Page 44 of His Summer Prince

Tired and sated, they moved into their room on the upper floor. Toby immediately fell asleep. Elior and Wren cleaned themselves in the adjacent washroom, scrubbing off the dust of the road. Once they were soaped up, Elior rinsed Wren with a bucket of water, leaving his skin fresh and pink. Wren returned the favor, and oh, it felt good to wash away the stress of the past days. Fresh water cascaded down his body, and he caught Wren tracking the streams caressing his pecs, stomach and cock.

The heat of summer had turned the bedroom into an oven, and Elior opened the window overlooking the street to let in the cool night air. Wren climbed into bed, and he followed, rolling on top of him.

He sank into Wren with body and soul, making slow love to him. The room was quiet, the silence only interrupted by their low moans and the occasional creak of the wooden ceiling. Afterward, Elior kissed Wren reverently, peppering him with soft caresses until they both spilled once more, their release sweet and deep.

It was dark when Elior woke, an arm slung around Wren’s waist. Night had cooled the chamber, and he shivered in his thin tunic. Wan moonlight fell through the window, and there it was again, the sound that had woken him: Toby was growling. Beside him, Wren stirred.

Elior’s hand closed around the hilt of the iron dagger he’d hidden under his pillow. It came free of its sheath just as strong hands ripped him and Wren out of bed.

A fae knight brought her blade to Wren’s throat. Elior froze as panic shot through the bond.

“Drop the dagger, Your Highness,” the knight said. Her tall, muscular frame towered over Wren, blond hair hanging down her back in a severe braid. Elior recalled her name as Theandra; she was a trusted knight of his mother’s.

The other two were holding Elior, restraining him so he wouldn’t cut them. The knights must’ve ridden across western Vale, collecting information from villages and travelers as to the whereabouts of a lost fae prince and his human companion.

“Your Highness,” Theandra repeated. “Drop the weapon. We mean you no harm. We’re simply here to take you to your mother. If you comply, nothing will happen to your companion.” Despite Theandra’s words, the blade in her hand snuck closer to Wren’s throat, forcing him to lift his chin to avoid being cut.Toby barked.

The knights holding Elior were so focused on keeping him from stabbing them, they didn’t see it coming when he wrested his arm in the opposite direction, toward himself. The blade came to a stop a hairbreadth from his throat.

The knights flinched back on instinct, letting go of him. Nothing put the fear of God into a fae like iron.

“How dare you attack me in my chamber at night,” Elior said through gritted teeth, pressing all the princely attitude he could muster into his voice.

“Your High—”

“Release him at once,” Elior snapped. The blade was right at his throat, and he was ready to do anything if only it got Wren free. Sweat beaded on his brow. It took everything he had to suppress the instinct to toss the iron dagger across the room.

Theandra did not react.

“You can tell my mother that the summer faerie fruit is gone. I plucked it from the tree weeks ago, and even if it was still in my possession, it would’ve spoiled by now. As for the Winter King—he would’ve called off the betrothal.”

He didn’t know for sure, but the look Theandra and her knights exchanged confirmed his suspicions. The Winter King had been interested in an easy alliance and didn’t want to get involved in the Summer Court’s theatrics. He’d returned to his court and was looking for a spouse elsewhere.

“If my mother thinks she can marry me off to the Winter King or whoever she wants me to spread my legs for, you can tell her you saw this.” He deglamoured his wedding mark, moonlight catching on the golden sun on the back of his hand. “I’ve become utterly worthless as a political tool.”

Theandra’s expression turned grim. She was loyal to the queen and didn’t want to return empty-handed. With a flick of her head, she commanded her knights to seize Elior. Theygrabbed him once more, but in the process, they jostled his steady grip on the iron blade. It came to rest on his throat, his skin hissing and sizzling at the contact. A thin runnel of blood rolled down his Adam’s apple and onto his collarbone.

“Back off,” Elior growled, the iron biting into his throat.

Toby snarled at Theandra. It was a final warning, his fangs glistening in the moonlight. Toby’s friendly demeanor with his cheerful barks and wagging tail had vanished, revealing the wolf in him. The predator.

“The queen doesn’t want me dead,” Elior said. His skin burned where the blade rested against it. Wren’s swelling panic crashed into him. “I’m bonded, and I will never return. I’m ruined for my mother’s purposes.”

The knights didn’t budge. They were under orders. His mother might’ve seen reason, these knights wouldn’t.

Elior wasn’t going to come with them. He wouldn’t allow them to separate him from Wren. This would end in a fight, and Wren knew it too.

Elior more felt than saw Wren stretch, trying to reach the iron dagger that hung, sheathed and unnoticed by the knights, from his breeches on the chair next to him. Wren, with his chin in the air, couldn’t look, but the weapon was within his reach. Elior kept his eyes off the dagger, but he knew its position, and he forced the knowledge from his mind into Wren’s.

Being a prince, Elior had enjoyed sword fighting lessons in his youth and knew how to wield a weapon. He was no match for the knights, but he didn’t have to be—they wouldn’t want to cut him. Wren did not enjoy such protections. Elior couldn’t strike until the iron blade was in Wren’s hand.

Theandra, noticing Wren’s subtle moves, tightened her hold, and that was when Toby launched himself at her. For a terrifying second, Elior thought Theandra, taken by surprise, would accidentally slice Wren’s throat. But she was well-trained, andshe knew that if she killed Wren, she’d lose the only thing she could pressure Elior into compliance with.

Toby went for the jugular, his teeth sinking into the fae’s throat. Wren wrested away and yanked the iron dagger from its sheath.

This was their one chance. Elior didn’t hesitate. He plunged his dagger into one of the knights next to him, sinking it into her stomach. On the other side of the bed, Wren did the same, driving his blade into Theandra’s chest.

Fae healed fast, but not from wounds caused by an iron blade. Stab wounds like these were lethal.

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