towering trunks. The grass is covered in a layer of fine particles, soft as felt under my feet.

Pikr drops my hand. His lower half canters in a circle to face me. His eyes are wide and wild.

“Yes,” he chokes out between bellows of laughter.

I smile, infected by his untamed laugh. It’s so rich and deep, I could melt into its vibrations, and it pulls me closer until I’m tracing the ridges of his muscular abdomen.

“There was a new elven petal on the scene,” he drawls, his hands exploring my backside from nape to bottom. “Her gown was quartz-pink with flowing ribbons that twirled like weeping luminberry branches blowing in the wind when she danced, with the most realistic blossom decals I’ve ever seen.”

He’s describing my debut dress with precision, recalling its details better than I do. My heart swoops and loops in my chest, flipping and flopping like a wingless drakefly, almost to the point of nausea.