Moon's Flower (Kingdom, #6)

“Yes, Juniper,” Danika nodded.

“Did she get caught?” A thread of fear laced her words, probably because while few of those seated around the campfire had ever heard the doomed tale of Jericho’s and Calanthe’s love, all knew to cross Galeta the Blue was a terribly foolish idea. As young as these fairy children were, they understood the gravity of Calanthe’s situation.

Shrugging a plump shoulder, Danika unfurled her hands in a gesture of “I don’t know.”

“Oh, C’mon, Danika,” the primrose wailed. “You have to tell us something.”

“Yes, Dani. Aye. You must tell us,” a choir of tiny bell like voices buzzed all around.

“Children,” she cocked her head with a stern frown, “the telling of a tale must never be rushed. Never, ever, ever. For how could you enjoy the drama, the romance, the betrayal if I were just to blurt it all out at once? Hmm?”

“Ugh,” ten little voices all grumbled at once.

But regardless of their impatience, Danika knew she held them spellbound. Very young fairy were as hyper and prone to restlessness as newborn pups, to see them all seated so patiently, pressing forward on their seats as their jaws hung open watching the images scroll upon the sky… she suspected that this tale would never be forgotten again.

“Now,” she tapped her chin, “where was I?”

Bouncing up and down on her spongy purple toadstool, the tiger lily fairy raised her hand. “It was the third day!”

“Ah yes,” Danika beamed with a clap of her hands. “It was the third day, the one day a month that Jericho could walk the lands of Kingdom. And so he did…”

*

Siria quirked her brow. “Where are you headed to today, Jericho?”

Kneeling on the balustrade, he stared down at the blank, infinite canvas beneath him. Upon waking, he’d known where he would go.

Calanthe called to him. Awakened a hunger, a fire in him he hadn’t known in far too long. He had no clue how he meant to approach her, but he would. Dressing had taken on new importance today.

He’d washed his body at least three times, more from nerves than because he needed to. He simply wanted to impress her. Where he lived, what he wore rarely mattered. Normally he’d wear a dark robe and leave it at that. There was no one around to care, and Siria’s opinion of him had long since stopped mattering.

But last night after Calanthe had returned to her glen, he’d roamed the sights of Kingdom, hoping to be inspired by men’s fashion. He’d never really been a fashionable man, but well he knew the importance of first appearances.

He’d been astonished to discover how varied men’s fashion was in the different realms. In Eastern lands the garb was loose fitting, almost diaphanous on the body. In Wonderland everything was just… odd. Neverland saw so much pirate wear he’d known he could never pull that off. Finally he’d decided a brown coat and pants would have to do.

“Jericho!” Siria snapped, setting his teeth on edge and forcing him to turn away from the veil slowly coalescing with prisms of color. Night was nigh and his heart clenched in his chest.

“What?”

A look of hurt flashed through her golden amber eyes before quickly being replaced with fury. “You could come visit me. There are no barriers tonight, you are free to join me. I feel we should talk, sort things out.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, he swallowed the angry retort. He had no cause to snap at Siria tonight. She was trying to make things right, he knew that. Felt it deep in his soul, but sometimes the past was too thick with pain, to full of hurt to simply let it go.

“You look beautiful tonight, Siria,” he whispered, because it was the truth and just for tonight he wanted a truce, a ceasefire to their constant sparring.

Her blond hair was plaited in a thick braid that hung over her shoulder, the very tip of it dangling by her knee. A tiara of gold and jewels so red they rivaled the beauty of a blood rose, winked in the starlight. The gown she wore left very little to the imagination. It was so sheer in places it gave the illusion of nudity, only well placed diamonds covered the parts of her only her man got to see.

Flushing prettily, her smile was wide and without guile. And for just a second Jericho remembered the woman she’d once been, the one he’d fallen in love with.

“Come to my bed, Jericho,” she stepped forward, hands outstretched, eyes soft and tender.

But it could never be.

His smile was sad. “Once, I would have been tempted by that offer. I do not wish to fight with you, Siria. But I must go.”

Shaking her head, she took another tentative step in his direction. “Jericho, you cannot leave me.”

The woman was Aphrodite personified, such beauty should inspire sonnets or song. But it left him empty.