Page 58 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

“Every room in this inn only has one bed. I can sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable.”

Orla nodded, looking at the hard, stone floor. It would be an uncomfortable night’s sleep, possibly even more so than the hard ground they had been sleeping on for days.

“So, how do you know Vasha? She seemed taken with you.” Orla was not a jealous person, but seeing the lamia beaming at Owain made her stomach clench uncomfortably. Clearly, he had to know her well from her reaction. And she knew Chrys.

“She’s an old friend. This is the village of Staazer, the only way station before you enter Iridaceae, so I’ve been here several times over the years when I go to visit my mother’s coven.”

“Hmm.” She sat on the bed, noticing how the room warmed around them like an embrace. Owain’s magic.

“And did you court her?” She tried to make the question sound nonchalant, but by the way Owain bit back a smile, she knew she had failed.

“Jealous?”

“Curious,” she deadpanned.

“No, I didn’t court her. Now if you’re asking if I bedded her, then the answer is yes.” Orla fought back a frown, instead turning away from him. She felt his weight shift the bed as he moved to turn her towards him. “But that was a long time ago, and I am no longer interested.”

“It’s none of my business anyway, we don’t have any claim to one another. Not anymore at least. Maybe we never did.”

Owain let out a deep sigh as if pained by Orla’s words.

Gently, he touched her cheek before moving off the bed. “Let’s get changed and go downstairs for supper.”

When they returned down to the dusty tavern, Orla was surprised to find that there were even more people than when they arrived an hour ago.

“Where are all of these people coming from?” From what Orla could tell, there wasn’t a town around for several miles, and they were on the border between Emmental and Iridaceae, which she always thought of as a de facto no-man’s-land due to the tension between the realms.

“Most come from the towns near Iridaceae. For the most part, Elves aren’t allowed into Iridaceae, but other creatures move freely along the border.”

“I’ve always wondered why Elves aren’t allowed in Iridaceae,” Orla mused.

“Magical hierarchies aren’t enforced in Iridaceae. The lamia or the ogre is no more revered than the witch or the nymph. That goes against everything the Elven kingdoms stand for. The leadership in Iridaceae fears that if Elves travel freely through their lands that Elven superiority will follow.”

It made sense. Elves thought highly of themselves and considered all other magical creatures as less than. It wouldn’t surprise Orla if some Elven king decided he wanted to conquer more of the continent and subjugate other magical creatures even more.

As they made their way through the surprising crowd, Orla found a small table near the window while Owain went to the bar. He returned with two plates of food and two large tankards of ale.

The two ate in companionable silence before moving on to their drinks. Once Orla was finished with hers, Vasha slithered towards their table and set down a second tankard.

“I didn’t order this,” Orla said.

“I know. She did.” Vasha gestured towards an orcess at the bar who winked at Orla. Orla suppressed a small smile. In another lifetime, she would have happily flirted with the beautiful orcess. She was large and had prominent tusks and a deep green skin that Orla would have found extremely appealing.

That was before Owain. Her attraction to him dimmed the beauty of all others. She was about to shake her head and refuse the drink when she saw Vasha run her hand along Owain’s neck and shoulder as she slithered away. Orla knew it wasn’t rational, and she knew she was being immature, but the touch rankled her, even if Owain hadn’t initiated it.

“I should go thank her,” she said, rising to walk towards the female at the bar.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Stewing over his ale, Owain watched as Orla made her way across the bar towards the female that was looking at Orla with so much heat it made Owain want to crawl out of his skin. Owain had never been jealous of anyone in his life. Well, at least not romantically.

He had always envied the legitimate lords and ladies of Edam, but he had never felt jealous when a partner wanted to pursue other lovers. Hells, he had even shared a lover or two in his time. But seeing Orla at the bar with that orcess irritated him beyond belief. He knew what had set Orla off. As much as she said she wasn’t jealous, he had noticed her face when she saw Vasha touch his shoulder. Of all people, Orla should know that flirting was as much the way of the lamia as it was the way of a nymph. But rationality be damned when it came to emotions one didn’t want to fully examine.

Owain watched Orla, wondering how he could interrupt her conversation with the orcess without seeming like a possessive brute. Orla’s words from earlier went through his mind. They didn’t have any claim to one another.

But he wanted to claim Orla. He wanted all of her; her mind, her soul, her body. Her heart.

Owain hadn’t been brave enough to define what he and Orla had back in Imsil. And he knew that he had forfeited his right to care about her amorous endeavors when she discovered his betrayals. Why, then, did the orcess touching the small of Orla’s back send fury through him strong enough to rival the fury of a hellhound?