Page 33 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

“You don’t have to thank me, Orla. I’m just glad you’re all right. Here, get comfortable and eat while I get cleaned up.”

Several minutes later, Owain rejoined Orla in the bedroom. He looked much more refreshed. His hair, still wet from the bath, looked darker and fell farther down his forehead. He wore black trousers that hung low on his hips and a cream tunic that was untied, revealing a peek at the tanned skin of his chest. He was now clean shaven, his sharp jaw clenched. He stood there just looking at her as if unsure what to say next.

“You’re staring,” she said, mouth full with a bite of the buttery biscuit Chrys had brought them.

“I didn’t think you would make it. You lost so much blood and I—” He cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck and looking sheepishly at the ground. She rose from the armchair and walked up to him.

“I’m not that fragile, Owain. I might be a ball of nerves all the time, but I’m not so easily killed. I’m so grateful that you healed me, but you don’t have to be afraid for me. It’s not the first time someone has tried to kill me.” She smiled, hoping to lighten the mood.

It was true, she had two previous assassination attempts on her. Though both of those were shortly after Fontina. The first had been outside of her townhome. That attacker hadn’t bothered to conceal themselves and came at her with a sword after she had stumbled home late from her favorite tavern. Back then, she was much more practiced at fighting than she was now and easily disarmed the attacker before driving their own sword through their chest.

The second was the two-year anniversary of Fontina. This attacker was stealthier and snuck into her townhome in Imsil. He caught her off guard and tried to strangle her while she was asleep in her bedroom. She had a vase of flowers on her nightstand that she grabbed to bludgeon the attacker. Though she had never confirmed the identity of either attacker, she assumed they were both sent by someone living in Edam. She didn’t want to think about it but it was likely this attacker was as well.

“I know you’re not fragile. And I’m sorry I’m being so damned awkward. It’s just”—he ran his hand through his damp hair— “I know you are more capable than most when it comes to defending yourself. But I also know you don’t like reminders of your time in the army, and I don’t know how to walk that line. I don’t want to be presumptuous and think you need me to protect you. But I’ve never cared about…” He paused again, searching for the words. “I want to take care of you. If you’ll let me.” He reached his hand out to grip Orla’s hip, and he looked into her eyes. “Will you let me take care of you?”

He wanted to take care of her. Orla didn’t know how she felt about that. She hadn’t been taken care of since she was fifteen years old. And one could hardly call her father’s brand of care soft or cuddly.

For a moment, panic gripped her. To be cared for sounded an awful lot like being depended on. Like being loved, and Orla had killed and disappointed the last people who had loved her. She didn’t even know if it was possible for her to love and be loved in any real way. Not anymore. Maybe she was too much like her mother and would never be able to feel love the way Elves did. Destined for love to be like water in her palm, flowing through her fingers whenever she tried to hold onto it.

But looking into Owain’s eyes, so earnest and full of concern, she thought maybe she could let him care for her. For a little while until she fully healed. What could be the harm in that?

* * *

Over the next several days, Orla let Owain take care of her. He got her meals, drew her baths, and doted on her every need. She decided to stay in his rooms since they were much larger and nicer than her own. He was gentle and so tender, it filled her with joy. Each night, they would go to bed next to one another, and though Orla was plagued with nightmares of the attack or of Fontina or Rhyan, her fear subsided the moment she opened her eyes and saw Owain sleeping next to her. As if on instinct, he would always pull her towards him when she was having a nightmare. His warmth steadied her.

When she couldn’t fall back asleep after her dreams, she would watch him sleep. He would usually sleep on his stomach, head facing her, with one of his large arms slung over her midriff. He looked younger as he slept, less burdened than he did during the day. While watching him, it took all her resolve not to reach out and trail her fingers along his firm muscles. He always slept in sleep pants and a shirt, though that didn’t stop Orla from imagining what lay underneath those clothes.

On one of their evenings, they lounged together in Owain’s bed. Owain was reading over documents from the meetings he had been missing with the kings over the past few days while Orla finished braiding her hair. Over the past several days, he had been the perfect gentleman. No sexual innuendos or advances. Just a chaste kiss on her forehead whenever he had to leave their rooms.

Their rooms.

She liked the sound of that. Though, it was a foolish thought. These were Owain’s rooms, and he was being kind enough to allow her to heal in them. She was looking at the scar along her forearm. It was no longer red and puffy. It had settled over the past few days and now looked months old instead of days.

“How do you know about so many different types of magic?” She looked from her scar to him.

Spending so much time in his rooms, she was discovering little quirks about him. Like how he chewed on the inside of his lip while he concentrated. Or how he wore reading glasses anytime he needed to focus on a document for long periods of time. He looked at her over his glasses in a move that made her suppress a grin.

“I told you, all magic comes from within, you just have to know how to tap into that well of power that allows it to flow.”

“Sure, but Elven magic comes from within, and nymph magic comes from the earth. And healing magic… I didn’t know that was something Elves could do.” Orla had known more powerful Elves than she cared to count from her time in the army. A healing gift would have been invaluable to any war effort, but she had never heard of any Elves possessing that power.

“It’s… rare,” he hedged. “But it is not unheard of.”

“You also knew about the runes. That is pretty old magic. I know you’re older than me, but I didn’t know you were that old.” He barked a laugh, face breaking out into a wide smile.

“I’m thirty-six, so no, I’m not that old.” He paused, pulling his glasses off and placing them on the side table next to the bed. “My mother taught me; she was skilled in a lot of different kinds of magic.”

That was surprising. Elves, even lowborn ones, almost never practiced magic that wasn’t Elven in origin. They could practice witch’s magic and use spells and potions, though they would be less potent than if a witch was channeling the magic. They could even call magic from the land if they practiced. It was usually small magics like keeping an unwatered plant alive, but the assumed superiority of Elves made it so they rarely practiced any magic outside of their own.

“She must have been peculiar to practice non-Elven magic.” Owain paused for a long time, so long that Orla thought that was the end of their conversation.

“Can I tell you a secret? One that you cannot share with anyone.” She nodded. “Promise me you won’t tell a soul what I’m about to tell you.”

Well, that was intriguing. “I promise,” she said as she reached across the bed to take his hand in hers.

“My mother… well, she wasn’t fully Elven. She was half witch.” He paused as Orla took in this information. “No one knows about my mother’s ancestry, not even Chrys. Though I’m sure he has suspected it over the years.”

Many in the kingdoms feared witches. Their power was as vast as any Elven magic and the Elves that controlled each kingdom feared any threat to their power. Even in Emmental, King Mikki was wary of witches. While Orla and Rhyan had risen in the ranks of the army, King Mikki hadn’t bestowed as much favor on Cessly for fear of giving a witch too much political power.