Page 6 of His Summer Prince

A knock rapped at the door, and Elior frowned. He didn’t like being interrupted in his lute practice, especially not with the complicated piece he was rehearsing. It was his most soulful and demanding composition yet—Wren loved emotional and intricate melodies, and Elior would happily practice until his fingers bled if it meant he could surprise Wren with something special.

Huffing, Elior called out in answer, and Juniper, one of his closest friends at court, entered. She’d been caught by the onset of rain, the humidity frizzing her long, blonde mane, little water spots dotting her dress.

Juniper was the daughter of a lady of the court. A few years older than Elior, she’d recently completed her training to become a wedding officiant, enabling her to unite two souls in an eternal bond as it was required for faerie weddings. More importantly, she was Elior’s confidant.

“You’re moping over him again, aren’t you?” Juniper asked, closing the door behind her with a softclick. She might not beable to see the glamoured locket on the table, but apparently, Elior hunched over his lute with longing seeping out of every note was enough to tip her off. He’d never told her of the magnitude of his feelings for Wren.

Elior could’ve rolled his eyes if he wanted to downplay his sorrowful state, but instead, he nodded solemnly. It was as much of an admission as she was going to get.

“I checked the weather in the human world,” Juniper said and pulled out a chair next to Elior. “I hoped I’d be able to cheer you up by telling you the snow is gone but alas. It’s not even midwinter.”

Elior’s shoulders sagged in dejection. But what had he expected? He’d taken a look the day before, finding Vale covered by a blanket of snow. Elior hoped time would speed up and that soon, spring would arrive.

“I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with your friend,” Juniper said.

Elior shot her a death glare. “I’m not asking you to understand, but I’ll let you know he’s special.”

“No doubt.” She hesitated.

“What is it?”

“When I came back into the palace, I overheard two guards as I passed them. It sounded like your mother is planning to call you.”

Uh-oh. Conversations with his mother were rarely pleasant. And what did she want to talk about? This couldn’t be good news.

Elior snatched his locket off the table and put it back on, ignoring Juniper’s confused looks. “I might as well go see her now.”

“Is that wise?”

Elior stood. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’d rather hear what she has to say and get it over with. It’s probably just a complaint thatI’m not spending enough time at her balls or something equally benign.”

While Juniper met with a lord of the court to discuss an upcoming wedding, Elior went to see his mother. The palace was so large, he barely ran into anyone, his featherlight footsteps silent in the long, empty hallways. The one time he’d brought Wren, he’d marveled at the lavish decor—the Summer Palace was a place of unparalleled splendor. Gold-framed mirrors lined the turquoise walls, and glittering chandeliers hung from stucco ceilings. Dramatic halls boasted imposing pillars and white marble staircases, their balustrades overgrown with lush ivy.

When Elior reached the queen’s private rooms, he nodded at the guards, and they opened the heavy double doors. He might complain about his mother all day long, but despite her disinterest in her children, she never locked them out.

The queen’s chambers were the most opulent rooms in the palace. A marble fountain splashed and burbled in her entrance hall where the ceiling soared twenty feet high. Golden ornamentation crawled up the walls and curved in bold arches around the tall windows. In her drawing room, the wooden floor was polished to a shine. A thousand candles burned on chandeliers, illuminating the deserted chamber.

Elior knew where to find his mother. Her rooms might be grander than any other’s, but the place she loved most was her private garden, a glass-domed greenhouse in which the Summer Court’s most exquisite fruit grew. A wooden door connected the queen’s drawing room to the garden, and Elior knocked twice before striding inside. He was being presumptuous, but acting bold built the courage he needed to confront his mother.

The warmth of the palace paled in comparison to the muggy heat that threatened to suffocate him the moment he stepped inside the hothouse. The air was so thick with humidity, he might as well have been breathing water. Flourishing greeneryand overgrown trees encroached on him. Enormous orange flowers bloomed to the left and right of a cobblestone path that snaked through the tropical garden.

Elior followed the path, drawn to the massive, gnarly tree at the greenhouse’s center. Ruby red summer faerie apples hung from its branches, which sagged under their weight. Summer faerie apples tasted sweet and creamy, though they were difficult to grow as they required sweltering temperatures to ripen. Elior smirked—perhaps he should steal one for Wren before they reunited. The apples were valuable, and his mother would be furious if she discovered the theft, but giving Wren the opportunity to enjoy this rare treat was worth the risk.

Elior rounded a corner, finding his mother sitting on an elegantly carved bench, poring over correspondence. She had slung the thick locks of her copper blonde hair across one shoulder, and a pristine white robe clad her heavyset figure. How she spent all her time in this stifling heat was beyond Elior.

He approached, and she held up her hand without looking up from the yellowed paper she was studying, stopping him in his tracks. Elior’s bravado faltered. Had coming unannounced been a bad idea? He should’ve waited for her invitation.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Elior let his gaze wander, taking in the giant purple flowers that grew on this side of the garden, the blossoms as thick as his fingers. They gave off a sickly-sweet smell, dead flies clinging to the sticky yellow centers. Elior almost gagged, and he forced his gaze away, eyes returning to the summer faerie apple tree. A flicker of gold drew his attention.

Frowning, Elior took a step toward the giant tree, blinking when on the lower branches, he spotted a golden apple. Except it wasn’t really an apple. Elior had heard of the elusive summer faerie fruit that grew on this tree when conditions were ideal and no more than once a century. The fruit had been depictedin numerous paintings scattered around the palace. There was one of his great-grandmother holding such a golden apple and another particularly gruesome one of a thief being beheaded for attempting to steal the fruit.

Elior had never seen the actual fruit. Spring and autumn faerie fruits were common, growing plentifully in their respective courts, but summer and winter faerie fruits eluded greater production. They only grew in the monarchs’ private gardens where the respective court’s magic was the strongest. Summer and winter faerie fruits were renowned for the powers they granted. They were invaluable.

Elior squinted, searching the golden apple for any red or green spots, but he found none. “It’s ripe.” The words escaped him before he could swallow them. He whirled around to his mother, who’d looked up from her letter. “Yes.” She stood up, her six-foot frame towering over him by several inches. Elior was no child, but his mother still made him feel like one.

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked.

She stepped toward him, the golden seams of her robe brushing the floor as she moved. “King Malorn of the Autumn Court has forged an alliance with House Aranin. The days when we dismissed human affairs as child’s play are over. Human houses are rising in importance, and our court must not be left behind.”

---