Page 9 of The Pastel Prince

“I…thank you,” I replied, my heart tripping madly as the vines tried their best to wrap about my fingertips.

“You have a given gift with flora. Did that come to you by the divine touch of our goddess?”

“No,” I replied, letting my hand fall back to the pommel, the reins lying slack in my left fingers. Atriel felt my wishes, our bond growing deeper with each day, and so verbal commands or a touch of my heel to her flanks was rarely needed. “I was born with such ways. My father is a wilder warden and my mother a priestess of Danubia.”

“Ah, so you resemble your mother in magicks and looks, perchance?”

“Mm, yes, I’m much like my mother in many ways. Her powers lie in healing and herbology as well as earth elemental magicks. Many say there is no denying I am the son of Jastra as we are nearly identical in stature, build, and innate powers.”

“Your mother must be a most striking woman,” he offered, looking at me as I gawked openly.Had he just complimented me?“For she has made a son who rivals the beauty of the woods at dawn.”

I felt hot and jittery. “Well…” I wet my lips. Beirach made a sound like he had sat on a red-winged hornet. “I…my mother…yes, she is fair of face. Feminine. I always felt the odd child out as my brothers all resemble my father. Tall, powerful, and extremely masculine. Much like you.” His gaze locked with mine as our horses suddenly stopped. Perhaps Atriel sensed my befuddlement. “I meant…that I… you are stately. Yes, stately. Aged. Reeking of great primal beastly power whereas I am more…my…there is a fine mist in the air. Fog. Yes. Yes, it is fog.” I waved my hand about as my horse looked back at me in confusion.

“I am flattered. Truly. It is not every day that a man is told he is tall and masculine in one breath and then old and stinking in another.”

“Oh no, not old and stinking. Mature and brimming with powers. Yes, no. I am…” I nudged my horse in the sides, praying she would take off and gallop us all the way home, but no, she merely stood next to Methril, staring at me. “There are…fog. Yes, we should ride on before the fog thickens.”

He chuckled before leaning to the side to place a hand on my thigh. “Your mother has done you well, Kenton, for passing on her fair face and slim form. I always found a svelte man to be to my liking.”

I stared. Openly. For several long moments. Flies warming in the sun buzzed about the horses. Beirach met my gaze. Something began to simmer there on that thin trail by the unreadable road sign. My body hummed. His gaze dropped to my mouth. My horse shifted slightly under me. The cool mist touched my overheated cheeks.

“You find me pleasing to look at?” I asked, the words a weak whisper.

“Quite.”

“I…that is…nice.” Atriel turned to bite a fly—I assumed—and found my shin instead. I yelped loudly, the nip shattering the moment. “The horses grow bored.”

He nodded, cleared his throat, and clicked to his horse. I rode behind him, rubbing my shin, unable to clear his confession from my thoughts. Knowing he found me appealing made me lightheaded. Giddy. But then I recalled our mission and chided myself for such unimportant emotions. We were not on this journey to flirt. We were riding at noble decree to find and stop a potential sickness from overtaking Melowynn. We were not here to make dove eyes at each other. We were here to help my people. Thatmusttake precedence.

Still…he found me pleasing.Me. The one that was too dark for many seemed to be just the right hue for one.

Two days passed. Two days that seemed far too long in many ways and far too quick in others. Too long for the worry on my mind, for my distress seemed to grow larger with each new sun. Too quickly for the thickening attraction blossoming like a swamp orchid between me and Beirach. Now that I knew it to be entrancement on his side as well as mine, the moments spent talking, eating, even currying sweaty horses, flew by.

At times he seemed eager to pursue the tender relationship budding betwixt us, and then, at others, he would seem reluctant. He would withdraw a bit, putting space between us both physically and emotionally. It would confuse me until I would remind myself that I too was playing a game of flipping fish. I would cast looks filled with longing at him and then be stricken with guilt for wavering from the task at hand.

Tonight was one of those awkward nights where we shared a meal, made small talk that ended with a slight touch or tender gaze, and then retreated into ourselves. I curled onto my side as the stars hid behind some thick clouds. The leaves on the trees had indicated rain was coming, curling upward when we had stopped for the day. There was no scent of rain on the soft wind, but the trees rarely made mistakes.

My eyes were heavy, my soul even more so as I lay there staring at the soft muzzle of Atriel while she grazed on a thicket of long grass. My head lay on my biceps. The songs of crickets mingled with the rustle of small beasts crunching under dead leaves. My eyelids grew heavy. Curled tightly into my blanket, silver dagger under me, I dozed off quickly.

I snapped awake sometime later, my eyes flying open. The horses stood nearby. I sat up, confused for a moment and unsure of what had pulled me from my sleep. Atriel snorted softly, her long tail swishing lazily, the moon’s glow making her dark brown coat appear milky. Listening intently for a moment, I was about to lie down again when I heard it.

A person—woman—cussing out someone. The curses were quite colorful and varied. I’d never heard anyone aside from outlaws speak that way. Certainly no one back home would have dared or my mother would have scrubbed out our mouths with cedar bark soap.

“Rotting fetid canker sore on the poxy ass of a jaded whore!” the woman yelled. She sounded quite young, even childish perhaps, but no child I had ever known had such a vocabulary. Not even the rich brats that clung to Aelir spoke like that, and they were incorrigible. I threw a look at Beirach. He was snoring away from inside a cocoon he had made around himself with his thick, woven blanket. Sighing at the visual reminder of our erratic emotions for each other, I left him sleeping.

Rising from my bed, dagger in hand, I slipped around a sleepy horse, my ears pricked to any sound other than vile curses. “You! I smell you. Minty fresh!” I paused, bare foot in the air, wondering how the hell an outlaw could smell the sprig of mint I had chewed after our supper hours ago. “Don’t just stand there looking like a smacked ass. Come get me out of here!”

I lowered my foot. “I cannot see you, but given how you speak, I think you are an outlaw and so you should stay in whatever trap you fell into. Better a bandit than a bear!”

Loud snores floated past on the thickening air. Rain was close.

“Listen, you undernourished son of a dagger dog’s paunchy stone sack…oh shit. Shit.Shit.Come on, buddy, I can see her eyes!”

Now the felon sounded terrified. I pushed around a midsize tree that was sending out curious sentiments that I couldn’t place. I slid my dagger into the back of my trousers, flicked a braid over my shoulder, and placed a hand on the smooth bark of the larch. The emotions were much stronger now, vibrant and strong, and I jolted back to the fear the tree was experiencing. Thunder rolled overhead. A flash of lightning. Ah, I understood. That was what had the larch so upset. No tree enjoyed storms.

“Listen, I swear I am not going to rob, stab, or have my fucking way with you! Just get over here before she gets closer! Please, I beg of you!”

The woman was panicked now. I didn’t feel the aura of another beast in the vicinity. Just the horses, a slumbering archdruid, and a few small rodents that…

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