Page 51 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

He looked tired; dark circles under his eyes contrasted with his golden skin that looked more pale than usual. His clothes, black leather armor without the Edamish sigil, were covered in mud and something that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

For one heartbreaking second, Orla was happy to see him. She nearly broke into a run to go to him before she realized this was the male who had planned to kill her and broke her heart.

Fury overtook her brief elation. Calling upon her magic, vines swept from the trees and pulled tight on Owain’s arms and legs, knocking him to the ground. He was bound like a pheasant ready to be cooked. Another vine closed in tightly around his throat as Orla stalked towards him, palms clenched in anger.

“Why the fuck are you at my house?”

Chapter Thirty

When he saw her, his heart stopped. For the smallest moment, he thought she looked happy to see him. But now he was tangled up in vines, and she threatened to strangle him, so he had definitely misread her facial expression.

When he got to the cottage, he knew immediately it was Orla’s. The gardens had withered, but there was an unmistakable Orla quality to the space. The cozy cottage was tucked close to the old wood full of lichen-covered trees. A small stable was out back. He had walked around the cottage grounds looking for her before circling back to knock on the cottage door.

Sweet abyss, he had missed her. Even now, tied up on the cold ground, he could only think of how right it felt to be back in her presence. She looked as beautiful as ever, her midnight hair tied up at the top of her head, some of the coils falling loosely from the tie. Her rich skin catching the midday sun in a way that made every other creature pale in comparison to her beauty. Even the angry tense lines of her face stole his breath.

But then he remembered he was the cause of that anger, and under that anger was so much hurt. His cheeks burned with the shame of it.

“I asked you a question,” she repeated, her tone so full of venom she hardly sounded like herself.

He struggled to catch his breath around the vines slowly choking him.

“We have to talk,” he rasped.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” She twisted her hand slightly as the vines around his throat tightened.

“Please, Orla. The king is sending men to hunt you down. I tried to beat them here, but they will probably only be a day away, two days at most.” He took in a sharp breath, the vines around his arms and legs cutting off his circulation, making the limbs tingle. “I know you have no reason to trust me,” he continued. “But I want to help.”

Owain wanted to tell her more, he wanted to tell her how he loved her and how he was filled with regret about his deception of her. But he knew she wasn’t in a place to hear it. And maybe he still wasn’t in a place to tell her the full truth, but if he wanted her to trust him again, eventually he would have to.

“You’re right, Owain. I don’t trust you. Not in the slightest. And why would King Mikki send men to hunt for me? I have no quarrel with him.” It was the first time he realized how much he had broken them. The warmth that he normally felt in Orla’s presence, her smiles and laughs, and the easy way they were together all felt eons away.

“King Mikki is dead. King Vernon is now the King of Emmental and Edam.”

Chapter Thirty-One

The words cut her. King Vernon, father of Prince Gwayne. Owain’s father, and the person who had sent Owain to kill her in the first place was now the ruler of her realm. Owain’s face was turning purple from her tightening vines. She released them a bit, and he took a deep inhale.

“What does that have to do with me?” She felt herself panicking as she paced back and forth in front of Owain’s prone form.

“Lord Patrin and Lord Calix said that you killed Mikki. You’ve been declared a traitor to the realm, and my fa—King Vernon, wants you brought back to Imsil to face his justice. It was Calix who attacked you in that garden. I don’t know how, but he survived and I saw his power for myself.”

This had to be a trick. Another ruse to get Orla to trust him so that he could kill her. None of what Owain was saying made sense to her. But if King Mikki was dead, and she had been declared a traitor, that would explain the looks and whispers that had followed her through the marketplace that day.

Oh Gods, if someone had told the new king where she was, how long did she have to get somewhere safe? And where could she go? If this news had reached a small village like Benin, then surely, it would reach every corner of the kingdom. Hells, maybe it had even reached the rest of the continent. Orla felt nauseous. A cold sweat broke out over her.

“Why should I believe you?” She felt her mind spiraling, not sure what was true or what his angle was.

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m alone and at your mercy. All I want is to help, Orla. To fix this.”

Orla scoffed at him. As if he actually wanted to help. When the vines loosened, Owain rolled onto his knees to look up at her. Orla saw so much pain there. Pain he didn’t have a right to feel. He had been the one to betray her.

“Why would you help me?” She shook her head, tears picking her eyes.

“Because it was real to me, Orla. It was all real.”

Some of the fight left Orla, though she was still furious. She loosened the vines enough for Owain to untangle himself from them. He rubbed at the angry red marks on his neck and wrists where he was bound. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. Orla, angry and guarded. Owain, looking sullen and contrite.

“I know you don’t trust me, but I have a place that I can take you where you will be safe. But we have to leave tonight.”