Page 25 of His Summer Prince

“You can demand anything you want, my prince. Your wish is my command.” Elior bowed comically deep, dragging a chortle from Wren. They were going to a have a lot of fun.

Lord Aranin’s wedding was a grand affair. The ceremony took place in Castlehill’s church while the reception was held in the majestic castle on the hill. The reception hall was beautiful with delicately painted walls onto which dozens of lamps had been mounted. They spread a golden glow onto the overlong banquet tables that had been set up in the shape of a horseshoe. The noble guests enjoyed the hearty fare served by no one other than Prince Wren and his fellow attendants. Whenever he entered the room with a tray of food, Elior sought his gaze, and grins split their faces.

Wren was busy running to and fro, but he talked with Elior when he could, the two of them hiding in secluded corners. But no matter how precious those stolen moments were, most of the time Elior was without Wren. He mingled with the other guests, nodding along to political discussions and listening to gossip.

Elior spotted King Malorn and his husband Henry, but the most interesting invitees were the Daltons. Lord Dalton was attending with a companion—a spring fae. Elior couldn’t makeheads nor tails of them. Lord Dalton had recently fallen out with the Spring Court. So why was there a young spring fae practically purring in his arms?

But the closer Elior looked, the more bizarre the situation got. Because the fae hanging onto him wasn’t a member of the royal family, nor was he a high fae despite the blatantly expensive robe he wore and his artfully styled hair. He was a lesser fae—a cast who possessed little magic and was often impoverished. Elior squinted. How had he ended up in a lord’s company?

Then he almost laughed, thinking about how he and Wren must have looked to others. They’d danced at King Malorn’s wedding, which must’ve raised eyebrows.

Then there was Lord Dalton’s brother George, who spent half his time in the arms of an imp. Elior was intrigued.

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” a smooth voice interrupted his thoughts.

Elior turned, finding an impeccably dressed man with a petite frame and a startlingly pretty face by his side. His shiny brown hair was tied in an elegant braid, and he held up a brass key.

“I apologize for interrupting your enjoyment of the festivities, Your Highness.” He bowed. “My name is Andre, and I serve Lord Aranin as his steward.” Elior had heard of Castlehill’s steward—a man as efficient and strict as he was polite and beautiful. “I’ve been notified that you weren’t assigned a chamber at the time of your arrival. Please excuse the oversight, but I have your key here, and if you please, I may show you your guest chamber.”

Finally! Normally, Elior wasn’t concerned with where he spent the night, but he and Wren were up to something, so he did care.

Andre guided him across the courtyard to the castle’s north wing where behind a heavy oak door, a gorgeously decorated chamber waited.

Elior and Wren were planning to wait until most guests hadgone to bed, then Elior would sneak Wren into his room where they’d spend the night. Elior couldn’t wait to share this lavish chamber with him. Wren was used to a simple way of life, but whenever Elior could, he showered him with luxury. Once, when they were younger, he’d snuck Wren into the Summer Palace for a night of pillow talk. At the time, Elior hadn’t realized how dangerous that’d been. He wouldn’t put Wren at such great risk now.

Once Elior approved his accommodation, Andre promised to have his luggage delivered to his chamber and accompanied him back to the great hall. He didn’t speak much as they walked, and Elior felt compelled to fill the silence as they crossed the courtyard, the warm air of the late afternoon kissing his skin. “I’ve heard Lord Aranin is having astonishing success in keeping the orcs from advancing in the Arun Valley.” Complementing Andre’s lord was safe and polite.

“Yes,” Andre said with a smidgen of dissent, though it was so subtle, Elior wasn’t sure if he hadn’t imagined it.

“The people of Castlehill are lucky to have such a competent lord. I suppose you’ve been informed of the raids in the Somer Valley. A lot of men were taken from Ellesmere in a night-time attack.”

“Such a terrible incident,” Andre said, and his stoic facade slipped for a second as he shuddered. He bit his lower lip in a visible effort to compose himself. “What an awful thing to be ravished by one of those giant beasts.”

Elior admired how well Andre kept all hints of disgust out of his voice. He even managed an uplifting smile as though they’d been talking about something exceedingly pleasant. What an impeccably trained attendant of Lord Aranin’s court he was.

Upon his return to the great hall, Elior kept an eye out for Wren to tell him about the fantastic room they’d been given, but he didn’t see him for a long time. Elior kept busy talking to theother guests but eventually tired of their company. He yearned for Wren—a few hours apart was definitely too long—and thus he left in search of him, letting the invisible tether connecting their souls guide him.

Elior found him in the kitchen on the main building’s ground floor, servants entering with dirty dishes and leaving with trays of food and drink. Loitering at the door, Elior received curious looks, but the servants quickly averted their eyes, not wanting to get on a fae prince’s bad side.

Peeking through a gap in the door, he spotted Wren stoking the fire while his mother was going from pot to pot, checking on each one. A multitude of scents assaulted Elior as smoke stung his eyes. The kitchen was noisy with the clinking of pots and pans, but he caught part of the conversation Wren was having with his mother.

“…not good that you’re spending so much time with thisfae boy.” Wren’s mother furiously stirred a pot, pronouncing the last two words like an insult. “If you had shown such enthusiasm courting a knight!” Wren’s back was to Elior, but the exasperation in the bond was the mental equivalent of an eye roll. “And don’t you forget that fae are dangerous! I’ve seen you with him. That’s a prince, Wren. A prince. It’s not your place to talk to him.”

She couldn’t have been more wrong. Wren’s place was by his side, end of story. Little did the poor woman know that who she was nagging was a prince, too. Would she be proud or resentful if she found out?

At the fire, Wren jerked with a bolt of joy. He’d sensed Elior by the door. He glanced at his mother to check she wasn’t looking, then threw Elior an apologetic smile across his shoulder.

“Anyway,” Wren’s mother said, pointing at the counter. “I need you to take that tray into the great hall. I’m returning homein a couple of hours. Make sure you’re quiet when you get in.”

“Actually,” Wren said, “I’ve been asked to work till late.”

“By whom?”

“It’s going to be a long night, so Andre said I can sleep in the stable,” Wren said, sidestepping her question.

“All right then,” his mother said. “Do what you have to do. Just stay away from the fae.”

“Of course.”

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