Page 32 of His Summer Prince

Wren snorted, and Elior pecked his cheek. “I’ll go clean up,” Elior said. He climbed off Wren and stripped, his body glowing in the low firelight. Wren couldn’t take his eyes off him as he ran off into the dark, the flames casting shadows on his smooth skin before the night swallowed him. A splash announced he’d jumped into the river.

Wren, fatigued after the orgasm, tidied the campsite with a lazy smile on his lips. By the time Elior returned, the fire had almost burned down. Wren wrapped his shivering body in a large piece of cloth, rubbing him dry. A raindrop hit his nose. It was time to go inside. He put out the fire and took Elior’s hand, leading him into the shepherd’s hut.

Chapter Ten

Elior

That night, Elior slept restlessly. He’d come hard when Wren spilled in his mouth, had experienced a release so powerful it almost knocked him out. He would’ve thought that it’d guarantee a good night’s sleep, but his dreams startled him awake time and again: Wren chased and captured by orcs. The flock slaughtered. Wren rapidly aging, dying in his arms.

It was the last one that haunted Elior the most because it was a vision of their future. Elior had over two hundred years in front of him, Wren sixty. Maybe less. He’d die, and Elior would be left behind in a world that had lost all its appeal. He didn’t want to live without Wren. Not now and not in a century.

And he wouldn’t. Elior was going to risk everything and gift Wren more time. It’d disrupt their lives like nothing ever had, but he was going to do it. A future without Wren was no future at all.

Over the following days, they continued north, and by the time midsummer rolled around, they were back at the shores of Lake Ardeg. The previous week had brought the usual cold snap that came each year in early summer. Now it had passed, and Wren had taken the sheep to Upper Fairstead to have them shorn. It was a laborious task that took half a dozen people all day, and now that the heat was sure to come, it had to be done quickly. Wren always hired day laborers for a couple of pennies each, making more than his money back when he sold the wool in the evening.

Elior had stayed with the shepherd’s hut to prepare for the midsummer festivities. Across the field, villagers were busy building a pyre for the bonfire. It was a warm day, the sun burning down on Elior as he searched for flowers to weave into the traditional wreaths—one for the shepherd hut’s door and two for him and Wren to wear during the festival. It was a human custom that fae looked to with bewilderment, but it had grown on Elior. What was important to Wren was important to him.

He was picking wild roses for Wren’s flower crown, bees buzzing past, when Juniper found him. She strode through the field toward him, her green dress swaying as she approached.

“Good to see you,” Juniper said as she gave him a friendly hug. “Where’s Wren?”

Elior inclined his head toward the village on the hill. “Getting the sheep shorn.”

“Ah. I can’t believe you can stand being apart.” Newly bonded mates were notorious for clinging to one another.

“Trust me, my mood is only this light because he’ll be back in a couple of hours. You should’ve seen me this morning.” At least he felt the warm embrace of Wren’s soul, his only solace while they were apart.

“That bad?” Juniper gave a good-natured laugh. “Oh dear.” She looked at her sandalled feet. “Well, unfortunately, I’ll have to dampen your spirits.”

“How so?”

“The Winter King is due to arrive at the Summer Court tomorrow to formalize your betrothal. The queen sent guards to my room, telling me to come and get you. She’s serious. I’m supposed to drag you home by the ear if I have to.”

Something nasty twisted inside Elior’s gut. He looked at the wild roses in his hand. “And if I don’t come, she’s going to send knights to grab me, isn’t she?”

Juniper huffed. “You can bet on it. She’s keen on the alliancewith the Winter King.”

“I can’t believe she’s willing to sell my ass for political gain.”

Juniper paled a little.

“Sorry,” Elior said.

“We can wait until tonight when Wren is back so you can tell him what’s happening. I know you wouldn’t leave without telling him.”

Elior blew out a breath. “I’m not going tonight.” He stopped Juniper with a gesture before she could interrupt. “It’s midsummer. Wren and I are attending the festivities.” He nodded toward the people preparing the bonfire. “It’s important to him. If the Winter King doesn’t arrive until tomorrow, there’s no reason for me to return tonight.”

Juniper put a hand on her hip. “Don’t cause me trouble.” She pointed a finger at him. “First thing tomorrow morning, you’re going home. I don’t care if you celebrated all night. You’re going home. Say it.”

She was trying to bind him with his words for both their sakes.

“I’ll come as early as I can.” That meant nothing, but it was as much as he was willing to give her. When she grumbled in disapproval, he added, “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

“I know. Just be there tomorrow.”

For months, Elior had ignored the upcoming visit. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Facing his mother and the Winter King sounded as fun as walking on knives. Now he had to deal with them. At least the Winter King wouldn’t be able to bind his soul. And there was no way Elior’s marriage to Wren could be discovered; Juniper had assured them of it. Elior’s stomach clenched in unease. It was time to execute his plan.

Chapter Eleven

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