5. Breya

FIVE

brEYA

T he moon looked haunting overhead. The clouds had parted for its reveal as if to welcome their entrance into the gardens.

Breya was a witch and had been capable of inhuman wonders since before she could speak. Her healing prowess came to light at the age of six, still young and quite impressionable. Her father paraded her around town like a prize won at a fair, and while she initially didn't mind it, it eventually became his sole interest in her as an entire person.

Her sister, on the other hand, was deeply affected by it. The seed of empathy had been dropped into Breya's consciousness then, shaping her future as an incredibly talented yet modest healer. She put the needs of others before her own. No one was ever going to feel less when standing by her side.

Breya felt a similar simmering feeling when she met Thorne, struck by his beauty and benevolence. Then his indifference toward her understanding of matehood turned her attraction sour. Even after the magnificent kiss, which made her knees weak and her cheeks run hot, she thought that he possessed a sense of entitlement that she had gone to great lengths to smother within herself.

But then he escorted her to dinner. He had been so kind, his demeanor evolving, asking her about her background and practices. Breya knew all about shifters. They could be an unruly bunch, especially the alphas, whose stubbornness oftentimes detracted from their inherent allure.

When the king had grabbed her wrist, she had felt an energizing, buzzing, electric blue sensation. To her, that was a good sign. Blue was a comforting shade, like the sky, reminding her of easy free-flowing days of running through the emerald pastures of home.

But none of that soothed her wariness about his intentions. She mulled it all over, her skin still warm from the whiplash of emotions and the appetizing coffee.

"Only a select few are welcomed on these grounds," Thorne said, his hands behind his back like a soldier at attention.

The breeze brushed through her hair and sent a rivet of goose bumps streaming down her neckline. One of the most common traits of witches was the propensity toward rumination. She could get lost in the dreamlike landscape of her mind for hours while sitting on a park bench.

"Mmm, is that so?" she responded.

They had come upon a gate made of steel, the metal gleaming in the moonlight. It was unlike any garden gate Breya had seen. No vines intertwined the bars, no indication of time passing through the presence of rust. The material was nearly shiny.

But Breya didn't make her confusion known. She was far too tied up in the shock of being led around a palace by a king.

"Yes. It's very special to us. Not a lot grows in these parts, as you may have noticed. It's sparse. So I've had a few botanists grow vegetation within these walls."

Breya nodded.

"Another luxury then?"

She expected him to rebuke her salty, cheeky question, but he did nothing of the sort. His sober look cracked at the seams, a smug grin breaking through.

"You could say that. You will have to see for yourself first though."

The king turned toward the gate, sliding an ancient-looking key out of his cape. It was dark brown, a hint of rust peppering the stone-carved teeth.

He slid it into a lock and made a refined, polite, clanking sound. He opened the gate wide, bowing his head, allowing her to pass graciously.

"Take a look," he whispered. "I would love to know what you think."

Breya began to feel coy as she walked past him, his long blonde hair looking glossy under a generous slant of moonbeams. She gasped at the remarkable sight before the feeling had a chance to settle.

The garden was teeming with flowers, herbs, fruits, and vegetables in a kaleidoscopic tapestry of awe. Breya couldn't believe what she was seeing. It was essentially an opulent greenhouse fed by advanced craftsmanship. She walked among them with her hand cupping her mouth, a bioluminescent glow enchanting each step.

"Oh my God, Thorne," she said, completely exhilarated. "This is incredible. You really weren't kidding."

He followed along behind her, pointing out each garden bed and buzzing pot to explain what thrived within it. It was clear he spent a lot of time in here and had a vested interest as opposed to tossing the task to the hired hands.

It made her feel even more embarrassed about her snarky remark.

She stopped walking, her contrition crawling up her throat like a worm.

"I'm sorry about that," she blurted out.

The king stopped, hands still pulled behind his back. His expression returned to that grave stare.

Breya wasn't fond of it.

"About what?"

"What I said back there. That wasn't very kind of me. It was a bit assuming."

He shrugged nonchalantly, his hands still pinned behind his back.

"I understand. After all, I am a king. And kings can be rather prickly. In case you didn't know."

The grim look eroded once more. When they'd first met, Thorne's eyes had appeared gray like a dull, bleak in-limbo day between winter and spring. But under the stream of light, she spotted a pinch of ice. There were more silvery-blue than gray.

They stood beside the Broccoli Romanesco, which ironically looked like a cactus with tight clusters of bright green, cone-shaped heads. On the opposing side was Tronchuda Beria, hyoid kale, which apparently could tolerate more heat than most kale. The green shade was astonishing like that of a shiny frog's head.

"I really didn't know," she said, responding to his playful tone. "You will have to tell me all about it."

Breya stepped toward him, enthralled by the way his resolve began to crumble. Finally, his hands unclenched from behind his back, and he swayed in her direction.

"Let me ask you this first. Do you want to know one thing I have never done here?"

Breya's heart smashed around in her chest. She thought about the chickens on her home farm, rattling to escape once the rooster crowed.

"No. Tell me," she purred.

The king lifted his fingers to her face, pushing away a strand of hair that had stuck to her cheek. He was close, his gaze soft but his focus razor sharp. His touch along her lips was agonizingly slow and light. She found herself aching for him to go hard for her.

" Tell me, " she purred again.

That vain smile. It took nothing away from the burning that ran up her thighs and nestled into her pelvis. She wanted him in ways she'd never wanted a man.

When he spoke, he growled, but at a low timbre that made her breathe catch in her throat.

"I've never kissed a beautiful witch here in the gardens."

He crushed her with his mouth, more powerful and far less delicate than the first time. This was what she wanted. She wondered briefly before he began to guide her backward toward a garden bench if he could sense her wanting. Her thoughts turned into a haze of desire then, every consideration or concern dissipating like a tumbleweed in a gust of wind.

They were passionate, moaning and groaning as their tongues danced and explored each other's tastes. Breya felt like her limbs were moving on their own, raking his back as he found her neck and nipped kisses until she began to whimper.

"Sit down. I'm hungry, and I need you right now."

She did as he told her, plopping down on the bench. Stars twinkled overhead as he parted her legs, trailing his mouth down her neck and teasing the perky exposure of her chest.

"Oh, Thorne," she moaned.

He flashed her a sneaky smile, and it nearly sent her spiraling into oblivion.

"You just sit back and enjoy, my dear."