Page 263 of Kingdoms of Night

“Why?” Enid asked.

“Proof.” Once again, Geraint cursed that he was thinking with his small brain rather than his big brain.

“Proof of what?”

He could not explain to her the medieval notion of proving a wife’s purity by the blood that could be found on the sheets after the bed sport of the wedding night. Nor did he want to go into the modern laws that sex had to happen in order for the marriage to be deemed legal. Especially when in most first world countries nowadays, all it took was the signing of a legal document.

Geraint had none of these backups to prove that Enid was now and would forever be his. She could walk away from him at any point, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Except she wasn’t leaving the room. She was slipping off her gown to reveal a sheer slip beneath the garment. Were his deepest desires about to be consummated after all his blundering?

“You’ll take me to Camelot?” she said. “You’ll take me away from this place?”

Geraint nodded mutely as Enid slipped beneath the covers. When he took a step toward the bed, she didn’t tell him to go. The bed creaked under his weight as he sat down on the mattress.

“That is all I require of you,” she said. “Then you can consummate me as often as you like.”

Enid turned over, giving him her back. Geraint wanted to reach out to her, to touch her. Though she was his wife, he didn’t feel he had the right. Not after insulting her honor. Again.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Enid woke to heat. For a moment, she wondered if she’d fallen asleep outside in the garden. But no, that wasn’t the sun’s rays on her skin. The heat didn’t come from above. It was all around her, starting at her back.

It also didn’t taste like the sun. The sun’s warmth didn’t have any flavors. It was pure nutritional energy. Pretty bland for the evolved flora that produced nectars.

What the sensors on Enid’s flesh tasted wasn’t bland. It was spicy and earthy at the same time. A kick to her tastebuds that got her sap rushing, followed by a soothing salve that she wanted rubbed all over her body.

She opened her eyes to a brown arm slung over her middle. On the arm were fine tufts of hair. Enid had thought she’d find her husband’s hair disgusting, like lying on an animal’s skinned fur.

That was far from the case. Though her knight was made up of mostly hard angles and thick muscles, he was soft. Soft and warm and spicy.

Her vines also liked the taste and feel of him. There was twine over his wrist. She colored at the sight, thankful he hadn’t woken to see how she’d wrapped herself around him as they’d slumbered. Fae only had this reaction to things they coveted.

Enid didn’t covet him. She knew better than to covet anything or anyone. The only explanation for it was that it had been a long day, and she was off her game.

She’d given her back to Geraint last night, so she had no idea how she’d come to be lying in the cradle of his arms with the back of her head pressed into his chest. His strong chest that, when she turned her head, she noted was covered in the same soft tufts of hair.

Again, the scents of turned earth and woodsy musk and salty sweat assaulted her senses. Her mouth watered to lick at the salt of his flesh. Enid didn’t dare. She was certain he would find that strange.

Kissing on the lips was one thing. Entering another’s body was yet another. But the deviant urges she sometimes had to lick at another’s flesh would certainly be unwelcome.

All too soon, their differences were becoming apparent. Geraint clearly had a hangup with sex. Which was too bad, as Enid had been looking forward to writhing against his big body.

That big body was curled around hers, like vines chasing a lattice up to the sunlight. His brown legs entwined with her lavender ones. He was like fertile earth. She wanted to root herself into him like he was fertile ground. But she wasn’t sure he could be trusted.

With her flower, yes.

With her heart? She could never see herself giving her heart to any male. Look what that had cost her mother.

Although Geraint was nothing like her father. The knight played no games. He was a fighter who fought for what he thought was good and right. It meant he wouldn’t likely be swayed from his path.

As long as that path took her away from her father’s gardens, that was fine with her. She would finally be free. She would finally be away from a palace full of intrigue. She could live a boring life in Camelot. She had no need of friends or allies. She could plant her own seeds and watch them grow.

With reluctance, Enid slipped from the bed. She instantly regretted the loss of Geraint’s warmth. The world felt colder outside of his arms.

Inside her closet, she dressed and packed a small bag. There wasn’t much she wanted to take from her home. She would leave it all. But she did want to take a few sprouts with her.

Stepping outside into the gardens, Enid didn’t turn her face up to the sun. Though the star’s rays gave her the nourishment her body needed, she found the morning’s meal tasted lackluster. Her body itched to go back to her knight and curl up with him in her bed.

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