4. Keira

Chapter 4

Keira

G rey clouds move across the sun as our party leaves the castle grounds and passes under the main gate of the inner wall. My father leads our party, repeatedly running a hand through the length of his hair as the wind blows it in his face.

Caitlin is at his left and the king to his right, with Finan and I taking up the rear. Between us, Niall is in deep conversation with the king’s druid adviser, Murdoc. A handful of king’s guards move with us at such a distance, it’s easy to forget they are there.

The intensity of the elements increases as we cross the wide bridge that spans from the rise of the castle, across a deep, wooded valley, and connects with the orchards. My velvet cloak billows around me. The king’s white beard whips into his face.

“This blustered cold and wind,” the king bellows. “By the gods, it never gets this cool down south.”

My father turns to me and raises a single finger, motioning it in a circle. I nod, unlacing my arm from Finan’s grip.

I focus my attention on the wicked breeze. On the particles of air all around us. I place my hands together, then spread them wide, weaving a thick shield of solid air around us, imbuing my magic into what was already there to make it perform to my will. I mold the structure into a dome that moves at the speed of our footfalls.

I call on my fire magic, bunching my hands into a fist, then slowly uncurl my fingers.

The air warms around us and I hold a small sphere of fire dancing in my palm. The two acts of fire magic are not related, the second purely for show, to impress king and prince alike. Another reason for both men to choose me as Finan’s wife and future queen.

The wind still whips around, shaking the tops of the pine trees below the bridge and sending leaves spinning at our feet, but it no longer reaches us. Our hair and clothes remain motionless.

King Willard’s eyes turn wide as he looks around himself, then they land on me. “You?”

“A small act of air and fire magic to make us more comfortable.” I shrug, hiding the strain.

My awareness is pulled in multiple directions. I monitor the movement of the dome, constantly checking the edges, so the king doesn’t walk straight into the wall. I adjust the fire magic, fighting against any flares of it, so the air doesn’t suddenly become suffocatingly hot.

My senses tingle as Caitlin’s magic discretely weaves into mine, taking some of the strain.

Our destination is the series of immense glasshouses positioned by the bridge. Their combined footprint is the size of a small village, and each one is as spacious as a cathedral, made purely of great panels of glass and metal. Rows of fruit trees are perfectly visible within, the panels enchanted to repel dirt to ensure the maximum penetration of light.

There is no way we could replicate such engineering to replace them. The metal beams were imported from the Winter Court smiths of the Otherworld. The glass panels were enchanted with immense magic to make it near impossible to break them. These glasshouses were built by the fae.

Appleshield once had a different name, and it was ruled by a fae overlord, before our family liberated it. The orchards and the outer wall are guarded day and night, to protect against fruit thieves, or enemies who would sabotage us. Within these greenhouses are the last hopes of Strathia.

My father leads us to our top performing orchard and the guards at the doors hurry to drag them open for us. The strain of using so much magic pulls on me, like treading water for far too long. I drop the weaves as soon as we enter and let out a long breath as deep relief fills me.

The broad glass doors in metal frames are pushed shut behind us and the change in atmosphere is immediately obvious. The air is hot and heavy with moisture, making it far more difficult to suck in compared to the crisp day outside.

Finan lets out a long, low whistle at the sight before us. It brings a smile of pride to my face.

Neat rows of trees spread out before us. All are heavy with an impossible amount of fruit, especially in late winter. Vibrant red apples glow with brilliance, black plums sparkle like gems and cherries like rubies. The fruits have an aura of light surrounding them and the colors are so bright they are unnatural.

Large, fuzzy bees fill the air with buzzing, their forms glowing with white light and the stripes of their back a stunning indigo. Their breed were perfected in these orchards for hundreds of years, alongside the fruit.

“Right, Edmund. Do your best to impress me,” the king says, bolstering himself up as he looks around.

“He has already impressed me,” Prince Finan murmurs into my ear, wrapping an arm around my waist. I savor the press of his body against my side.

“We induce artificial seasons in these glasshouses. Spring, summer, an artificial cold snap to convince the trees they have gone through winter, then spring again.” My father’s voice carries as we walk down the rows.

“We control all aspects of the environment. Additional heat and sunlight are created as needed and maintained by our fire wielders.” He holds out a hand and a jet of fire whooshes from it, congealing into an orb, then raising up above the treeline, to join many others.

The king and princes gawk like peasants at all those orbs and Caitlin shoots me a smirk.

“Deep beneath our feet, there is an underground stream that flows straight from the Otherworld, through cracks in the boundaries. It is imbued with magic, and our water wielders draw it to the surface.” Father turns his palm to the ground, fingers splayed, then jerks his arm upwards. A jet of brilliant blue water shoots from the ground, glowing intensely. “This water is life itself. It is the main source of magic to our produce.”

“Well. That - that is more than I was expecting, but where are your laborers?” The king’s tone is accusatory. “Surely you do not tend these orchards yourself!”

“Follow.” My father takes off again.

The path between trees becomes narrow, and we move in single file, avoiding snagging branches. Finan places his hands on my hips from behind and I toss an inviting smile back at him.

