Page 22 of His Summer Prince

A corner of Wren’s lips lifted. “I’m bonded to you. Of course I know what you need.” He wrapped Elior in his arms, allowing him to sink into his warm embrace.

Wren kissed him, first a gentle touch of the mouth, thenhe parted his lips, passion lacing his every move. Elior melted under his affections and more so when Wren planted a possessive hand on his chest. He took Elior’s mouth with fervor, setting him ablaze. There was a rough edge to Wren’s bruising kiss, to his proprietary touch, and it drove Elior wild. He pressed against him, lust sizzling.

Chapter Seven

Wren

“It happened in the middle of the night,” Miss Wright said, wildly gesturing toward the south. She was a spinner, her gray hair tied back in a bun, a small black mole sitting atop her nose. Wren sold her wool each year when the sheep had to be shorn in summer—soon, it’d be time again. “That’s what my nephew told us. The orcs overran Ellesmere, capturing every young man in sight.”

Wren listened with pinched lips as she relayed what happened. “When was that?”

“I reckon about a week ago, maybe more. I don’t know.” She picked up the bucket of milk she’d purchased from Wren, ready to make her way back to Upper Fairstead. “My nephew doesn’t want to stay near Ellesmere anymore. Packed his bags, took the children and headed here. His wife’s at the front, and he’s got no idea when he’ll see her again. Those bloody orcs are going to be the end of us.”

“Do you know who got taken? I have a friend, Carlisle. He’s a goatherd and spends his summers in Ellesmere.”

The old woman shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. If he was in town, he likely got taken. It’s only going to get worse. Our dear Lord Dalton was supposed to forge an alliance with the Spring Court. They would’ve granted him knights to protect us, but the whole thing fell through. He must’ve ruffled their feathers, and now the Spring Court is out, and we don’t know what to do. Without the fae supporting us, the orcs are going to move north,and they’ll be here before you know it. Maybe ask your friend to send help.” She nodded toward Elior. He was sitting under a tree, preparing a mixture of salt and garlic juice for deworming the sheep. “Anyway. Got to go.”

Miss Wright headed off with her milk, slowly marching back to Upper Fairstead across the fields. Wren’s thoughts were a jumbled mess. He hoped Carlisle was safe, but deep down he knew he’d been abducted.

Elior got to his feet and came to Wren’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Wren nodded, soaking up the comfort of the bond.

“I wish my mother would’ve sent knights, but she refused to. She’s going to wait for things to get worse and then extort fealty in exchange for protection.” Elior chewed his bottom lip. “What are we going to do if the orcs move north?”

It was the question Wren tried not to think about. If the orcs pressed past Ellesmere and other southern villages, he and Elior were in danger. Elior could hide in the faerie realm, its powerful wards, once raised, capable of repelling all living things, but Wren couldn’t stay there. He’d have to run, and where he went, Elior might not be able to follow.

“There are places in the Summer Court where I could hide you for a short while,” Elior said when Wren didn’t answer. “But that’s no solution. Not if Vale is overrun.” A pause. “You could escape to northern Vale and hide in the White Mountains.”

“You can’t follow me there. The icy cold… It would hold off the orcs, but you can’t go there either.”

Deep sorrow settled on Elior’s face. “The most important thing is that you’re safe.”

“The most important thing is that we’re together.” Wren’s hand settled on Elior’s upper arm, holding him. “I’ll hide in the faerie realm and get trapped if that’s what it takes to stay safeandwith you.”

“The faerie realm isn’t safe. Not with my mother’s forces lurking everywhere. This is her world. She rules. And if by some unfortunate circumstance she finds out what we’ve done, there are going to be consequences.”

“We don’t know if the orcs are going to advance. For now, we stay put. Lord Aranin has been keeping the orcs from marching up the Arun Valley. Lord Dalton may have lost his alliance with the Spring Court, but who says he can’t turn it around?”

Wren was grasping at straws, and they knew it. The orcs were going to progress north. There was no one powerful enough to stop them. The lords of southern Vale were doing their best, but the further north one looked, the less the nobility was concerned. They trusted that the cooler temperatures of their homeland would keep them safe. The worst of them was King William—a man said to be more concerned with the wine in his glass and the beauties in his bed than politics.

Wren and Elior herded the sheep to their pasture for the day, letting them graze on green fields and drink from the river. In the evening, when they returned to the shepherd’s hut, they moved the pen to have the flock on a fresh patch of grass. The work kept Wren’s body occupied but not his mind.

His thoughts wandered back to the orcs, to the Winter King and to his own mother’s expectations. The pressure was mounting. For now, he and Elior could live in the homey bubble they’d created, but reality was going to catch up with them.

He tried to push the churning thoughts from his mind, but it was no use. He was consumed by worry, going through all the things that could go wrong. His nervous state wasn’t lost on Elior, who kept sending waves of calm. Whenever they had a spare moment, Elior took him in his arms, whispering reassurances. He was the only thing keeping him sane.

When the animals were taken care of, Wren and Elior cooked dinner over the campfire. They sat side by side on a woolenblanket, sharing food and comfort while above them, one by one, stars manifested in the darkening sky. Woodsmoke and the scent of a well-spiced meal filled the air. From time to time, Toby let out a low bark as he watched the sheep in their pen. When the warmth of the day faded and cool settled over the land, Elior fetched his shawl and wrapped them in it.

“You’ve been worrying all day,” Elior said, snaking an arm around Wren’s waist.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with it.”

“You’re no burden.”

Elior sank onto the blanket, pulling Wren with him. He clasped Wren’s hips and rolled on top of him, seeking his mouth for a kiss. Elior knew what he needed, and Wren thanked him with hands and lips. Letting his legs fall open, Wren hooked one around Elior’s. His bare foot brushed the silky skin of Elior’s calf—summer fae clothing ended an inch above the knee, making them look a little scandalous at all times.

Wren’s fingers curled in the raw silk of Elior’s robe. He deepened the kiss, parting his lips and sliding his tongue into Elior’s mouth, tasting him. It was hard to believe Elior not only allowed these things but wanted them. He was gorgeous, blessed with the supernatural beauty inherent to fae, while Wren was a plain shepherd boy with little that’d entice such a spectacularly attractive creature.

---