Page 7 of Many Ruined Vows on a Forbidden Frolic

“I gathered that,” he says with a chuckle. He turns away, and I seize the opportunity to slip my diary into a drawer. “Come, Little Bloom. Talk with me.”

There aren’t many reasons why he would corner me in my chambers, but the Lunaplume Harvest Festival is a stressful time of year. I assume he needs help with a task I’d rather not perform.

“Do my sisters need a gentle touch again?” I jest. Ilrunysanna, the eldest of us, is a rule follower and doesn’t require assistance. Even Feivryn’s wild spirit has settled down now that she’s a twice-mated mother of three. Each has been sent to my chambers claiming Father commanded they nurture some sense into me with their gentle words at one point or another.

Father chuckles. “No, my littlest bloom.” He pats the mattress beside him. “Sit.”

His tone is light, but there’s a heaviness to his sigh, and my heart fills with stones when he takes my hand in both of his.

“What?” I’m not being silly anymore. “Is Mother okay?”

“She’s rosy,” he rushes to answer, squeezing my hand. “Nothing to wither about. The Wise Ones love her so, they long to embrace her with their roots. It’ll be a while yet, as long as I’m around.”

I narrow my eyes and remain silent.

He sighs. “It’s about your blooming.”

Chapter Five

Loreleivnna

Fuck my petals. If there’s anything I don’t wish to discuss with Father so plainly, it’s my virginity.

“Father—”

He holds up a hand, and I fall silent for the King of Svitaeyrl.

“Loreleivnna, I’ve granted you all the time I possibly could. It’s time for you to take a mate and produce heirs, as your sisters have.” He searches my face and sighs again. “I’ve heard the way you tease them. I know you feel your duty is unfair, and I hope you know that I understand why you’d feel that way.”

He’s misjudged my embarrassment for a lack of willingness. It’s useless to explain that I’d decided to whore myself out for the good of Svitaeryl moments before barging into this horrid conversation, so I allow him to be wrong.

“Your mother recently confided in me how similarly she’d felt when I sprouted into her life, and the sacrifices she made for the Kingdom.” His sage gaze bores into mine, and he must be able to read that I already know about Mother’s first love, an orchard worker from a lowborn family. He nods, casting his eyes downward. “I don’t wish to grow the same resentment in you, and so, despite the wrath I shall incur from your sisters, I petitioned to allow you final say over your first mate.”

My eyes widen. “The council agreed?”

“It’s a feat of the Fallen, but yes, they approved.”

It’s unprecedented. The King and his council have final say over every noble-born’s first mate. Should a noble choose to take more mates to create a pack, so be it, but the first is held accountable by law. I have no idea how Father achieved the council’s approval, especially since those old petalfuckers have never hidden their distaste for me, calling me a soft, sensitive bud who would never blossom into a respectable princess.

“Father, I don’t know what to say.”

“Snip it. My ears will ooze lacrimae lilies when your sisters find out.” He pats my hand and smiles. “My only request is that you don’t expect to fall in love during the courtship. Seek a partner who makes you feel comfortable, someone you foresee the seed of love blossoming over time. If you were a servant’s daughter, you could wait for the rains of love. You’re a Slaytir, and we don’t have that luxury. Wilt not, though. Your mother and I nurtured a strong love along the way, didn’t we?”

I return his smile and tuck myself under his arm for a hug.

“Any creature would be blessed to apricate in your glow, Little Bloom.” Father pats my back. After a moment, he stands, sighing as he makes his exit. “Now, bury a rite to the Wise Ones, so they favor my steps as I prepare for the arrival of the Isles of Aethereusum’s delegate.”

“May the sun favor you,” I offer. The delegates of the floating islands are rumored to be pompous. I’ve only met them in passing, but I have a friend who works in their employ, so I reckon they can’t be too bad. “Thank you, Father.”

His gift of free will is a gesture sweeter than honeyed figs, and I’ll be forever grateful. Not to mention, it makes my plan for getting over Pikr even more exciting. Perhaps I will try Dhek first, let him deflower me, and decide if I wish to make him my first mate.

The feybells chime behind Father’s exit, and I cross the room in three quick strides. Flipping through my sketchbook, I frantically scan the pages Father might’ve seen while awaiting my arrival. Page after page are rough charcoal sketches of Aevumoon Irises, the wide, towering flowers that my people’s entire lifestyle is built around. It’s said that before the wise Nocturn Aevumdivus fell to the earth for their slumber, their branches twined through the night sky, connecting the constellations with their branches.

With a relieved sigh, I close the sketchbook. There’s nothing in there but drawings of common flora that I know like the pattern of my own lacrimae lilies. I reach for my diary and unwrap the leather ribbon. At the end of the ribbon is a sharp thorn, which I use to prick my thumb. A lily blooms, and the enchanted lock breaks in recognition.

Every few pages, between emotional ramblings of an unwed princess, there are many drawings, but not of flora. These sketches are more damning. I’m no artist, but I’ve flipped through enough books on centaur lore to fill my imagination, and the daylight I’ve spent staring at Vir Pikquarrys isn’t put to waste.

Packs have never interested me. I want one good, true love. I know many who prefer monogamy, but are part of a pack because there’s no love with their first mate, whether by poor choice or arranged marriage. If I pick the right person from the first bloom, I’ll have no need for a pack.