Page 29 of His Summer Prince

They set up the pen for the night, Elior counting the sheep as Wren and Toby drove them inside. A furrow creased Elior’s brow, unease swaying through the bond.

“What is it?” Wren asked, trudging through the grass toward him.

“We’re missing one.”

Not again. “Are you sure?”

Elior mumbled, recounting. Wren joined his efforts though it wasn’t easy with the sheep no longer moving through the gate one at a time.

“Damn,” Wren said when he finished. “You’re right.”

Elior slung an arm around Wren’s midsection. He was eternally grateful for the comfort.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” Wren exhaled. “I’m their shepherd; they rely on me to look after them and keep them safe. And sheep are valuable—I can’t afford to lose one. The sun is going to be up for several more hours. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to backtrack.”

Elior nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“Wha—”

“It’s dangerous out there. I don’t want you anywhere near the orcs, especially not alone.”

“I’d rather you stay here. I want you to be safe.”

“That may well be, but you know I’m faster and stronger than any human. I might not be a match for an orc, but I can still help. Besides, I’ve sworn to honor and protect you,” Elior said, mischief creeping into his voice, “and you know I have no way out of that promise.”

Affection bloomed in Wren’s chest, and he pressed a kiss to Elior’s lips. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.”

Wren grabbed his shepherd’s crook and commanded Toby to stay with the flock. The dog gave a short “woof” in answer, and Wren fed him a piece of dried meat, petting him on the head. “Good boy. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

As they retraced their steps, billowing gray clouds moved in from the east. The air grew heavy and humid—a thunderstorm was coming. They were frequent in summer, a week’s worth of heat violently unloading each time.

As they walked, Wren looked for signs of the missing sheep while Elior kept an eye on the horizon, scanning for danger. They didn’t have to go far. Half a mile south of Hurst, a slope rose between the river and the fields beyond. Wren climbed the small rise, and there was Gertie, head first in the water, drowned. His heart sank. She must’ve walked onto the slope as they’d marched north, lost her footing and, hidden from everyone by the rise, fallen into the river on the other side and broken her leg, leaving her unable to save herself.

A lump formed in Wren’s throat. Elior was by his side in a flash, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Wren hated what came next, but it had to be done. They dragged Gertie fromthe river, her wool soaked with water, making her even heavier. Wren, with tightness in his chest, took her by the forefeet, Elior by the hind legs, and together they carried her toward Hurst.

Wren’s arms hurt with the strain by the time they got there. They found a butcher and received a gold shilling for the meat and wool.

Wren walked back to camp with his head down, Elior a solace by his side. Above them, the looming clouds thickened, soon blanketing the sky. Lightning flashed across the horizon, and moments later, thunder roared.

Back at camp, Wren fed Toby another treat for looking after the flock. Working in silence, Wren and Elior dug a shallow fire pit and lined it with rocks they pulled from the riverbed. They’d never needed many words to organize themselves doing chores, but with the bond, they were keenly aware of each other’s movements and intentions, making working together as easy as breathing.

Once they got the fire going, they cooked a simple stew and fed Toby before sitting down side by side, shoulders brushing as they ate. A lightning bolt lit up the sky.

Wren wished he hadn’t taken the flock south. He’d known orcs were on the loose. He should’ve—

“Don’t blame yourself,” Elior said, picking up on his mood. “You’re doing your best looking after the sheep, and accidents happen.”

“Going to Mendham was a mistake. I knew Ellesmere had been raided, and Mendham isn’t that far. I should’ve known better than to do what I’ve always done.”

In past years, he’d spent his summers leading the sheep up and down the Somer Valley, ensuring they always had a fresh pasture. He couldn’t stay in an area for too long as sheep produced a lot of manure, and they could catch parasites from grazing near their droppings.

“It seemed the right thing at the time,” Elior said. “We didn’t know we’d lose a sheep. Don’t beat yourself up over something you had no control over. I should’ve paid more attention when we fled.”

“No, you were busy driving the wagon.”

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