In a whirl, I pull her on top of me, wrapping her in my arms. “I don’t want to talk about the Prince of Thorns right now.”
“Okay.” She leans down to kiss my nose, then crosses her arms over my chest, just staring down at me.
She looks so beautiful now. Ethereal, even. She could be the subject of a portrait or crafted of stained-glass. A strange thought strikes me. “You know, there was another fae who made roses.”
“Who?”
“Tomorrow, I’ll show you.” My eyes close, comforted by the beat of my mate’s heart.
She kisses the side of my face. “I love you, Farron.”
“In the starlight way,” I whisper back.
25
Rosalina
Everything in the Spring Realm seems at odds with itself. Delicate plants bloom between hard slabs of rock. Bushels of flowers drape over shop awnings carved into the mountainside. And the people are no different, wearing soft pastel hues beneath gleaming armor.
As I walk down the market street between Dayton and Farron, I wish Ezryn was here with us now. However, he’s traveled up to the monastery to pass his judgment on Kairyn. My stomach twists in a knot. I don’t know what his final decision is, but it’s been tearing him up inside.
The Spring Realm is not unlike Ezryn. On the outside, he’s as hard as the helm he dons. But I’ve been able to glimpse within, from the gentle way he healed my scars, to the devotion in which he protects the other princes. And there’s humor there, too, small glimmers of it—usually a joking laugh with the staff or a sardonic insult to Kel that has the other princes chuckling under their breath.
And there’s the passionate lover. My cheeks heat as I recall our encounter yesterday, as well as the welcomed wake-up call from my mate. He’s gotten ahead of me now, bumping Dayton’s shoulder with a smirk.
Explaining to Farron what happened between Dayton and me—or more so, what didn’t happen—had been hard. I think we both had hoped that Dayton belonged to us in some way. But Farron took my hand and tried to reassure me. It’s all right, Rosie. Day doesn’t have a mate yet. No use fretting about what hasn’t happened.
Except we shouldn’t be fretting about Dayton finding his mate—we should help him find them.
“Want to buy a fish?” a loud voice draws me from my thoughts, and I blink as a fish is presented in front of me. Except it’s not a real fish, but a metal one, iridescent scales glistening in the light. A white flower spouts from its mouth like a spray of water. “Stands on its tail fins, it does. Great for over the mantel. Comes with its own stardrop flower! They’re said to ward off the Malice Spirit.”
“She’s all right.” Dayton grabs my arm and tugs me away from the vendor. “This one has plenty of gadgets and gizmos already.”
“Hey, it was kind of cute,” I say.
“Don’t come to me when the spirit sucks your wits!” the vendor calls after us.
Dayton gives a dramatic sigh and stomps back, digging in his pockets for a coin. I give a beaming smile as he presents me with the trinket. A new friend for Ani.
“What’s a Malice Spirit?” I ask as we fall into step beside Farron.
Farron wrinkles his nose. “Not a legend I’m familiar with. I know the Spring folk have lots of tales of monsters crawling up from the caves, but those are usually just creatures of the Below.”
A gentle breeze brushes my hair back, thick with a floral fragrance. “Have either of you been to this smithy before?”
“Draconhold Forge,” Dayton corrects. “Don’t let them hear you call it anything less. And yes, a few times. Spring exports more than half the metal for the realms, and about eighty percent of all weapons.”
Our mission today is to investigate the forge and see if they know anything about the stolen weapons. This could have been one of the places the goblins got the Spring steel.
“This city is truly fascinating,” I say as we continue down the streets. Florendel is like an extension of the mountain itself, the stone and earth expertly shaped by the hands of ancient fae. Intricate floral motifs decorate the surfaces of the buildings, bridges, and walkways that are seamlessly carved into the mountainside. Delicate vines cascade down the stucco walls, tendrils swaying with the gentle rhythm of the mountain’s heartbeat. The whole city is carved from volcanic rock, the buildings crafted of pink brick. It feels like walking through a daydream.
As we enter the main market area, the path widens, and the crowd grows dense. Dayton pulls me protectively against his side. A huge flower fountain spouts crystal-clear water.
Stalls are adorned with a stunning array of wares, showcasing the talents and artisanship. There are weapons, clothes, and quite a bit of jewelry, along with potent herbs and colorful spices. The bottles of fragrant potions and elixirs are embellished with gemstones and jewels, their facets reflecting the sunlight and casting dazzling rainbows upon the cobblestones.
The vibrant chatter of the fae fills my ears. But I notice more than a few glances in our direction. “They must recognize you as High Princes,” I whisper.
Dayton’s eyes darken. “Some, but use that fae hearing you’ve got now, Rosie. Listen.”
Most changes have come naturally, like the new vibrancy of the colors I see or clearer vision. But Farron said my body may repress some changes that could be too overstimulating.
Stilling my breath, I try to reach out my senses, focusing on a conversation between two women, both in pale green dresses with armored spiked shoulder plates.
“It’s the High Prince of Autumn all right,” one of them says. “Every time I’ve ever seen him here, he’s with the Summer Prince.”
“And the girl? Do you think it’s her?”
“Gorgeous, isn’t she? Whispers have come from Autumn. The Golden Ro—”
A fae child sprints across the path, trailing a kite in the shape of a bird, laughing loudly. The sound splits into my sharpened hearing and a ringing fills my ears. I grit my teeth, hissing in pain.
“It’s all right. Takes practice,” Dayton says softly. He leans down, as if to kiss my ear, before he straightens.
“Interesting.” Farron narrows his eyes at the crowd. “That name has traveled here as well. Come along. There’s something I want to show you.”
We retreat from the bustle of the market, passing a troupe of musicians playing an upbeat tune. Outcroppings of gardens pop up along these streets. Most are filled with unique flowers or plants, but some are vegetable and fruit patches, all snuggled in the rock.
“We’re almost there.” Farron smiles. “Spring is a wonderful realm, isn’t it? They’ve mastered the harmony between stone, nature, and themselves.”
“It’s amazing,” I say.