Page 34 of Many Ruined Vows on a Forbidden Frolic

“The root paint designs on her legs were unlike any I’ve seen.” Pikr grips the back of my neck, tilting me back, giving himself access to my throat. “It wound and zagged, as wild and free as her dancing feet.”

His voice coils around me, tightening, squeezing desire from my core with every contraction. Every kiss he plants along my skin burns from the inside out.

“I can’t believe I’ve been so stubborn.” Pikr draws me against his chest and chuckles, the sound reverberating against my cheek, sending another wave of intense heat through me. “The Wise Ones and their fate-roots couldn’t penetrate my thick skull.”

I hum. My eyes flutter shut.

Pikr peels me away, and I pout. He scrutinizes me, then presses his cheek to my forehead.

“You’re burning up, Princess.” He gathers me in his arms and trots in the direction we came from. “Speak to me.”

“Mother’s not so peeled after all,” I murmur, snuggling deeper into his warmth. Everywhere we touch feels like my skin has lain in the sun too long, but it’s worth it to be near him.

Pikr lets out a whinny. He speeds into a gallop, thick trunks passing in a blur as he speeds out of the grove. “Queen Soreivsanna is rarely wrong. Wish I’d asked her opinion of my tattoo instead of running away to Ashfall Valley. Perhaps we’d have frolicked already.”

“Frolic! Yes.”

My mind is red with passion, but my eyelids are too heavy to open.

“Wilt not, sweet Blossom,” Pikr assures with a dark tone. “We shall frolic before season’s end, when the time is right.”

“Mmm-kay,” I mumble.

“Hang in there. You’ll feel more yourself soon.”

With every thump of his hooves, my thoughts slowly come back into focus. Pikr’s scent of woodsy vanilla and linseed pours life into my lungs. My skin still stings, especially where we’re touching, but I’m able to open my eyes.

“Here we are.” Pikr stops at the river’s edge. He lowers to the ground, tucking his legs beneath him at the edge of the glistening stream. Without releasing me, he reaches into the water and lets it dribble through his fingers over my skin.

“Better?”

“Yes,” I say, bashfulness not letting me look at him for too long. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

Pikr smoothes away my apology with cool water on my cheeks. “I should’ve anticipated that you’d be sensitive to moonpetal pollen your first time, considering your vulnerability to magics.”

A seed of insecurity sprouts in my belly. I think of Halor, and how easily I fell under his spell. “I’ve never thought of myself as weak until recently.”

Pikr scoffs. A grin crinkles the black splotch around his right eye, and it’s so beautiful, I smile back despite my insecurity.

“Princess Loreleivnna, weak is never a term I’d use for you.” He gathers more water and rubs it across my chest, making me shiver. “The same sensitivity lives in me. It’s practically a necessity for one who crafts with magic. It would be useful to have another weakling around.”

I blink up at him, trying to keep my expression calm. I know he’s made his intentions of courting me clear, but hearing him casually muse about a future together is almost as disorienting as whatever happened with the pollen. Between that and learning his elegant tattoo was a whisper through fate’s roots about me, my poor, pining heart is ready to burst.

“You merely need exposure, and a primer.” He quirks a brow and allows his wet fingertips to slide below the neckline of my dress. “The Ancients have a keen sense of irony, eh, my little Witch?”

I wriggle under his touch, narrowing my gaze. “Explain, thick-skulled barbarian.”

“In the end, the pretty petal lass is the one who needs moondust oil to prime her sweet cunt for all the dirty fantasies she craves.” He tweaks my nipple between his fingers and bares his teeth. “Serves you right.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Pikquarrys

I place two horn stands on my dining table and fill them with chilled cider, trying and failing to dispel the anxious pit in my stomach before Princess Loreleivnna returns.

The sky envoys departed yesterday morning. The final week of the Lunaplume Harvest Festival is coming to an end, with the Lunaplume Ball looming around the corner.

The third week is a time for sowing seeds. Many saplings are conceived this time of year. Vyrion grows anxious for me to annul my engagement with his daughter, eager for her to choose a first mate in the remaining hours of the festival. Like a coward, I’ve avoided him, making excuses whenever he corners me, heaving sighs of relief when it seems the spiritvines haven’t revealed my betrayal yet.