Chapter 1

AT 21, LAURELvon Isildor couldn't remember the last time he'd looked forward to, or even enjoyed, something as simple as a change of the seasons. He'd only been rambling really, racking his brain for something new to say to his unfailingly patient therapist. But now that the appointment was over and he was seated at his much-frequented table outside a frilly little bistro, sipping his favored blend of herbal tea, he realized it was true.

Setting the cup carefully back in its china saucer, he turned the page of his worn paperback novel, letting his thumb stroke absent lines over the edges as he once again absorbed the words of the story. Because he'd read it so many times before, he could see the image of the forlorn young protagonist pining for his stoic warrior lover as clearly as a painting in his mind.

To the eye of passersby on the street, he was a young, attractive noble in tasteful dress. All of those things were true, but the surface level observations betrayed nothing of the painful, gut-wrenching battle for mental health he'd been clawing his way through for half a year. He'd hit his absolute low at the end of the past summer, nearly ruining one of the most important friendships in his life, though he'd ended up making up for it in a rather dramatic way.

He'd agonized through autumn, numb through the majority of the winter. But now, with the sun breaking through the worst of the chill to lay warm rays on him, he could begin to feel hopeful.

He was tall and slim, with a toned body that filled out any style of clothing with an elegant sort of fit. He'd been offered payment by high-end designers to model outfits for as long as he could remember, something that had mortified him as a young teenager, and irritated him as a young adult.

His face was an interesting mix of high cheekbones and angular lines, with sharp, almond-shaped eyes that tended to exude impatience. Their amber color gave a soft complement to the golden locks of his hair. Only a few weeks earlier, he'd finally been able to stomach a stranger in a lavish little salon running their fingers all over his hair to cut it into a trendy, asymmetrical style that fringed across one side of his forehead, a fact that had pleased his worrisome parents.

He wasn't pretty, but he didn't care for the connotations of that word anyway. He was pleasing to look at, and could be sexy when he felt like it. Not that he'd felt like it for quite some time, he mused.

Part of that was because he'd been busy focusing on himself, on his therapy. The other part was because his therapy had forced him to face the somewhat painful realization that practically every man he'd had in his life, in his bed, to put it more accurately, hadn't cared very much for him or his wellbeing. It hadn't been personal or malicious, in all cases but one, he knew. He had simply been a very willing and convenient source of distraction and pleasure. And most men would be loath to pass up those sorts of opportunities.

Life was, unfortunately, nothing like the flowery prose printed on the pages of his beloved romance stories, he thought with only a little bitterness, as he took another sip of tea.

"Laurel!" A woman's voice had him glancing up, closing his book with a snap. "I'm really sorry I'm late. A meeting ran long."

"Think nothing of it," he replied, tapping a finger on his book, strategically placed facing downward, to avoid the embarrassment of explaining the plot to anyone with curious eyes.

Willa set down her coffee, resting her large leather bag next to the chair before settling down into it, shaking out her mane of dark curls. "You look fantastic."

"Thanks." She'd gone to school with him, in the same year as he, Nero, Ramor, and Cedar. She'd been awkward and introverted, still presenting as a boy when they'd met. Though she hadn't been in Laurel's tight-knit group, they'd always liked her, so it had been satisfying to watch her confidence and happiness grow as she'd become more of herself through the years. "You look good, too."

These days she was, like him, mostly what she appeared to be. An upwardly mobile, brutally efficient young executive. She owned and ran a successful art gallery where many of Laurel's glass art pieces, from what he often thought of as his former life, had been sold for hefty sums of profit.

"How's your therapy going?"

He felt his eyebrows raise a bit, involuntarily. He'd only ever discussed his treatment with his closest friends, and none of them were the type to spread it out around, but at times it felt as though he'd taken out an ad in the newspaper announcing it. "Decided against the tactful approach?"

Smiling, she didn't feel too bad for the question, as they'd always been friendly. "You know how it is with these things. Gossip makes us seem interesting, if only for a moment."

He understood all too well. "I suppose all the attention-seeking, wannabe socialites must feel very endeared to me by this point, then."

"You could say that."

He took another sip of the cooling tea, before responding. "It's going fine. I'm making progress. I feel… Better."

"You look better," she told him honestly. "You look peaceful."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said, but appreciated the sentiment. Not that she or all the aristocrats that gossiped about him really knew the true reason for his breakdown and subsequent need for therapy.

He knew for absolute certain that knowledge was only privy to four people. His three closest friends, and his sister. He supposed Nero might have talked to March about it, which he couldn't bring himself to be upset at. Particularly because he'd been terrible to March, and also because the delicate little priss was the definition of tact and grace, so there was no chance that he would ever bring it up to anyone else.

