Vernal

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  We’re quiet as we make the short climb to near the view of Middle Lake, before continuing toward the cave located at the top of the waterfall, hidden behind draping, thick strands of weeping willow tree limbs.

  Tristan stops, and we stand in front of the dryad as he asks its spirit to grant us access in his native tongue.

  “Eímai Tristan, gios tou Ofilía. Evlogíes sti gi, to neró kai ton ouranó pnévmata. Tha akoúso, odigós mou. Anoíxte ta chéria sas kai na kalosoríso mou spíti.” His voice is deep and hypnotic.

  Enthralling.

  At the release of his words, the tree branches part like a curtain opening in a theater, revealing a portal to his realm. The air ripples in entrancing, clear waves.

  Tristan puts his hand on my lower back as we step through. The entry closes once we’re safely inside.

  Once in the realm, we’re greeted by two large sequoias.

  “They guard my mother’s land,” Tristan explains.

  Two nymphs shimmy and twist out of the bark, the outline of their lower bodies embedded into the trunk.

  “Their soul spirit is one with the tree. If the nymph dies, so does the tree,” he says.

  “Okay.” I curb my shock at the sight.

  “Phoebe. Atlanteia,” Tristan acknowledges.

  “Your Highness,” they respond, in unison.

  “This is Princess Serena of the London clan. She has sanctuary while in our land. She is to be protected as if she were one of us,” he commands in an authoritative tone.

  The sentinels share a quick, surprised glance before bowing and again speaking at the same time. “As you wish.”

  Phoebe tilts her head to me, dipping her chin.

  “Welcome. It is a great honor, Princess.”

  I try not to flinch at the royal term. “Thank you.”

  “We grant you entrance,” Atlanteia announces.

  Tristan’s hand pushes lightly on my lower back, encouraging me to walk between the two trees.

  I do so and remain silent, waiting until we’re within the forest before I stop, turn, and cross my arms in defiance.

  “If you ever introduce me as a princess again, I will stab you in the heart and end your existence,” I spit out.

  His voice drops an octave. “You are one.”

  I lower my voice. “Not everyone needs to be made aware of it. Given this morning’s revelations, I would think you would understand and respect the need for privacy.”

  Tristan lets out a harsh breath and takes an intimidating step toward me.

  “You’re fucking beautiful.”

  I still, unsure how to reply to the sudden change in conversation.

  What is he doing?

  He stops in front of me and runs his fingertips over my cheek before taking my chin between his fingers and lifting my face so I’m forced to look at him.

  “When you’re mad your aura takes on this amazing red color. It’s intoxicating.”

  “My aura?” I swallow.

  “I have soul sight, remember? One of my satyr gifts.”

  “But I don’t have a soul,” I counter.

  “You have an energy field.”

  “Oh,” I respond, trying not to quiver under his touch.

  “We should go.”

  “Go where?” I whisper.

  “My home.”

  “Why not just teleport us there?” I ask.

  “I’d prefer not to. My protector gifts draw attention in this realm,” he explains, staring at my mouth.

  “My dad and Magali—,” I begin.

  “Will be okay. Trust me,” he finishes and assures me.

  Trust him? After he’s lied to me. Amazing.

  He removes his hand from my face, offering it to me. After a moment of contemplation, I place mine in his. Our rings clink as he tightens his grip and pulls me toward a stone pathway that winds through the woods.

  We walk in quiet as I take in the peaceful lush forest. Clear blue ponds with bright-green, larger-than-life lily pads and white floating flowers are interspersed through the dense trees.

  It’s like a fairytale land.

  The sun’s rays hit each leaf surrounding us, beaming a buttery light and warmth in every direction. Everything here, even the air, feels cleaner, more striking, and tranquil.

  “You speak ancient Greek.” I observe, tired of the silence.

  “All nymphs and satyrs do. Our kind has been tied to the ancient Greek gods since creation,” he responds.

  I let my hands caress the sunflowers as we pass.

  “Why did you tell your father I was your boyfriend?” Tristan asks without looking back.

  “Um,” I search for the right way to explain.

  “My favorite word of yours,” he jokes.

  “Whatever,” I roll my eyes at his back.

  “Just tell me the truth,” he encourages.

  “Do you promise not to get mad?”

  “Pretty sure I already did,” he reiterates.

  “I know how my family feels about Gage. I thought if my dad and uncles heard you and I were together, they’d offer me anything to not be with you,” I divulge.

  I cringe inside at the way the words sound.

  Asinine.

  “You wanted to use me as a bargaining chip for your freedom?” he restates. “You saw me as a way out?”

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “How’s it working out for you?” His tone is emotionless.

  “Not well. Turns out you’re my bonded protector.”

  I stop walking, yanking his hand so he turns.

  He puckers his brows. “I was under oath not to tell you.”

  “That doesn’t sound like an apology for lying.”

  “It’s not. You know how this works, Serena.”

  I bite my bottom lip. “Unfortunately, I do.”

  “Then you know why I couldn’t tell you.”

  I try to release the hold he has on my hand, but his grip tightens and he tugs me closer to him.

  “That’s why you were placed at the Academy?” I glare.

  He dips his head so he can look me in the eyes.

  “The truth is that I was in trouble. In order to have my sentence revoked, I agreed to protect you. Your clan placed me at the Academy as an instructor and trainer.”

  I hold his gaze. “I should’ve known. Who else knows?”

