Page 60 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

Still turned away from him, Orla spoke. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I wasn’t honest with you fully either, and I shouldn’t have said what I said to you when I left Imsil. I was angry, but I need you to know I don’t actually think those things about you.”

Owain nodded, though she couldn’t see him. Silently, they dressed, both lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

During their third day at the inn, Owain had started to become restless. He and Orla were sitting in a clearing a mile or so away from the inn. Orla had been practicing her magic each day, growing plants that were larger and more fantastical than before. Today she was practicing strengthening her vines so they would be harder to break, adding spurs and thorns to them and making them as big as a basilisk.

Or trying to, rather. She had made the vines larger, but he knew they were snapping easier than she would have liked. And she hadn’t figured out how to get them to weave together like rope to add extra strength how she had seen described in her book. Her frustrated murmurs reached him as she worked.

Sitting on a rock at the edge of the clearing, Owain was attempting to draw the vines Orla was worrying over, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. They had been at the inn for days, and though they did get there a day early, Chrys should have been there by now.

Owain loathed the fact that he had left him in Imsil, and he feared that something terrible had happened to his friend. But it also left him stuck. If they left now, as they needed to, Chrys would struggle to get into Iridaceae. Chrys, though a bastard, was fully Elven. To get into the magical lands he needed to be accompanied by someone like Owain or Orla who had either a rune or the blood of another magical creature running through their veins. At the same time, the hellhounds had found them only days ago. If they didn’t go soon, it’s likely that his father would find them before they had a chance to make it to the magic lands.

Once the sun was high in the sky, suggesting midday, they left the clearing.

“Your magic’s improving,” Owain noted as he removed his glasses and gathered his art supplies from the rock he was sitting on.

“The vines are still weaker than I would like but thank you.” They walked together in silence for a few minutes.

“You never share your drawings with me.” He looked down at her, noting her eyebrow cocked in question.

“Not true, I’ve shown you one of my drawings.” Orla dipped her head as if remembering the hellebore drawing her left for her after their first night together. “Besides, I don’t share my drawings with anyone.”

“Why? Are they secretly awful and you’re playing at being an artist and a lord” She smirked, teasing him.

He let out a bark of a laugh, face breaking into a grin.

“I just realized, you’re a prince now. I hope you don’t expect me to start calling you Your Highness,” she teased.

“My prince will do,” he said, knocking into her playfully as she scoffed and rolled her eyes. For a moment, it was like they were back roaming around the palace grounds, just the two of them.

“For you, Lady Orla, I would gladly share my art.” Owain knew there was nothing Orla asked of him that he wouldn’t give her if she let him. Pulling his sketch parchment out of his bag, he handed it to her.

Orla thumbed through the pages of landscapes and flowers that Owain had drawn over the last two weeks of travel.

“Well, this is all very banal, isn’t it?” A smile played at her lips. Hells, he loved how she teased him.

She continued looking at his art when he heard her breath catch. Behind the drawings of plants and landscapes was a perfect rendition of her hand and the intricate filigree ring Owain had given her.

He loved the way he captured her delicate fingers and the way the light played off her skin. She stared at it for a long moment before flipping to the next page where she found another drawing of herself. This time, she was sitting in her favorite garden in the palace.

Emotion swelled in his chest at the sight of his drawing, thinking of those early days where he told himself that he watched her for reasons other than the fact that he was completely enamored with her. Tears welled in Orla’s eyes. She turned her watery gaze up to Owain, finding him smiling down at her.

“When did you draw this?”

He took the sketch pad from her, looking deeply at the drawing. “My first week at the palace. I had noticed you going out there at night, and you looked so beautiful, I had to capture it. To keep that image of you if I could.”

“This drawing makes me look like something precious.” Orla’s voice was far away, as if she was lost in thought. How could she think she was anything other than precious to him? Owain knew that, like him, Orla hadn’t been made to feel special for much of her life. But to him, she was everything.

“You are.”

They stared at each other for a moment before she nodded and turned away.

* * *

Owain thought about how far he had come to try to get the things he wanted only to realize that not only did he not want them anymore but also that for a brief moment, he had had all of them with Orla. For so long, he thought he wanted power and respect, but what he really wanted was to be seen, and the only person in his life who truly saw him was the female walking beside him.

Their silent thoughts were interrupted when they arrived back at the inn. Vasha, dressed in a green dress that fell to the ground, was slithering back and forth outside of the front door to the inn. Her eyes were wide, and she looked panicked when she saw Owain and Orla.