They made polite small talk regarding mutual friends, including Laurel's sister Ingrid, a talented cellist in an orchestra that often performed at the type of swanky events that Willa was prone to attend. They talked about Ramor, another mutual friend of theirs, a similar breed of business-minded young administrator, who was preparing to eventually take over his father's company, a chain of luxury hotels.

"Why don't you just ask him out?" Laurel wondered. "Instead of grilling me about him every time we talk?"

Shaking her head, she let out a sigh. "I know he's busy all the time and so am I, so… And anyway, I don't even know if he would."

Laurel shrugged. "Suit yourself."

If he'd been pining for someone as long as Willa had been pining over Ramor, he'd have damn well done something about it. Then again, he was certain he'd never pine for anyone again. And that was fine with him. Men were nothing but a source of stress and heartache.

Eventually, Willa gave him a look he recognized very well and sat up straighter, shifting into a more formal posture.

"You probably already know what I'm going to ask," she started, to which he gave a single nod. He'd known this was coming, and was somewhat dreading the answer he would be forced to give. "Have you given any thought to whether you'll be going back to making sculptures?" When his eyes lowered a bit, she continued. "I've had several customers ask if there would be any more of your pieces for sale."

"I can't," he said, failing to see the need to beat around the bush. "I would love to start creating again. I've tried. But I literally can't." It was humiliating to voice it, he realized, so he only raised his hands, palm up, curling his fingers inward. "The therapy is helping me mentally, but I still can't… It just doesn't work."

"I'm sorry, Laurel." Her voice was laced with genuine sympathy, but still he pulled his hands away when she reached for them. "It makes everything harder, I'm sure, that you can't do what I know you love to do."

"Well, it certainly doesn't make it easier," he said, wishing he could summon a more biting remark. He supposed half a year ago he would have, but snapping out his temper on someone who didn't deserve it wouldn't bring him even momentary satisfaction now. "I appreciate you checking up on me, and I'm sorry I can't give you the answer you want."

"No, it's okay." She shook her head firmly, sending her subtly stylish earrings clacking. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"If something changes, I'll get in touch with you," he promised. "You don't have to worry about me getting poached by another gallery or anything."

She left shortly after, hoping they could catch up again soon.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Laurel sat back in his chair once she'd gone. How many more conversations of the like was he expected to have? How many more people could he disappoint? His parents' daily disappointment in his mere existence should have been enough, he thought caustically. Did it have to extend out to all corners of the bloody kingdom? He was doing his best. Couldn't anyone understand that?

Casting his eyes to the sky, he tried shifting his focus to the soft puffs of clouds. Before he could begin the mental exercises that his therapist, Katharin, had recommended to him, he heard the chair across from him scrape the ground as it was pulled out.

"Hello," the man across from him greeted him with an entirely too friendly smile and tone of voice.

"Have we met?"

"Not until now, no."

Laurel blinked before turning his head first to the left, then the right, registering that nearly every other table in the breezy outdoor seating was empty. Facing forward again, he raised an eyebrow as he took in the stranger's appearance.

He had a boyishly innocent sort of face that Laurel had always assumed was reserved for shy bookworms built like twigs. Even his hair, a nondescript color that had sometimes been compared to a pile of autumn leaves, had no particular style, and seemed to resist proper combing. But his athletic build, broad shoulders that tapered down muscled arms into a fit torso, was very obviously a man's, and certainly didn't belong to someone who kept his nose buried in books.

"What do you want?"

"Sorry if I'm bothering you. I'm sure I am, but I saw you sitting here and I had this thought, and I just needed to talk to you." Though he apologized, his bright green eyes sparkled without a hint of remorse. His expression didn't register any embarrassment, like he wasn't aware how strange it was to walk up to someone else's table and sit down.

"You don't look all that sorry, just so you know," Laurel said, unsure what else he could say.

The stranger grinned, a bit sheepishly, but shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your plans, but I'm not sorry to get to talk to you. See, I'm not from around here and then I saw you. You're gorgeous, by the way. I thought it must be a sign that we should know each other."

Completely unimpressed, Laurel regarded him wryly. "You think it's a sign from the universe every time you see someone you're attracted to?"

"No, not that part." Finally taking a seat, the auburn-haired man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "My mother has a garden of sunflowers in her backyard that I help her take care of. They're her favorite. I just got here today, and I was wondering how long it might be until I can see her and her sunflowers again, and then I saw you."

"You think I look like a sunflower?" Laurel asked, trying to follow the erratic train of thought. "Are you an idiot?"