  “Chancellor Davidson,” he replies.

  “Is becoming my friend—kissing me—sleeping with me—part of the plan too?” I ask, not wanting to know the answer.

  “It wasn’t my intent to get this close to you, ever. I intended to protect you from afar, but—” he swallows.

  Feeling brave, I take a step toward him. “But what?”

  He looks away, then meets my eyes again. “I couldn’t.”

  “Why?” I breathe out.

  “I’m inexplicably drawn to you,” he admits.

  “My point exactly.” I search his face. “Is the draw the protector bond? Or is it the satyr in you enchanting me?”

  His Adam’s apple slides up and down his throat while he works through his thoughts. “I’ve never used magical enthralls on you. Not once. Even you should feel that. As for the protector bond, I think we’ve been connected to one another for longer than just the last few weeks.”

  I become still. “What do you mean?”

  “When I was two years old, I was at your uncle’s coronation. Your mother asked mine to decorate the wooded area for the gala, as a favor. My mother obliged and brought me with her. I remember thinking how magical everything looked,” he pauses. “Your mom approached me, saving me from your aunt Kenna who was hounding me about something. Abby bent down, tapped my nose and tickled me. I remember noticing how beautiful she was. Without thinking, I placed a hand on her stomach and—” he stops.

  “And what?”

  “She was pregnant with you. I could feel your emotions—read your aura—experience how happy you were to be coming into this world. A vision of you hit me. Your sapphire
gaze,” his focus slides over my hair, “your long auburn locks. I remember knowing how breathtaking you were going to be. How lucky someone would be to get to love you,” he murmurs. “I think that possibly, I connected with you before you were even brought into this world.”

  I exhale slowly, taking in each word he’s offering me.

  After a moment he squeezes my hand. “Say something.”

  My throat is dry. “I’m torn. On the one hand, I want to slap the shit out of you for bonding with me without my permission. On the other,” I lift my gaze, “if you keep saying things like that, I’m going to want to have your babies.”

  He freezes and I laugh. “I’m kidding. Settle down, protector,” I inhale. “I like you, Tristan. So much more than I ever want to admit out loud. I’m drawn to you and I know in my heart it has nothing to do with either of your bloodlines. It’s you. Plain and simple.”

  Tristan’s eyes are wild with emotion as he takes me in and yanks me so our chests touch. “I like you too, raindrop.”

  The wind shifts, and the trees begin to bend and twist, almost as if they’re bowing. The air around us becomes electric, and I watch as Tristan’s expression contorts.

  Without hesitation he drops my hands and takes a step away from me with an apologetic look before he speaks.

  “Hello, mother.”

  Serena

  MOTHER—JUST WHAT EVERY GIRL WANTS to hear after she admits to liking someone who confessed to bonding with her in the womb. And why did he jump away from me so fast?

  The air whistles around me, and I turn in a composed manner and come face-to-face with Queen Ophelia.

  I’ve heard rumors throughout the supernatural world about her insane beauty. They say it brings mere mortals to their knees, and haunts the demigods in their dreams.

  Standing in front of her, I can say it’s all true. She’s beyond stunning. My lips part in awe. It’s like seeing a rare flower that you’ve only heard exists until it’s in front of you.

  The sun beams off her golden-blonde hair, highlighting the long strands. She has it braided on one side, entwined with lime leaves. The scent is citrusy, crisp, invigorating.

  Cognac irises that mirror Tristan’s meet my awed gaze, and a kind smile crosses her cherry lips as she curtsies. The long, flowing forest-green dress she’s wearing cascades across the grass in a dream-like fashion. A chiffon olive cape drapes over her slender figure as she returns to her full height and her gaze meets mine.

  “Princess Serena, it is a great honor to welcome you into the woodland realm.” Her voice is sweet. Angelic.

  After a moment, I come to my senses and curtsy. “Your Majesty, it’s I who am honored.” I find my voice.

  Queen Ophelia dips her chin, pleased with my manners, and holds out an olive branch, which I take with a smile.

  “The twig is a friendship token among the woodland nymphs. It is a symbol of peace and love,” she explains.

  “It is a most treasured gesture, Your Majesty,” I reply, recalling my training in formalities of state. “Thank you.”

  “Mother,” Tristan steps toward her, taking her hands and kissing each cheek lightly. “You look beautiful, as always.”

  At the sight of him, her eyes light up, filling with adoration. Her palm lifts and rests on his cheek. “It’s good to see you, Tristan. Are you well, my dear boy?”

  “I am, though I won’t be if you keep referring to Serena as Princess. She’s not fond of the title,” he informs her. “It angers her. To no end. Like, death-threat-inducing rage.”

  The queen’s brows pinch before she slides her concerned gaze to me. “Apologies, Serena. I meant no disrespect.”

  I force a smile and vow to kill Tristan in his sleep—with a pillow. Suffocation is definitely the way to end him.

  “It’s fine, Your Majesty,” I reply. “Truly, you’re welcome to use the title. Or call me whatever you’d like.”

  Tristan throws me a victorious smirk before turning back to his mom. “She prefers to be called raindrop.”

  “Raindrop?” his mother repeats, bemused.

  “Actually, I don—,” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “Have you received word from Zander?” he asks her.

  She nods. “The Diablo Fairies have been held off, for now. Serena’s family has returned to London.” Her gaze slides to mine. “Your guard was badly injured, but is being cared for. