Page 42 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

“The whole palace has been a buzz with chatter on how Lord Owain reacted to your attack. You are my most trusted warrior, but even you are not above the king’s reproach.”

King Mikki waved his hands again and Orla felt her body return to herself. She inhaled deeply to stop the shaking that was threatening to overtake her. She had heard King Mikki’s power was terrifying, but she had never been on the receiving end of anything like that. It was horrible. One could only imagine what he would be like if he was able to use his power on more than on person at a time.

Orla forced herself to look King Mikki in the eye as she spoke. She had not wavered in her loyalty because of Owain. Her disillusionment with war and the crown had come after Fontina, but she wasn’t a traitor, no matter her romantic feelings.

“There is nothing further to report, my king. My loyalty continues to lie with Emmental and your rule.”

“Very well. I expect continued updates now that you are well. We will meet again after the ball in a few days’ time.” King Mikki waved his hand in dismissal, making her flinch before she slowly backed out of the room, releasing a sigh of relief that her meeting with the king was over.

* * *

Over the next several days, Owain and Orla spent as much time with each other as they could, though they were discreet about their affections for one another. In the mornings, she would walk him to his various meetings with the lords or merchants needed to resume normal relations with Edam, and in the afternoons, they would spend time in town or alone in the palace grounds. With her free time, Orla continued to work on improving her magic. She had gone through the book Owain gave her and explored the palace grounds for the plants in it. She found that those plants were much more receptive to her magic, and she could do things like transform them into other species or even weaponize the deadly ones. On the days that she didn’t feel like practicing her magic, she would go into Imsil and see Cessly.

The two were quickly making up for lost time. It felt as natural as breathing to be spending time again with Cessly now that Orla knew she didn’t blame her for Rhyan’s death. And while they spent time together, Cessly would help her to remain calm as the people of Imsil stared at the two of them when they walked around the city. Cessly shared that she had also been on the receiving end of unwanted attention after the war. But unlike Orla, she hadn’t run away or avoided people, so she was much more adept at handling the stares with grace instead of panic.

On one of the days Orla met with Cessly, they went to The Boar’s Head Tavern for drinks when Owain and Chrys had decided to join them.

Orla had been nervous about the meeting. Cessly had much to hate about Edam and had bristled when Orla finally told her that the male she was seeing was the new Edamish heir. But despite some initial awkwardness, the group got along surprisingly well. Chrys and Cessly had the same dry humor, and Owain enjoyed talking to Cessly about witch’s magic. The two discussed various spells, potions, and conjurings, as well as the lack of a coven system in the Elven-run kingdoms. It was the first time Orla could say she was in the company of friends since Rhyan had died.

Each evening, Orla would return to Owain’s rooms where he would ravage her until she was sated and boneless. But he never took his pleasure with her. He told her that he wanted her to feel cared for. To feel adored. But part of her knew that wasn’t the whole truth. Though it was hard to argue with a male who had given her more pleasure in a week then she could have fathomed in a lifetime.

During one of those evenings, as Orla lay naked and content in Owain’s arms, he asked her how she would feel going to the ball with him.

“Come with me tomorrow,” he said as he gently stroked her arms up and down.

“I wasn’t planning on going. All those people… It just seems like a lot.”

She had been getting better at managing the looks and stares of others. She no longer had nervous attacks anytime she was in the palace halls, and it had been over a week since she last took her lavender tea because she needed to calm down. She still had a cup every morning though, because Owain had told the butler that she enjoyed it.

“Well, you are my escort.” He smirked. “So I am asking you to escort me to the ball, as my date.”

Her eyebrow rose at the word. They hadn’t labeled what they were doing, only that they enjoyed each other’s company. Secretly, Orla suspected they both feared that labeling what they were becoming to one another would scare the other away. Orla still feared being relied on and depended upon. And as much as she was loath to admit it, Orla was terrified of being like her mother. What if she got tired of him and left, the way her mother had left her father? They hadn’t even acknowledged that all of Orla’s things had found their way into Owain’s rooms, or that they both called them their rooms.

“I’ll go under one condition,” she said.

“And what would that be?”

“No dancing,” she replied. Thinking about all the people around the ballroom gawking at her was one thing. But being on display in the middle of the dance floor felt like a whole different beast.

“One dance. It is a ball after all. And I’ll look for any excuse to touch you.” A wicked glint flashed in his pale blue eyes.

“You touch me plenty.”

He nuzzled his face against her neck. “I could never touch you enough, Orla. I would touch you forever if you let me.” His words warmed her, and soon, she nodded off to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four

With Orla fast asleep, Owain slipped out of the room and quietly made his way to Chrys’s room. They had a plan for how the next few days would go to keep Orla safe while also fulfilling their goal. Over the past week, when Owain wasn’t with Orla, he had been practicing a fairly complicated illusion spell. Though he doubted she realized it, his conversation with Cessly had helped him hone the spell immensely.

The spell work was difficult for someone who wasn’t a full-blooded witch, but with Chrys’s changeling ability, he felt fairly certain that he could convince the Edamish lords of Orla’s death. The next steps would be to somehow convince her to leave for Benin so that his deception would not be discovered.

After a soft knock on the door, Chrys let him in.

“Any updates?” Chrys had continued to pose as the messenger imp around the palace, listening to hushed conversations where he could.

“Lord Calix doesn’t believe you will follow through with your part of the plan. He says you’re too weak to actually kill Orla in the end.”

The plan: killing Orla.