"Hear me out," he said, obviously not offended. "Have you ever seen one?"

"I live on this planet," Laurel answered dryly. "So yes, I've seen a sunflower."

"Then you know they're tall. And you're tall. And they have all these bright petals, like your hair. And you were looking up at the sun. That's what they do, you know. They follow the direction of the sun. In the morning, at least."

And just when he thought he'd heard every pickup line known to mankind, Laurel mused, though he could respect the originality, at least. "It's a new one," he admitted. "But you're wasting your time. My therapist says I shouldn't fuck anyone for awhile."

The stranger opened his mouth a little, blinking twice, before closing it again, recovering with an impressive speed. "That's okay. I have this job interview, and if I get it, I'll be staying here in the city for awhile. Since I don't know anyone yet, I was hoping we could get to know each other. I'm Ash."

"No thanks." Laurel was beginning to feel like he was sitting across the table from the personification of a golden retriever. One that was incessantly humping his leg.

As if he didn't hear the blunt tone, Ash leaned back into the chair, giving the sorcerer a docile expression. "I get it. I would be annoyed, too. You're just trying to have a quiet, solitary morning reading," he tilted his head to the side to see the spine of the book, "Love's Tender Fury." Amused by the title, he reached out, bringing the book to his side of the table. Eyes wide, Laurel felt his mouth curl into a snarl as Ash began reading the back blurb out loud.

"Alexi vows he will never forgive the injustice suffered by his family at the hands of their enemy clan. But when the surprisingly gentle barbarian Vedrik becomes captivated by the stubborn beauty, the heat of their forbidden passion soon melts his icy hatred." He flicked his gaze back up to Laurel, wishing he could suppress the grin he felt his mouth being tugged into. "This is so cute. You don't seem like you'd be into this kind of thing."

Mortified, Laurel snatched the book out of Ash's hands and tucked it into his lap, out of sight. In an attempt to dilute the intense embarrassment pounding through him, he straightened his spine. "When you get your drink, kindly take it to another table."

"Oh, I don't have time for a drink. I'm on my way to that job interview I was telling you about."

"Then what," Laurel asked, through gritted teeth, "Are you doing here?"

"I told you. I saw you from the street, and I had to talk to you. I can see that I've pissed you off, which I understand. But there's something about you that's drawing me in. Do you get what I mean?"

"No."

"It's alright. I know I can come off strong. I think you just need some time to get used to me, and I can respect that. Can you at least tell me your name?"

"It wouldn't be morally right to encourage this delusion that you're suffering. I think you need to seek help."

Again, the cheery warmth didn't fade even remotely from Ash's face before he answered. "Listen. I'm known for being excruciatingly patient, and indomitably persistent. I just think I should warn you about that right away so you aren't surprised. But, I'm afraid I have to go now. As dazzling as you are, I'd hate to keep the prince waiting."

"The prince?" The surprised question tumbled from Laurel's mouth before he could stop it.

"I'm on my way to the castle," Ash explained. "I'm supposed to be working for him for the next little while."

Good to know, Laurel thought, though he only let out an impatient huff. He'd have to avoid the castle for awhile if that psycho was staying there.

"You'll wish me luck, won't you? With the prince? You'd be doing me a great kindness."

Wondering if he perhaps really did have some sort of mental deficiency, Laurel only stared for a few moments before answering.

"You don't need my luck. You're clearly insane, but Nero won't care about that as long as you can actually do the job he wants you for."

"Nero?" Ash echoed. Groaning a little, Laurel inwardly cursed himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know him that well?"

Though he felt like a complete moron for even mentioning it, he wondered if changing direction would actually discourage the auburn-haired man from whatever dream world he seemed to be drifting through.

"Actually, Nero is my ex-boyfriend. Does that intimidate you?"

Considering, Ash tilted his head. It didn't surprise him in the least that someone that looked like Laurel had dated the crown prince. "I guess it is a tough act to follow. But since it was already immediately clear that you're out of my league as it is, no. It doesn't intimidate me."

Ash reached out, intending to seal their meeting with a wholly innocent and proper kiss on the aristocrat's knuckles. But when his fingertips made contact with Laurel's, the blonde jerked back as if he'd been burned.

"I don't like being touched."

Quite an understatement, Ash thought, brow furrowing at the absolute dread emanating from the pretty brown eyes. The stark fear in Laurel's body language spoke volumes more than a dislike of casual touching, but he only gave a nod in acknowledgment.

"No problem." Lifting his hand to his own mouth, Ash blew a kiss across the table, closing one of his eyes in a cheeky wink. "Have a beautiful day, sunshine. Try not to think about me too much."