Page 10 of His Summer Prince

When he finally did let go, Elior crouched to take a jumping and happily barking Toby into his arms. He petted and cuddled the dog until he calmed, lying panting in the grass, bright eyes smiling at Elior.

“How are the girls doing?” Elior asked, nodding toward the sheep.

“They’re well. We’ve lost a few of the older ones over winter but had a good lambing season.”

“You sold the little ones?” Elior asked, his gaze drifting over the flock.

“Most of them.”

“It’s difficult to look after the flock if it becomes too big.”

“That, and my parents needed the money.”

Elior clasped Wren’s shoulder. “You know I can give you gold if you need it.”

“I do.” Wren stepped into Elior’s embrace, unable to get enough. “But you already do too much for me.”

“I don’t do enough.” Elior’s arms closed around him.

“Yes, you do. Every summer, you help me tend the sheep. I must be up to my eyeballs in debt to you.” Fae were infamousfor keeping a mental tally from cradle to grave about who owed whom how much, a compulsion they couldn’t control. Wren had been warned about being indebted to a fae, though he didn’t mind if that debt was to Elior.

“You’re not. I count your company against your debt. It’s all I want.”

Wren’s chest expanded. He ran his hands up and down Elior’s back, feeling the muscles under his tunic. They reconnected through touch, through breathing each other in. The strength of Elior’s body against his calmed Wren’s most desperate urges. It took a while before they were ready to focus on the day’s work.

They finished setting up the pen, and Wren pulled a bag of salt from his shepherd’s hut. Salt was an important part of the sheep’s diet; it encouraged them to eat more and kept them healthy. It also made counting them easier: Wren sliced the bag open in one corner and poured the salt in a long, straight line across the field. As the salt trickled onto the ground, the flock lined up along his path, one after the other stopping to lick at the white crystals. Once the sheep formed a neat line, Elior counted them. Wren returned the rest of the bag to his hut, closing the sack with a thick jute string.

“Ninety-seven,” Elior called out.

What? Wren stuck his head out of the hut, finding Elior standing back from the flock, surveying it. His heart sank—there were supposed to be ninety-eight sheep. “Are you sure?”

“I counted twice.”

Wren cursed. He must’ve lost one in the hills. It wasn’t the first time he had to search for a strangler. He prayed it wasn’t too late. Taking his shepherd’s crook, a tool that doubled as a walking stick, Wren jumped out of the hut. “I’ll have to go looking for the missing one.”

He glanced at Elior. Had this happened in the middle of summer, one of them would’ve stayed with the flock whilethe other went searching, but after six months apart, further separation seemed cruel. Wren bit his lip.

“Can I come with you?” Elior asked. His eyes burned with the same need that filled Wren’s soul.

Going together wasn’t a good idea. “Please.”

Wren opened the pen and had Toby drive the flock inside, he and Elior moving to the sides, bracketing the sheep so they wouldn’t run off to the sides. Once the sheep were in the pen, Elior warded it with magic. Wren told Toby to stay with the flock, and he obediently lay down in front of the pen, watching it.

Wren and Elior retraced the herd’s journey. The immediate area leading up to the hills was flat terrain with no sheep to be seen. Wren and Elior crossed a field, tall grass brushing their calves while above them in the cloudless sky, a hawk circled.

“My mother’s been talking my ear off about getting married,” Wren lamented as they caught each other up on the past six months. “She’s insisting on adaughter-in-law, and the girl better be a knight.”

“You don’t want to marry?” Elior asked casually.

Wren sucked in his lips, thinking. “It’s not that. More like I don’t want to marry someone just because my mother is pushing for it. I’m not a nobleman who needs to find a suitable spouse for political gain. There won’t be a marriage anyway—all the women are at the front. Plus, she can’t force me to marry. The Lady wouldn’t bless a connection that isn’t wanted.”

“That’s lucky. Because my mother is going to marry me off whether I like it or not.”

Wren stopped in his tracks. “She— What?”

Above them, the hawk folded its wings and swooped down in rapid descent. Twenty yards in front of them, claws out, it ripped a mouse from the field. The bird beat its wings and flew away with its prey, blood dripping.

“She’s going to marry me to the Winter King.” Elior’sdisgusted tone told Wren everything he needed to know.

---