Page 39 of Kissed By Songs of Lilies

The Fae King

She thumped my chest, right above my rotting heart, and her ocean eyes battered me like relentless waves. It was as if she knew what lay beneath my tunic, as if she could see clearly the dark circle that surrounded my heart.

She wanted more?

What more did I have to give?

Without another word, she turned her back on me and began to walk away. In her haste, she had forgotten my family’s Book of Iron. She was almost to the door when remorse washed over me.

"Wait," I rang out.

She stopped for only a fraction of a second.

I lifted the ancient book from the table. It had been passed down through many generations. Within its pages were entries on all types of fae, our rivals and our allies alike. Their strengths, weaknesses, and secrets were scrawled on each page in a special ink that hid from prying eyes. It was, in short, a grimoire for faeries. She was the first person I had ever shared it with. I offered it to her again. "Please, at least take this with you. Make sure you finish reading it."

She looked like she might simply walk out of the door, but she returned and snatched the book from my hands.

Before I could say anything more, she was gone, leaving me with my thoughts and regrets. It was true I hadn’t known many humans. Sure, I had interacted with them in brief conversations and bargains over the centuries.

But I had never lived with one. I had certainly never kissed one. I trailed my fingers over my mouth. Her lips had been so soft and gentle. So unfae. I hated myself for it, but I knew I would think of that kiss for hours, even days, to come.

CHAPTER 20

The Stolen Bride

That night, I couldn’t sleep. My mind insisted on replaying my evening with Forrest, one tantalizing moment at a time. It lingered in anxiety over our argument and in breathless anticipation over our brief kiss.

Finally, I sat up and fumbled on my nightstand for a match. I struck it and lit my candle. Then I reached under my bed and pulled out the book Hawthorne had recommended—Glimmering Gardens and the Secrets They Keep. Perhaps, a little late night reading would put me to sleep.

The book wasn’t a reference guide as I had expected. There were no useful sections on medicinal herbs or magical houseplants. Instead, it was brimming with accounts of renowned gardens throughout the ages and detailed illustrations and planting guides.

First, I read about the Garden of Alexandria where they had brought water to the desert through innovative new methods. Some of which even the author couldn’t ascertain. A blooming rooftop amid the arid sand was something to behold. I found my mind wandering already, beginning to think of how I might set up my own irrigation system using similar methods.

The next section was on a witch’s garden. She had numerous plots, each with separate purposes. One of them caught my eye called simply Memory Garden. As I looked at the watercolor diagram, I felt a stirring in my chest. One I couldn’t quite place. The hues of blue and white flowers surrounded by a tranquil sea of rosemary were unusual. So few flowers were blue. I wondered if they were flowers from other realms. I wanted to read on, but I yawned and rubbed my eyes.

Sleep was calling, and my candle was nearly burned down to ash. I blew it out and rested my head on my pillow.

I was out before I knew it.

I dreamed of a hedgerow and a hidden garden with blue and white flowers, of bright sunlight, of momma’s laugh.

After breakfast, a box arrived just outside my door.

I stared at it with suspicion. Was this some sort of bribe from Forrest? He had done quite enough with that book he gave me. I had briefly flipped through its pages last night. It contained page after page of faeries, cataloging their weaknesses. I was shocked he had given me such a powerful weapon.

Maybe he actually saw something in me. Maybe, just maybe, I was beginning to see something in him too. I brushed a finger against my lips where he had kissed me. It had been a good kiss but different than I had expected– gentle, soft, and fleeting. Coming from someone who could bring lightning down from the heavens, it had been a surprise.

As I carried the box inside, I noticed a note was taped to the top. Curiously, I opened it. I recognized the familiar tilting handwriting instantly.

Little Sparrow,

I can only imagine that your wild heart has quickened in anger upon the receipt of this gift. However, I assure you it is not my intention to buy your affections. You made it perfectly clear that I could not do so even if I tried.

And, I daresay, your esteem would be worth far more than any gown I could procure. Nonetheless, you must be clothed for the full moon revel, celebrating our engagement.

I apologize for my behavior last night. I know little of humans and even less of human women. I have several hours of appointments this evening, but I wonder… would you do me the honor of an evening stroll?

Yours,

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