Page 6 of Prince of Flowers
Sylvain dripped with derision, sniffing as he knocked on the bark of the nearest tree, harrumphing. I didn’t think a harrumph could make someone so damn punchable. It sounded like he’d gotten a lot of practice doing it, too, probably from turning his nose up at servants over the years, narrowing his eyes at lavish dishes that didn’t meet his exacting standards.
“There are prettier forests, maybe,” I said, controlling my voice, barely disguising my annoyance. “But yes, the Wispwood is grown from old magic. These woods are ancient, and strong. You won’t find trees quite like them anywhere else in the world.”
It was true. The Wispwood sprouted from a point on which many of the world’s biomes intersected, different parts of reality overlapping on the same spot. That made it home to some truly unique species of flora that couldn’t flourish anywhere else.
He sniffed again, running his finger down a tree trunk, then inspecting it, like he was so displeased by the dirt he’d found. I almost opened my mouth to make some wry remark about how we didn’t have minions to dust and polish our trees for us, but thought better of it.
“Oh, I don’t think they’re very ugly,” he said, examining his finger again. “Just dull, is all.”
“What’s dull is this conversation,” I grumbled, picking up the pace as I navigated the forest. “I’m half tempted to leave you out here to get lost.”
“Very funny.” He stuck his chest out — and a very good chest it was, I thought grudgingly — thumbing at himself proudly. “As if I, a prince of the Summer Court, could ever get lost in a pitiful stack of cordwood.”
I gritted my teeth. “I sincerely doubt it. You’d find it very difficult to make your way around the Wispwood because of its magic. You’d need to turn your clothes inside out to get a fighting chance.”
Sylvain paused and cocked his head at me, thoroughly confused. “Turn my clothes inside — now what in the world are you talking about?”
“Never mind,” I said, turning away.
But it was true. The academy at the Wispwood was shrouded in enchantments that kept it veiled from people of a more nonmagical persuasion. Its true geographic location was a guarded secret, accessible from many corners of the globe, yet magicked to keep it hidden from the eyes of those who had no business being at the academy.
The Wispwood was everywhere and nowhere, all at the same time. In general, only students and faculty were supposed to be able to find the campus. Over the years it had become a running joke, almost tradition. Older students would tell freshies that turning their clothes inside out was a guaranteed way to keep from getting lost in the surrounding woods.
Not that Sylvain had much clothing to turn inside out to begin with. I kept forgetting how he wouldn’t know much of anything about the Earth reality, down to these stories and superstitions that, ironically, were only children’s fairytales.
We knew so little of the fae that it was hard to say which parts of folklore were actually true. They’d been missing from the world for so long, retreating to the Verdance for reasons unknown. And yet here Sylvain stood, someone who could potentially answer every burning question I had about the fae — except that simply talking to him was so infuriating.
“So,” he said. “Locke, was it? Interesting name. Where exactly are you taking me?”
And it was an innocent statement — interesting name, as opposed to strange, or bizarre, or any other qualifier that could have approached insulting. Yet the annoyance drove into my side like a spike. This Sylvain person reminded me of a rose. Pretty, yes, with an intoxicating scent, but so very, very thorny, too.
“The Wispwood,” I explained to him. “It’s one of the foremost academies of magic on Earth. We specialize in studies of the arcane that are adjacent to nature. Alchemists, summoners, druids, that sort of thing.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “An institution for learning, then? A private academy of sorts?”
“Yes.”
“With doors that close, and your own quarters?”
I cocked an eyebrow back. “Yes. Naturally.”
Sylvain grinned, the mischief somehow making his teeth glint with wetness, his eyes sparkle with mirth. “That’s a funny way of saying that you intend to have your wicked way with me somewhere private.”
I sputtered, felt myself blushing, and thoroughly hated that I couldn’t fire off a comeback before he opened his mouth again.
“Oh, don’t be so ashamed,” he purred. “I see the way you stare, and I don’t mind it, one bit. I mean, look at me.” He flexed his arms, his chest, muscles bulging obscenely. “I’m stunning. Radiant.”
This fucking prick. I allowed the anger to fill my blood, flushing away my embarrassment.
“Put those away. Where we’re going, you’re going to need some damn clothing. It’s a place for learning, not for — for whatever you think you’re doing right now.”
He scoffed. “Pah! You humans and your false modesty. You cover up all the time and somehow remain the most perverted of all creatures in existence. Spare me.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but clenched my teeth again, knowing I wouldn’t get anywhere. Sylvain was a ridiculous creature, and yet despite his ridiculous proclamations, the bravado, there was the tiniest grain of truth in his words.
“Tell me again what manner of human you are,” he said, his head tilted, demanding, but curious. “You were going on about it earlier, all this talk of summoning.”
Deep breaths, I reminded myself. Only a hundred or so feet away until we reached the entrance to the Wispwood, and then it was a short trek to the office of Dr. Euclidea Fang, perhaps the one person in all the academy who could tell me how to rid myself of rude, rambunctious fae princes.
