9. Seraiah

Zarin’s olive grove was dying. From the ancient trees, their massive trunks gnarled and twisted with age, to the younger plantings, each one drooped, their sparse leaves spotted and curling inward. A sure sign of a deadly disease plaguing the grove.

After an early start — Seraiah blushing and avoiding eye contact with the guards as they packed up camp until she realized they were true professionals who would never embarrass her with anything they might have overheard — they stopped at the grove on the way to the palace. The walls surrounding it were freshly repaired and whitewashed, the ground under the trees cleared of all debris. Technically, there was be no reason for the trees to be in this poor of a condition.

“Well,” Zarin asked, “what’s the verdict?” He stood at the center of the grove, legs planted, hands plunged in his pockets, watching her every move. Normally, someone watching her with that much focused attention would make her nervous or uncomfortable, but under the crooked branches, she was in her element. He might be king of all the land surrounding them, but here she was queen.

She plucked a curling leaf from a low branch, rubbing it between her fingers. “An extremely tenacious fungal disease. Luckily, it’s a slow-moving variety. I’d say it started with the younger trees then, because no one stopped it, worked its way through the grove until it infected the elder trees in the middle.”

“But you can save them, right?” The hope in his voice made her heart hurt.

“I think so,” she said, tucking the leaf into her pocket and dusting off her hand. “But considering how long the fungus has been running rampant through the grove, it’s going to take serious work and possibly some offerings to the goddess, if you’re into that.” She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice. Certainly Zarin had higher priority items on his plate since taking the crown, but he should have brought in an expert as soon as he learned of the problem.

While most of the trees had seen fewer than forty cycles, the nine at the heart of the grove were at least four thousand cycles old and still standing tall. True ancients. But they wouldn’t survive without treatment. Despite all that, these amazing giants were still awe-inspiring, their massive gnarled limbs spread wide overhead.

“Don’t worry,” she told the trees, petting one of the ancient’s knotted trunk. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.”

Zarin didn’t so much as blink at her talking to the trees. “Thank you,” he said, giving her a small bow of gratitude. “I will do whatever is necessary to save our trees.” He put his hand next to hers on the trunk. “My father’s family has ruled this area for thousands of years. There have always been olive trees in Tigros. Legend says that when the ancient trees fall, so goes the kingdom.”

“So they’re important. What happened to them then?” She leaned a shoulder against the ancient tree, the diameter of its trunk wider than she was tall. “Because they’ve been neglected to the point that I don’t know how many I can save. The ancients are in slightly better shape but will still require aggressive treatment to recover.”

He mirrored her, folding his arms over his chest, a distant look in his eyes. “My mother planted the grove around these ancients when she was brought here by my father. After she did her duty and bore him two heirs, she returned to her pride, and he built a high wall around the entire grove, forbidding anyone from entering.” He tipped his head back, looking up into the branches. “We didn’t realize our ancients were sick until quite recently.”

Okay, well that explained how something supposedly so precious managed to get to such a state. “Wait. Your father abducted your mother?”

“No. She was a bribe for my father,” he answered, scratching the stubble on his chin. “He was a merciless, brutal warlord, feared by all who tested him. A local pride offered my mother as his wife for their safety.” At her dark expression, he added, “To be clear, my mother volunteered for the position, even though my father was not known for his kindness or compassion.”

“Brave woman,” she murmured. She understood his mother’s sacrifice. Her own people, the Verdet, were driven from their home world by invaders from another galaxy. Her great-great-granduncle did something similar to secure passage off Pavan, saving many of their people from extermination.

“She was indeed.” He cocked his head, the corner of his mouth curling up as he studied her. “And I must confess — my people haven’t abducted their intendeds for many cycles now.”

Her brows drew together. “But you decided to revive the tradition? Why would you do that?”

Last night, during a naked kissing session that did not go quite as she expected — extremely satisfying nonetheless, for her at least — Zarin said she was his, repeating his earlier proclamation that he was keeping her. And now he was telling her that he’d revived a long-abandoned practice in order to get his claws on her. She still didn’t quite understand his motivations. In her experience, tree expertise and big boobs did not usually lead to kidnapping.

“Because of you, of course,” he said, tugging her hand from the trunk and placing a kiss on her open palm. “I spoke to Tanl’n about you, you know.”

She shivered as he traced his tongue over the lines bisecting her palm. “Why?”

“During a break from the tediousness of treaty-making, we toured Cywillana’s oasis. When I asked who was responsible for the trees, he pointed you out.” He kissed the pulse point on her wrist, his lips searing her skin. “You were perched precariously on a high tree branch, a laz-saw in one hand, your black hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Someone down below said something, and you threw your head back and laughed, a crystal clear laugh filled with joy and happiness. In that moment, my heart was lost. I knew right then and there you were my mate.”

“Mate?” Her breath caught at his words, her entire body flushing with heat. She put a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “But why steal me away? Why not ask me to dinner like a normal person?”

His kisses traveled up her arm, pausing at her elbow joint. “It’s more fun this way?”

“Zarin,” she said, giving him a light smack on his chest. He had on another exceptionally soft button-up shirt, this one in a buttery cream that accentuated his coloring. Before they broke camp, she’d stolen a white one from his bag to wear over her tank top. He wasn’t getting it back. “Be serious.”

He unknotted the shirt tails from around her waist and pushed the soft fabric off her shoulders, kissing her bared skin. She shivered at his touch, her knees going weak.

“Under the guise of my need for your skills, I asked to borrow you to help with our own trees. Tanl’n refused.” He slid a hand under her ribbed tank, his fingers grazing over her stomach and skating up to cup her breasts. “So I took you. No one gets between a Felida and his mate,” he growled.

She gripped his wrists, pausing his movements. “Zarin, someone will see.” Honestly, after last night and his guards’ nonreaction to said events, she felt more confident channeling Bold Seraiah, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to bang one out in public. Or did she? At the very appealing thought of having sex up against a tree — something she’d had on her list for ages, but never had the guts to actually do — she squeezed her thighs together, heat pooling in her belly.

“They won’t,” he purred in her ear. “And if they do, they won’t say anything. Besides, my father closed the groves with such finality that no one steps foot in here for fear of his ghost coming back to haunt them. It’s only you and me here.” He continued his exploration of her, pulling down the strap of her tank to kiss the swell of her breasts. “And Iraj will make certain no one disturbs us.” He lifted his head, his amber eyes dark with desire. “Do you wish me to stop? You know you merely have to say the word.”

Be Bold Seraiah, she told herself. Now’s the time to fulfill those wild dreams of yours. Breathless at his touch, she shook her head, her fingers going to the buttons of his shirt. She leaned forward and nipped at his collarbone, tugging his shirt free of his black slacks. “Keep going.”