Page 49 of Many Ruined Vows on a Forbidden Frolic

Halor’s snout curdles with a snarl. “I’m eager to be rid of this kingdom and its stuffy god-plants anyway.”

He doesn’t bother to bow to the King and Queen on his way out, least of all me.

The moment his tail’s feathered fin is on the other side of the threshold, Father flicks his wrist. Vines whip forth to slam the door closed.

“May his soil ever be soggy. Bah!” Father exclaims.

I breathe easier once Halor is gone. I can’t help the smile that replaces my rage, remembering all the kind words Father said about Pikquarrys. There is hope yet.

Climbing the dais, I sit on the arm of Mother’s throne. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close, humming contentedly.

“See, my sweet Sapling? I may be peeled, but I know things,” she whispers before kissing my shoulder.

“You’re no madder than unraveled loopflower, Dearest,” Father says, the clouds of his anger dissipating until only love remains. He leans over and pats my leg. “And you, Littlest Bloom. I have much to beg your forgiveness for.”

“Father, there’s no need.” Knowing he hasn’t disowned his best friend because of me is enough. Everything else will come with time.

“Seeds are planted with faith,” Mother chimes in, patting Father’s hand. “We often disregard the growth happening underground until it breaches the soil.”

“Indeed.” Father sighs. He sits back on his throne and scrubs his face with his hands. “I’m seeking a shift in perspective. Grant me your patience, Little Bloom. It’s difficult to detangle the memories of Pikquarrys in the wild years of our youth, and reconcile that he is the same man who now looks at you like you’re the sun and he is a heliophyte.”

My cheeks heat. I know Pikr used to be free with his stable-suite, but that doesn’t bother me. What’s past is past. I’m secure in knowing his feelings for me are true, and backed by the fate roots. What shocks me is that Father can see all of that by observing Pikr’s eyes on me.

“Thank you, Father. I’m relieved to have your blessing.”

Father chuffs, giving me a narrow-eyed glance. Whatever he’s about to say stops when Mother reaches over, taking his hand in hers.

“Yes,” Father says instead, squeezing his wife’s hand. “You have my blessing. I trust Soreivsanna’s judgement. I only wish the spiritvines hadn’t conspired against me. They kept this secret too far below my nose for a whiff to reach me. Cursed fate-roots. Cursed Wise Ones.”

“Still your cursing, love.” Mother chuckles softly. She places another kiss on my shoulder and beams. “What a grand journey you’re set to embark on, my sweet Sapling. I look forward to the stories the roots will bring me of your travels.”

I’m still puzzling out her riddle when Father grumbles, “Just make that old fool visit more often. No more semi-centennials away from home, now that my daughter is wayward.” He wags a finger in my face. “You’ll come back to us at least once a decade or it’s straight to the dungeon for that glorified horse.”

I hide my discomfort behind a smile, hugging them both before taking my leave.

Once in my room, Mother’s words rattle in my skull. I open my sketchbook and flip through the pages depicting naturescapes I’ve only seen in books. Traveling with Pikr would be a dream come true, but would he want me tagging along? I’m easily distracted, and I would certainly slow him down.

I resolve to risk rejection and ask him plainly. For now, I find hope in Mother’s sure words about our future and take solace in the glimmer of Father’s acceptance.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Pikquarrys

The final week of the Lunaplume Harvest Festival ends tonight, and I’ve spent most of it hiding away sharing joys and pleasures with my best friend’s daughter instead of reveling. Hours remain between now and the Lunaplume Ball, the final celebration. Afterward, I must return to the forge.

Thoughts of leaving Loreleivnna turn my stomach. I consider staying longer, but I only prepped Cadmynthus for ten weeks at the forge on his own, and there are a few stops I must make on the return trip. There’s no time to delay, and although she’s hinted that she wishes to accompany me, it would pain me to tear the princess away from her loving family. If she chooses to stay in Svitaeryl, I’ll understand, but the distance will be vast and lonely until we meet again.

With the last of my travel bags packed, I retrieve the brocade doublet I commissioned last-minute from my wardrobe. The moonsilk fabric is gold with raised purple amaranth thread that pairs well with the swatch of fabric Loreleivnna provided. The colors are admittedly striking against my black and white pelt, where the tailor added a short surcoat that drapes partway down my barrel and flanks.

Rolling the sleeves up neatly on my forearms, I sling my best velvet cape over my shoulder before donning a crown decorated with aster, periwinkle, and mum flowers, with a tuskrabbit skull in the center. The accessory brings the whole outfit together, and I’m blown away by Princess Loreleivnna’s creative brilliance. I have no doubt she’ll curate a successful business that brings joy to people across the realm, should she pursue her idea of creating enchanted nature crowns.

Before I lose myself to another daydream of a future I cannot guarantee, I adjust my collar and exit my cabin into the bustling inner city.

The typically quiet streets are alive with giddy party-goers dressed in their finest. Satyruses, leshi’silvars, Dryadliors, and svitayl elves sashay through the courtyard, root-paint artwork decorating their skin in all the shades, showing off their prayers for the coming year. Leaves crunch under foot and hoof, joining the chorus of laughter and excited whispers. The crisp air wafts with cinnamon and roasted nuts the closer I get to the festivities.

It’s easy to get swept up in the jubilation. The last ball I attended was Princess Loreleivnna’s debut, and I’d been too agitated imagining her falling to a weedling noble’s charms to enjoy a single moment. There are plenty of worries sparking at the edges of my mind, but I refuse to let them stand in the way of a pleasant evening with my mate, especially if it’s the last night we’ll share for a while.

The entry courtyard is decorated with lavish seasonal trappings. I pause to admire the warm wash of colorful flora when wayward whisperbloom vine winds toward me, snaking around my shoulder.