Page 11 of His Summer Prince

“Your mother can’t force you.”

“Unfortunately, she can. She wants an alliance with the Winter Court, and she’s going to get it. If I refuse, she’s going to make me. Or she’ll expel me from the Summer Court and leave me in the human world.”

“But you wouldn’t survive the winter.”Oh. Bloody hell. And there Wren had thought his mother was harsh. “She’d do that?” he asked, aghast.

Elior sucked in air, lifting his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Wren’s world tilted off its axis. Elior was going to marry. Or rather, he was to be married against his will. Was there a reason why Elior resisted the betrothal? Was the issue that the Winter King was a man? Elior had previously courted a girl, however briefly. The notion of Elior marrying was physically painful.

“Isn’t the Winter King quite old?” Wren asked.

“He’s over two hundred.”

“Ugh.” Two hundred. At least fae aged well. King Malorn had been well over two hundred when he married Master Henry. A realization hit Wren like a bucket of ice water. Faerie weddings differed from human ones in that they created an unbreakable bond between the spouses’ souls. If Elior married the Winter King… “Your soul is going to be tied to his,” Wren pressed out, his throat closing as nausea threatened to make him lose the contents of his stomach.

Elior shut his eyes, visibly fighting surges of emotion: Disgust. Rage. Despair.

It was wrong in so many ways. Wren took his hand, interlacing their fingers. He squeezed, and Elior returned the pressure. How could the Summer Queen do this to her own son? Elior’s soul being connected to someone else’s was unthinkable. Elior would be sharing something with a stranger that hadpreviously belonged to Wren and him. Not that their souls were connected, but they might as well be with how close they were.

Whipping the tall grass out of the way with his shepherd’s crook, Wren marched up the slope, taking Elior with him. The idea of Elior marrying had him seething. At the top of the hill, Wren let go of Elior and stormed ahead, driving the curved end of his shepherd’s crook into the shrubbery, shoving branches to the side as he wildly searched for his missing sheep.

“Hey,” Elior said, putting his hands on Wren’s shoulders from behind. Their weight and strong grip drained his tension. “I know you’re upset, but you’re going to scare the sheep away before we find it. I’m not happy about this either, but let’s talk about it when we get back. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, you’re right.” Wren exhaled, then put his hands atop Elior’s. “I’m overreacting.”

“You’re not. Trust me. I should’ve told you later, not when we’re trying to find a missing sheep.”

“It’s just… the thought of you marrying hurts.”

“Yes,” Elior said, his voice small and full of pain.

A low baaing noise interrupted them, and there, between the bushes, a sheep poked out between the leaves. Wren recognized her immediately—it was Gertie, one of his older ewes.

“There you are,” Wren said, keeping his voice calm and friendly. “Come here, Gertie.”

She didn’t move, instead bowing her head to munch on the verdant grass around her.

“I’ll herd her from the rear.” Faster than Wren could see, Elior dashed into the greenery, giving Gertie a little scare as he appeared behind her. It startled her into a trot, and she came toward Wren, who turned, giving her the opportunity to follow him like she’d follow another sheep.

He led her down the hill, Elior following at a distance that wouldn’t frighten but compel her to trot after Wren. Theydescended single file, Elior a quiet but comforting presence at Wren’s back.

He couldn’t get the news of Elior’s betrothal out of his mind. At least his own mother wasn’t forcing him into a soulbond for political gain. The maelstrom of emotion on Elior’s face had spoken volumes as to how much he’d hate marrying the Winter King. God, Elior would be miserable with his soul tied to him for eternity. Wren would do anything to prevent Elior’s personal hell. But what could he do? He mulled it over all the way back to camp.

With summer approaching, the days stretched well into the evening, and the sun had only begun to set when they sat down at the campfire. Wren cooked porridge made with oats and sheep milk while Elior washed strawberries in a bowl of crystal clear river water, then cut them into pieces to be chucked onto the oatmeal. He filled an extra bowl with strawberries for Toby, who greedily wolfed down his portion.

Sitting side by side, Wren and Elior dipped their spoons into the food. The fruity scent of the strawberries mixed with the creamy aroma of the porridge, and Wren’s mouth watered.

“Wait,” Elior said, fishing a small, shiny bag from his pocket. “I brought something for you.” He pulled at the drawstrings, revealing a blush pink, glittering powder.

Wren clamped a hand over his mouth. “You brought faerie dust!”

“Of course I did.”

Elior handed him the pouch with a satisfied smirk. It was pure silk under Wren’s fingertips. He loved faerie dust. It tasted wonderfully sweet—better than honey—and came in all colors of the rainbow, each one carrying a distinct flavor.

“You’re amazing. Thank you.” Wren leaned in and kissed Elior’s cheek. He dropped his head on Elior’s shoulder. “I don’t deserve you.” Faerie dust was expensive and hard to come by.Elior didn’t enjoy its taste, but Wren loved the sweet explosion of flavor on his tongue. “And the pink one is my favorite.”

“I know.” Elior’s voice was drenched with pride.

---