Page 21 of His Summer Prince

They were one. Nothing and nobody else mattered. Who cared about the world? Who cared about orcs and kings and alliances when there wasthis?

Kissing Wren was as natural as breathing. Their tongues slid together, and Elior tasted fate. They’d been inevitable. No matter which path they would’ve chosen, whether they had bonded or not, they would’ve always found their way to each other, arriving at this moment, two jagged pieces sliding together and fitting perfectly, forming a single unit. They filled the holes in each other’s hearts.

Wren’s tongue rolled over his, and Elior nearly fainted in bliss. Who would’ve guessed that kissing one’s best friend was rapture-inducing?

Wren would always be his best friend. Elior hated it when people said they were “just” friends as if that relationship was somehow inferior. Had Elior been forced to marry the Winter King, his friendship with Wren would’ve remained the most important, most treasured relationship of his life. His mother didn’t care about him beyond his utility, and his siblings had never shown a smidgen of interest. Wren cared. Wren was interested in nothingbuthim. Elior’s best friend was more than family, more than a spouse, not less. Genuine devotionconnected them. They were united by choice, not by blood, not by an arranged marriage or something that forced them into this. They’d chosen to be friends, chosen to join their souls. Their friendship was everything, and there was no “just.”

When they parted, Wren rested his brow against Elior’s, both of them panting. He squeezed Elior’s fingers. “I didn’t know you felt the same.”

“Me either.”

“There was so much emotion flowing back and forth when we bonded. There was love and lust, but I thought those feelings were mine. They felt so similar. Don’t ever hold back again. I love and accept every part of you, the good and the bad. Lay it all open. I want it. I want you. Between us, nothing is out of bounds. There’s nobody I trust more. I’d put my life into your hands. There’s nothing you could do that’d turn me away. Nothing. I’ll always love you.” Mischief edged into the bond. “Even if you started farting like a human.”

“I’d never fart,” Elior said with mock indignation.

“Such a fine prince.”

“Shut up, Wren.”

“No, let me shut you up,” Wren said and sealed his lips over Elior’s.

What followed was a blur of sunshine and stolen kisses. With the bond wide open, Elior learned the nuances that differentiated his feelings from Wren’s.

Lust swayed in the bond, but they were shy to act on it. Neither of them had been intimate before, and while they had an idea of how things worked between men, they enjoyed taking love slowly, discovering each other bit by bit.

The daily chores of leading the flock to fresh pastures, preparing food and doing repairs kept them occupied, often late into the evening. The sheep needed regular milking, which they did early in the morning. Locals from Upper Fairstead wouldbring empty containers, which Elior and Wren filled with milk, selling it at two farthings a bucket. It wasn’t much, but it kept them afloat—or rather, it kept Wren afloat, who stubbornly refused to live off Elior’s faerie gold.

Deep down, Elior knew it was the wise thing to do. His gold came from his mother, and his resources were limited. If Wren covered their day-to-day expenses by selling milk, they could save Elior’s gold for emergencies.

One morning, they were milking the sheep when Juniper came to see them. Elior spotted her from afar, alarmed. She normally let weeks pass between visits. His apprehension overflowed into Wren, who stopped in the middle of milking to look up. Juniper’s face was dark when she arrived. She wasn’t bearing good news.

Wren fetched her a stool while he and Elior kept working the sheep—they had to finish soon and take the flock to pasture, otherwise the animals wouldn’t get enough food for the day.

“The Winter King has announced his visit to the Summer Court for next month,” Juniper said after she’d greeted them.

“So soon?” Elior asked. He hadn’t expected having to meet him before autumn.

“I’m afraid so. He wants to make the betrothal official and arrange the wedding.”

Elior’s stomach turned. He’d have to return to the Summer Court, losing time with Wren. “There’s no way of stopping this, is there?”

“No.”

Come the end of the year, Elior would have to go through with the sham wedding, which would be called off at the altar when the bond didn’t take. Without the bond in place, the wedding was invalid. Either way, the Winter King wouldn’t want a husband over whom he had no emotional control through a bond. In such a union, Elior would’ve been the lower-ranking spouse and expected to submit to the Winter King. He shuddered.

Elior’s bond with Wren would protect him against attempts to connect him to the Winter King, but the idea of meeting his “betrothed,” let alone going through the ceremony, nauseated him. And what if his bond with Wren, against all odds, was discovered?

The sheep Elior was milking picked up his nervous energy, baaing and stomping her feet. Wren threw him a worried glance. Trying to calm the agitated ewe, Elior petted her between the ears, murmuring soft reassurances.

Juniper went on and shared the latest rumors from the Summer Palace, though Elior had trouble paying attention. His thoughts were rotating around the Winter King’s impending visit, his nerves flooding the bond with worry.

“We’ll be fine,” Wren said after Juniper had departed. He got up from where he’d been crouching to milk the last sheep and cleaned his hands with a damp cloth. Elior sent off his ewe, and Wren came over to press his fingers into his neck, massaging the stiffness out of his muscles. Elior groaned.

“Nothing bad is going to happen,” Wren said, digging his thumbs into the tense spots in Elior’s back, making him lean into the firm caress. “You’ll meet the Winter King, there’ll be some formalities, and then you won’t see him until autumn.”

Wren offered Elior his hand and helped him onto his feet. He picked up a fresh cloth, took Elior by the wrist and cleaned his milk-soaked fingers one by one. A sigh built in Elior’s throat as Wren dragged the cloth over his skin, the touch grounding him.

“How do you always know what I need?”

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