“I am not sure what I want to ravish more, this fruit or this body,” he whispers into my ear, nipping the side of my neck.

“Not with so many people around,” I chide, but I don’t move his hands.

“Hhhmmmm,” he murmurs, and I rest my cheek against his for a moment before pulling away.

“Those of us behind you would prefer to not witness a spectacle.” Caitlin half growls.

“My dear lady, I didn’t mean to upset your delicate sensibilities.” Finan mock bows to her, grinning wide enough that his cheeks dimple.

Caitlin pushes past both of us. Finan shrugs to me.

Years ago, Caitlin and I put together a double pronged attack on Prince Finan to make sure he became attached to the right Appleshield sister. I was sweet and kind to him, and Caitlin was abrupt and almost insulting. The personas matched our temperaments nicely, if somewhat exaggerated, and the tactic had worked, but Caitlin never dropped her end of it.

At times, I have wondered if she despised him in truth.

The way opens to a cross section, and we turn down a wider path. There are retainers spread amongst the trees. Some move their hands in an elaborate dance, conjuring fire and air magic to create heat volleys and spread them through the glasshouse. Others crouch at the base of the trees, small trickles of water running over their fingers as they call up the stream.

We stop before a row populated with many workers.

“Over here, the harvest is taking place,” my father says, hand gesturing upwards, where clouds of fruit float gently down from the trees and into waiting carts. “Our air wielders pluck the fruit with their magic. It takes a fraction of the time compared to manual labor, and none of the risk that comes with people climbing ladders or trees.”

“Well. Everything looks in order here.” The king nods curtly. “I was worried that even your lands were losing their magic. This kingdom would be plunged into the dark ages if it came to that.”

My stomach twists. We hardly have the skeleton staff to operate our glasshouses, and we scour our county for more wielders each year. Too much of our lifestyle and technology is fueled by magic.

The sole reason my match was made with Finan when we were both barely more than children was because his family needed the magic in my pedigree to replenish their bloodline, and mine needed political connections and new opportunities. We cannot rely on our magic alone for much longer.

“I can definitely confirm that the fruit is delicious,” Finan says while biting into a plum, drawing everyone’s attention. “But, of course, I need to sample your cider and wine facilities as well.”

My father laughs, the sound forced to my ears, and puts a hand on Finan’s shoulder. “I like the way you think. I believe we should sample it immediately. Reward ourselves for a little hard work.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Hold up there, Edmund. I’d like to see your other glasshouses,” Niall commands. The undercurrents are clear. He believes we have shown him only our best face, and it is true.

My father glances at Finan regretfully, the opportunity for distraction lost. “As you wish Niall. We have nothing to hide.”

We visit another glasshouse orchard, this one set in spring. The trees are filled with clouds of blossoms; white dainty flowers on the apple trees, dark pink ruffles on the peach trees and yellow, wiry sprigs on the avocado trees.

Fallen petals cover the ground like a fine dusting of colorful snow. Here there is a large team of earth wielders at work, using invisible tendrils of magic to churn the soil with compost.

When we leave, the world outside seems colorless and cold in comparison.

“I can show you more, King Willard, but the others will be no different,” my father says.

“I would like to pick the next glasshouse we visit,” Prince Niall cuts in.

“Of course.” My father spreads out his arm toward the expanse of buildings.

My heart thuds so hard it hurts. Perhaps the king and princes won’t know enough about farming to pick up on signs of neglect.

Niall takes the lead, inspecting each glasshouse we pass, as the druid Murdoc takes up whispering in the king’s ear. The prince picks out a building that is dark and dank, with trees completely devoid of leaves.

I almost sigh with relief.

He has selected an orchard that has been forced into a winter snap. To the untrained eye, it would seem dead and neglected. There are no guards at this glasshouse, and my father pulls open the door of glass and metal framing himself.

A deep chill passes over us as we step inside. The lightest covering of frost crunches beneath our feet.

“Is it dead?” A deep scowl crosses Finan’s face. I know that look. It twists his sweet face whenever he thinks he has been cheated at cards .

“Not dead. Dormant,” I reply. “The trees won’t flower unless they have undergone a chill first.”

Finan pats my hand tucked into his elbow absentmindedly, but stares at my father. “Edmund? What is this?”

“As Keira said, this is winter. The orchard needs a time of rest before we can bring spring on again. Come.” Father leads us down one face of the glasshouse, peering down every row, pointing out the sparse workers. “These fire wielders are drawing heat out of the atmosphere, to further cool the orchard. If there were more moisture in the air, we would have snow.”

The king, Niall, and their druid adviser pick over every part of the glasshouse, demanding explanations. Then we visit another orchard, with the same interrogation.

“Why are you not drilling my father with them?” I murmur to Finan.

He plays with the rings on one hand. “Because farming should be left to farmers. Managing an estate should be left to the lord. I am not arrogant enough to believe I know more about a person’s profession than they do. But mostly, because I trust you. And this is very, bloody boring.”

“There is truth in that,” I venture.

A sickness rolls within me, knowing we betray his trust.

