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I can only imagine what those experiences might be, and it makes me want to show the males who touched her violence the likes of which these lands haven’t seen since my boots stomped over the skulls of my enemies.
Ah, the good ol’ spans of mayhem and bloody vendettas. We dealt with threats differently back then. Not the way Fleur deals with them now: politely and without much fuss.
Nasty rumors about Fleur’s inability to go into heat circle her like sharks in the waters. And as is the case with matters involving Summer royals, the rumors quiet when people meet the princess. With her magical voice and pleasant manners, she slays with kindness. People wish they were her, even though they have no idea what it’s like to be her.
It’s like this.
Sitting in the lap of a violent, dangerous predator and trying to understand him, cater to his needs, which she hopes will serve her court and her fates. Most wouldn’t get into the coach with me at all. Females tend to run from me. Not her. In the gardens when I hunted, she practically ran into me as if we’re destined to meet.
While I believe we create our fate, the fairies with strong faith believe the fae fates will serve them what they will. If I told Fleur about our brief garden encounter, I wonder if she would chalk it up to destiny. If she would attribute it to the fate’s hand that glued us together.
She’s fond of fates. Aamako sent Augusta after Fleur, knowing Fleur wouldn’t refuse her request to attend the winter season.
I kiss the top of her head, which is resting on my shoulder, and tuck stray hair behind her ear, tracing the long string of pearls riding up her pointy ear. I slip the earring off and slide it into my pocket, where I keep the soldier figurine.
I wonder where she keeps her figurines.
I could ask.
Mentally, I slip into her subconscious. “My sweet flower,” I coo, “do you know it’s me who visits you at night?”
“Yes,” she answers, still sleeping.
“Good. This is good. And do you wish me to continue visiting you?”
“Yes.”
Speaking with her subconscious feels flawless, as if I’ve done it my entire lifetime. I’m far better at this than I am making conversation with her otherwise. “Did you bring the figurines I left for you?”
“Mmhm.”
“Where are they?”
“I can’t tell you.”
I frown. Not flawless after all.
I enter her mind a bit deeper, mainly cruising the memories she collected at her friend’s estate. Curiously, she is hiding the recollection of waking up and finding my soldiers and then going about putting them somewhere. Even if she left them where I placed them on the nightstand, I should see memories of her waking up and looking at them. Yet, I don’t.
Hervocamagic is a kind I’ve never come across, so her mental agility likely prevents me from invading. With the fae who aren’tvocas, I can access just about everything. And then, as is the case with vampires, erase it all thereafter.
Mentally, her magic feels like a gentle caress, inviting me deeper inside her mind. I dive in, and her magic starts wrapping around my power like a grapevine, pulling me inside her deeper and deeper. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m experiencing her childhood memories.
Hand in hand, we’re standing on the beach. The bright sun hurts my eyes, so I shield them and tell her I must leave, but she’s a child and cute and I couldn’t say no even if it would save my life. I let her pull me into the ocean. We dive together, me swimming more slowly behind her, while I watch her grow into an adult fae female before my eyes. I’m still swimming behind her when her legs merge and become a mermaid fin.
The tail slaps the left side of my face, disconnecting me from her.
The force of the disconnection makes me gasp and blink to clear away the mental fog.
The scent of blood wells up in the cabin, and I touch the left side of my face. My fingers come away bloody.
I hold a siren in my arms.
This is not a drill, soldier.
17
FLEUR
