Page 46 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

Owain’s stilled.

“Who told you? That isn’t…” He stopped, hesitating as she kept the blade pressed to his throat. “That was true, yes. But it hasn’t been true for a long time. Orla, I swear, I could never kill you.” His voice broke on the words.

“Bullshit!” she yelled. “I heard your advisors talking. I know you want revenge. I know you’re the reason Rhyan is dead. Or did you think I wouldn’t find out about the rest of your magic? You made me think you only had witch’s magic. You’ve been lying to me for moons, you contemptuous bastard!”

Orla hated the waver in her voice. She sounded so weak. So hurt.

“Orla, that isn’t the whole truth. Please let me explain.” But Orla was too hurt to hear his explanations. Too full of anger and sorrow to think beyond the betrayal. If she had, she might have realized that Owain hadn’t fought back. That he hadn’t had a weapon. Though he was nearly a foot taller and much stronger, he hadn’t even tried to move away from her blade. That if she moved to slit his throat, he wouldn’t raise a hand to stop her.

“Orla, please. I lo⁠—”

“Don’t!” she yelled. “Don’t you fucking dare claim to care about me.”

She had to move, but as she went to slit his throat, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to. The thought of Rhyan, bleeding out as he clutched his throat ran through her mind, and she froze. She couldn’t let two males she loved die like that. Because, unfortunately, she did love Owain. Love doesn’t stop just because you want it to.

“Fuck you, Owain. Every day of your infernal life, I hope you feel every bit the worthless bastard everyone knows you to be.” She knew it was harsh, even cruel, but she didn’t care. In that moment, all she cared about was hurting him as much as he had hurt her.

And with that, she lowered her blade before stabbing him hard in the thigh.

When Orla exited their rooms, she planned to make her way back towards King Mikki’s offices to leave him a missive, but the palace was in chaos. Screams and cries echoed through the hall. As she got closer to the king’s wing, the chaos was turning into pandemonium. Servants and guards were running the opposite way she was going, nearly crushing her in their haste. As she looked around for a familiar face, someone to ask what was going on, she saw a cloaked figure holding a bloodied dagger quickly blink out of sight.

Her blood chilled, and she turned to run the opposite way. She raced past a sea of anguished faces to get to the stables where she quickly readied her horse and sped off into the night.

As the palace grounds receded behind her, she felt the walls around her heart, her stupid broken heart, rebuilding. Brick by tortuous brick.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The sickly-sweet smell of stale whiskey permeated the air of the dank room. It had been a week since Orla left Owain alone and bleeding on his chamber floors. Her dagger had been buried deep, and it took nearly a quarter of an hour to heal himself. He still felt a twinge of pain each time he walked. Though the pain of Orla’s words had cut deeper than any dagger ever could.

A worthless bastard. That’s what he had always been to the nobles of Edam. What he had made himself to her through his actions.

Owain’s thoughts returned to that night, as they had time and time again since she left him. She hadn’t been on the terrace after he spoke with Chrys, so he went looking for her. The last thing he expected was for her to be holding a dagger to his throat, ready to kill him when he had walked into their rooms. He had planned to tell her that night on the terrace. To tell her what he had been plotting and how he wouldn’t go through with it. To tell her that she had changed him. That he loved her. But clearly, someone got there first, and now she was gone.

It didn’t matter that, by all official accounts, he had achieved his goals. King Mikki was dead. His father, King Vernon, was now on the way from Edam to Imsil to claim the throne, claiming both Edam and Emmental as his rightful kingdoms.

By decree of the king, Owain was legitimized and had become the new heir apparent and prince of both Edam and Emmental. He was to rule Edam in his father’s stead while his father secured Emmental for his own. Because Orla had been seen near the king’s private offices and fled shortly after King Mikki’s death, Lord Patrin and Lord Calix declared her as King Mikki’s murderer and traitor to the realm. The plan Owain had painstakingly put into place had been a success.

Respect, honor, power. They were all his for the taking. But he just felt numb.

He had spent the majority of the last week in his rooms. Chrys had once again been donning his likeness to attend meetings in his stead. Each morning Owain woke, he drank, he slept, he drank. A vicious cycle of self-pity for a male who deserved none.

Orla had been right; he had betrayed her. It was his fault that she was attacked in the gardens. His fault that she had come to the palace in the first place. It was his missive to King Mikki, requesting her presence, that brought her to the place she hated so much. It didn’t matter what happened afterwards; he had never been honest with her. She had given so much of herself to him, and he had only given her lies and deceptions.

“You look like a pile of horse shit.”

He hadn’t even heard the door open, but Chrys walked into the parlor before opening the curtains that Owain had drawn over the balcony. He hated looking out at the gardens now. It was impossible to look at them and not think of Orla. The first few nights after she left, he would sit out on the balcony and wait, hoping against all odds that she would appear.

“You sure know how to make a male feel wanted,” he said dryly before taking a long swig of his glass of whiskey. He was sure Chrys was right. It had been a week since Orla left, and Owain hadn’t shaved or even bathed. His usually scruffy jaw was now a small untamed beard, and there was no way he didn’t reek of whiskey, as it was his only sustenance for the past week.

“Ah, but you are wanted,” Chrys said sarcastically. “A whole kingdom is wondering when their heir will return to Edam. But it seems like you couldn’t care less.” He always knew it was bad when Chrys was the one dressing him down. He continued. “And I can’t keep impersonating you unless you decide to drink yourself to death in these rooms and want me to become the actual Prince of Edam and Emmental.”

Owain sighed deeply. Chrys was right. His wallowing wouldn’t bring Orla back. It wouldn’t erase the pain that he had caused her. It wouldn’t make her love him. He knew the role he needed to play and the mask he needed to don. But now the mask and the role felt off. He could finally breathe with Orla, but now that air was gone, leaving nothing but choking oppression in its wake. Nodding with resolve, he stood up from the settee that had become his resting place.

“Meet me in an hour. I’ll be ready.”

An hour later, Owain was finally bathed and no longer smelled of whiskey. He had been too tired to shave so he left the beard, but with Chrys by his side, he soldiered on to a meeting with Lords Patrin, Calix, and Allium, as well as the heirs to the Kingdoms of Mondseer and Urdhe, who were now allied with the new King Vernon and his cause.

All five of the males bowed when Owain entered the room, muttering “Your Highness” in terse greetings. It should have elated him to be the most powerful male in the room and to command their respect. But a part of Owain knew that they still didn’t respect him. As always, they acted their parts to his face, but there was no love or adoration on these males’ faces at having him be named their heir.