Page 42 of His Summer Prince

“I know,” Elior said. His hand sought out Wren, hovering an inch from his arm.

His hesitation broke Wren’s heart. He reached out and pulled Elior against him, stroking and comforting him. “Whatever you did, for whatever reason we’re on the run, I know you did it with the best intentions. I won’t be angry no matter what it is.”

The anxiety in the bond mellowed, and Elior relaxed against him. Swallowing, he said, “I’m not sure how you’ll react. I can only hope you’ll forgive me.” Elior took his hands. “I thought about it for a long time, and what I did wasn’t an easy decision, but…” He hesitated. “I’ve always been afraid of losing you.”

“But you won’t lose me,” Wren said emphatically. Why was there this note of sadness drifting over? “Not ever. Not as long as I live.”

“But that’s the thing. I’m a fae. You’re human. I’ll have to live without you for hundreds of years.”

The absolute terror of that notion knocked the wind out of Wren. They were young, and he hadn’t thought about Elioroutliving him. But Elior was destined to live for centuries, and like all long-lived creatures, he tended to think ahead. Wren had never concerned himself with anything more long-term than making it through winter.

A cold fist closed around his heart. Wren would die in fifty or sixty years, leaving Elior, his bondmate, alone in this world. The thought was physically painful, stabbing his chest.

“So you understand,” Elior said, “that I couldn’t let that happen. I refuse to live without you. Which is why I stole this.”

He went for the leather pouch that his shawl had hidden all day. Reaching inside, he produced a golden apple, its skin shining in the light of the setting sun.

Wren knew. Of course he knew. Every child in Vale had heard the legend of the summer faerie fruit, a golden apple that promised near-eternal life. Like everyone, he’d brushed it off as a myth, not bothering to ask Elior about it. It was just a story—or so he’d thought.

Wren listened as Elior explained the significance of the fruit to the Summer Court and how he’d discovered the ripe apple. “It extends a human lifespan to the length of a fae’s. Its value is immeasurable, and my mother, once she notices it’s gone, will come after me to retrieve it.” He told Wren how he’d used his absence at the betrothal ceremony as a distraction, how he’d run into the Winter King, who’d been swayed to help Elior after he found him unfit as a spouse.

“I still don’t like that he kissed you even if it was to stop you from worrying about repayment,” Wren said. “At least you didn’thateit.”

“He’s a presumptuous bastard. I would’ve loathed to submit to him.” Elior shuddered. “But you’re right, it could’ve been worse. He could’ve been ugly.”

Wren snickered. “That too.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to Elior’s. “There. I’ve kissed his kiss away.”

“You’d kill him if he did it again, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes,” Wren said ferociously. “That’d be the end of me, but it’d be worth it.”

“Rest assured I’d avenge you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to steal the apple?”

“Two reasons. First of all, I was worried you’d try to stop me.”

Wren clasped his hand. “I would’ve given up my shepherd’s life for you, but stealing the apple was bloody dangerous.”

Elior’s face softened. “I know. I wouldn’t have taken the fruit if I wasn’t sure that this,” he gestured between them, “was the most important thing to both of us.”

“Where you go, I go.”

“I’d burn down the world for you,” Elior said with such conviction that a shiver raced down Wren’s back.

“And the other reason why you didn’t tell me?”

“There was a chance things would go wrong and I wouldn’t be able to steal the fruit. I could’ve been caught red-handed in my mother’s chambers. I could’ve been apprehended as I fled—the Winter King almost did. They would’ve taken the apple from me, and that would’ve been it. I didn’t want to give you false hope of another three hundred years only to disappoint you.” Elior held out the apple. “Now the question is: do you want it?”

Wren took the summer faerie fruit and bit off a mouthful. The texture was unexpected. It melted to honey on his tongue, and he ate the apple in quick, hungry bites. Rich and sweet, its powerful taste filled his mouth. Taking no chances, he devoured even the core.

As he swallowed the last of it, a warmth ignited in his belly. It spread from there, running into every part of his body, remaking him. The calluses on his fingers vanished; the ache from riding all day drained away. He felt strong and healthy, like he’d been sick his entire life and the summer faerie fruit had cured him. He was going to be with Elior for another three hundred years.

“Of course I want it.”

Elior beamed and kissed him, slow and sensual. “I can taste the apple on you,” he said and licked into Wren’s mouth, making him dizzy. Pleasure pulsed through their souls.

“Now we have no choice but to run,” Wren said as he eased away. “What is your mother going to do?”

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