Our wielders work long, hard hours, and are able to get the bare necessities done, but there are signs of neglect everywhere that only an experienced eye can catch. In a few years, when our oldest and most powerful wielders are forced to retire, we will have to close multiple greenhouses.

Finan’s eyes become hooded as he traces a finger down my cheek, my throat to my exposed cleavage. The heat in that gaze sends shivers down my spine.

He leans into me, murmuring in my ear, “How about we slip away from this pointless inspection? Maybe go to that spot we like?”

“And which spot is that?” I place a hand on his chest. Our breaths mingle in the closeness. The party we came here with turn down a distant corner .

His lips quirk up, and I could kiss him here and now. “You know what I am talking about. I want you to myself. I want to make you moan and beg for more.”

“Is that right? I don’t believe it would be very becoming of a lady,” I tease, pressing myself against his chest as his arms wrap around my waist.

“I want to bring you back to the castle as disheveled as you were this morning, with leaves in your hair. I liked that wildling.”

I grab his hand and tug him out of the glasshouse before he combusts.

We run and stumble through the orchards, to the ancient gardens of wildflowers and twisted rose bushes as tall as trees, that once belonged to the fae lord who ruled this land.

Now, they are untended and deserted.

The paths have missing cobbles filled in with weeds and the wire frame arches that loop over it are completely engulfed by creeping rose bush vines and impassable, or mere bare bones.

In the center of the Old Fae Garden is an immense tree that looks like a weeping willow, but the colors are wrong. Its foliage forms immense curtains of red and yellow cascading blooms. We laugh as we run through them, pushing layers of soft branches out of our way. When they close behind us, the entire world is blocked out.

Finan wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me off my feet. I throw my arms around his neck and my legs encircle his hips, my skirts falling away to expose the bare skin of my legs. His hand runs up my calf, across my thigh and landing on my ass, my flesh tingling and heating beneath his touch.

His perfumed scent of citrus, bergamot and sandalwood fills my nose, as the warmth of him pressed against me sends tingles throughout my body. I kiss his generous lips, then part mine for him and our tongues meet, gliding across each other ever so gently, building with urgency until our mouths bruise against each other. I bite his lower lip and he groans.

Finan’s hand finds its way down the neckline of my dress, taking the fullness of my breast into his grip and squeezing. He flicks his thumb over my nipple and I gasp, throwing my head back.

Those lips find their way to my neck, starting behind my ear and kissing down to my chest, to my breasts, pulling my neckline as far as the fabric will allow.

Finan stumbles toward the twisted trunk of the tree, still bearing my weight, then deposits my body against it. The bark at my back is smooth. It generates its own heat and glows a soft white, being an ancient gift straight from the fae Summer Court. The entire space around us of fiery foliage is a bubble of warmth.

He presses his body against mine and every inch where we touch feels divine. His hardened length presses against my hip, and making my heart leap in anticipation.

I unfasten Finan’s cloak and sprawl the fabric across the ground.

“Sit,” I command.

Finan does so without question, leaning his back against the tree and pulling me to his lap. I straddle his hips, my skirts pushed up around my waist and he snakes his hands under the fabric and up my body. I untie the laces on his breaches, so the thin fabric of our undergarments is all that separates us.

I watch his expression as I stroke the hard length of him, his eyes heated and hungry, his lips parted and gasping. I press my core over his erection, the fabric of my undergarment already wet, and I thrust myself against him, again and again, reveling in the delicious friction.

Heat builds between my legs as sensation shoots through me in sharp thrills with each grind of my hips. I let out a moan as the pure pleasure rises and the tension builds within me. My breaths become short and sharp.

“Stop fucken teasing me and put it in already.” Finan’s growl shatters the moment. Pangs of guilt run through me hot and fast. I have only been thinking about my pleasure.

With a swift motion, I free him from his undergarments, then try to do an awkward shuffle to get out of mine. Finan tears them off me before I have a chance.

Our hands collide as we both try to grab his shaft, but I quickly whip mine away and allow him to guide it while I ease his cock into me. I hold onto his shoulders as his hips thrust upwards and he drives his hardness into me in a brutal motion.

I try to ride him with the same enthusiasm as before, my hips bouncing upon his as his length pulls in and out of me. The tension starts to build within and I arch my back, trying to hit that spot within my depths that makes pleasure quake through me. Finan’s body shudders before I can find it, unraveling beneath me, while I am still unstated.

He pants and a slow smile grows on his face, then he gently pushes me from him.

Finan gets up and laces up his britches. “The feast is starting soon. I don’t want to be late.”

I stare at him as the arousal falls from me like a bucket of cold water has been tipped over my head.

He is right. We really shouldn’t be late.

I clean myself up, but there aren’t leaves in my hair like he promised. It has hardly been disturbed. My underpants are tossed on the floor, a ruined heap of lace, and I am annoyed by it.

Finan pulls me by the hand out of the privacy of the willow tree, and out of my own thoughts. The late afternoon sun has made an appearance, warming our backs as we make the trek to the castle. Finan talks about something, on and on without caring to see if I am listening.

A single thought keeps flittering through my mind. I don’t know how I feel about the intimacy we just had. It was pleasant, I guess.