“Did you take the salusis?” Stamel’s throat went dry as he asked.
Seidrik shook his head almost violently. “No. The moon stopped me. She took my tears for the font as an offering, told me not to drink… I listened.”
Stamel swallowed hard. “Well. It’s not the first time I’ve impregnated someone…”
Stamel knelt before him and pulled his mate to his chest. He sobbed and Stamel drew a shaking breath. “What do you wish to do?”
“I don’t know.” Seidrik sobbed. “Let us run away. I could run away, maybe. Leave you. I could raise it on my own. I could—”
Stamel placed a finger over his lips. “You desire to keep the child.”
Seidrik’s face twisted into a knot of anguish. “Do you want me to rid myself of—”
“The day I fall pregnant by you is the day I get to make a choice like that, my beta prince. I have no say over your belly.” Stamel stroked his back.
“We speak to the goddess first thing in the morn. We beg for forgiveness and run.” Seidrik said the last words as if they were a death sentence.
But they weren’t. They were a life sentence.
One that Stamel would fix post haste.
Chapter Fifteen
Seidrik
How Stamel could remain so infuriatingly calm after the whole ordeal escaped him completely. The nymph queen knew all things life and death.
He’d disposed of the flowers at the forest’s edge and taken the box with himself as a gift. He hoped they’d understand him being unable to carry them to the castle.
Stamel and Seidrik flew to the edge of the forest, walked toward the roadside, and sent a signal via a little butterfly up the lane to their driver. Stamel did the spell so well, a beautiful little jewel fly.
They rode in silence, and Stamel’s expression stayed hard, even as the driver asked how their excursion went.
“Fine. The nymphs have agreed to stop fucking with the crops if our guards will stop hunting her prized sun pheasants and stealing their fornication fruits.” Stamel leaned back in his chair and brooded. The driver, potentially aware of said fornication fruits and stolen birds, blushed vividly and kept silent the entire drive, too.
At the castle, they went their separate ways, Stamel to go speak with the guard and Seidrik to go clean up and dress for dinner. Stamel never dressed up for dinner unless explicitly told to by Alluin, so it was no surprise.
Everything Seidrik did felt like it was automatic. Numbness held his heart and mind. His tongue tasted dry as he tried to reckon when he’d last imbibed wine, when he’d done things that could have harmed their child. And if he’d want to.
He didn’t.
It seemed almost like a blessing and a curse. Freedom. He could walk away from it all! He could fly off into the sunset with Stamel, live the life of a vagabond, return to Croatens to hide away. Perhaps Lumic and Askara wouldn’t mind their staying in Summer’s Keep.
When he styled his braid and stared at himself in the mirror of his dressing room, he eyed the lighter color of his hair. The darkwash never lasted all that long, letting his golden fleecy pale shine through in a matter of weeks. His roots already were sinfully pale, faded out as if he’d been in more sun.
When he arrived at the dining hall, Stamel and Alluin sat there already, chatting cordially about the situation in the forest. Alluin shook his head dismissively. “I will have at least one of them dismissed for this. One cannot fathom the pain this causes when my own guards misbehave. How it reflects upon me, as their king.”
Seidrik took a seat quietly and earned a flick of a glance from Alluin. “Stamel has informed me that you were instrumental in appeasing Queen Aster.”
Seidrik froze in place and nodded once, making no move to brag or dismiss.
“I am…appreciative.” Alluin said the word like it tasted bitter, glancing at Stamel for approval. “I do tend to overlook your accomplishments. I should be more thankful.”
Seidrik dared to glance at his father, taking in his stiff posture and moue of distaste.
“I need no gratitude, Father. What I do is for our people. There was a problem, and I solved it. Your acknowledgment means much to me.” Seidrik bowed his head and waved a servant down as they passed by, requesting a glass of water. The cook always prepared their water with ice magic, dried citronelia peel, and a drop of vitalis. It raised the spirits.
When he picked up the glass and drank, that familiar cool, invigorating bliss enveloped him.
