“In full regalia, no less. They tried to impose their rank on a young one.” Cottonbalm laughed, her voice a soft tinkle.
“What are they stealing, my lady?” Seidrik sighed in dismay.
“They were hunting summer pheasants, struck down one of our queen’s prized white ones for sport. Left the poor corpse lay, didn’t even eat it.” She shook her head before tasting more of the sweet honey off her fingers.
“If she wishes, I shall offer my personal apologies in person and ensure that the men will not only bepunished but dismissed for such savagery.” Seidrik sighed heavily and stiffened when she sighed.
“She does wish. Come.” Cottonbalm grabbed his sleeve and flew off, making Seidrik stumble until he could fight his jewelfly wings free and fly after her, Stamel doing so in tow with heavy strokes of his blood dove red wings.
“Is this wise?” Stamel’s low voice made Seidrik smile.
“Probably not, but I have to trust our nymphs. They know that if I cease to come around, the honey stops. Alluin would rather chase them off like pests.” Seidrik dodged branches as Stamel flitted above the trees. Alphas had to glide more than fly. They made long-distance flights easier, where omegas were built for nimble flight and agility.
“And nobody trusts us more than our treasured prince.” Cottonbalm chuckled, breaking out the moniker they used for him due to his jeweled wings. Why the goddess had given him such an ostentatious insect for his wings, he wasn’t sure, but they made traversing the forests easier.
Deep in the woods, they reached a mossy clearing, low-hanging fox ivy draped with their pretty little white star flowers all about, creating glittering patches of light amidst the luxurious natural space.
From rocks and fallen trees, moss sprouted and created a throne of sorts that a poppywillow shaded. The whiplike branches wound sensually into ornate shapes to highlight the soft blue of the queen’s presence. She wore twisting vines like many wore their bits of leaves and things, each adornment of her graced with a dark-blue snakecress flowers with their curled winding petals exploding outward. “Treasured Prince,” her matronly voice welcomed as he landed aside Cottonbalm.
“Your Majesty.” Seidrik bowed low, showing all respect to the nymph queen in her territory.
“It is good to see you.” She stared at him, head tilted before gasping with a shy smile. “And you’ve gotten your horns back.”
Seidrik reached up, fingers unfamiliarly touching the extensions. It had been so long since he’d had the sun elk antlers, and he’d nearly forgotten that Stamel had returned them.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Queen Aster.” Seidrik bowed his head.
“I never forgave Honeythistle for that.”
Stamel, standing behind him, shook his head with a hiss and brought his fingertips to his forehead.
“And yet more I should be angry with him over. You, alpha. Come.” Queen Aster gestured for Stamel to step forward, and Seidrik reached for him. He staggered forward, face a map of confusion. “He will be fine, my treasure. My son traded his name so foolishly and took it back.”
“Honeythistle. Cat paw…” Stamel took a soothing breath as Queen Aster touched his horns, tracing fingertips over their draconic ridges. “I remember.”
“Son!” She whirled in place and frowned. From between a swath of fox ivy, a familiar face in a more-grown body floated into the clearing, as golden as any honeythistle flower.
“More meddling?” She glared at her son who gave Stamel and Seidrik a wide grin.
“Mother, I told you, the sun asked me for a favor.” He kissed his mother on the cheek and laughed, the playful child’s laughter no more, transformed into that of a young male—a prize among nymphs.
“Look at the poor treasure and his mate. Such a state he’s in. What did you trade your name for with him?” She flicked his nose and made him wince, rubbing at it churlishly.
“He heard my name when I gave it to Seidrik. So, he offered to give it back to me for Seidrik’s horns. They got back to him in the end,” he said, and Queen Aster huffed, gesturing for him to continue to speak. “Fine! He asked for the horns, and I bargained something else. I asked for the memory back and his trust.”
“You took his trust? Goddesses… Foolish boy.” She flicked her son again and hissed. “What chaos has he endured for it?”
“I tried to kill my brother, thinking him trying to take my father’s throne…” Stamel stared at his hands and sneered.
“And see the regret on him!” Queen Aster gestured at him once more.
“No. No! I don’t. I don’t regret. I—I knew… Something. I—” Stamel shook his head. “It’s fine. I think he explained. I think. Because of what he did, I’ve gotten everything I wanted. What my mind didn’t know my heart wanted.”
Honeythistle folded his arms. As a child, Seidrik knew the boy only as Catpaw, named for the fluffy yellow flower. As a grown nymph, his hair had sleeked out, and he appeared fierce, gleaming and straight as the honeythistle plant ever thought of being.
Seidrik stared at Stamel with confusion but earned a wave of dismissal. “Don’t worry, my treasure.” The teasing tone made Seidrik’s emotions ease, but they reached out to hold hands.
“Besides. It needed to happen.” Honeythistle stared Seidrik down and smiled. “You were afraid my childish infatuation would manifest into love, and I would stray from our people for Seidrik.”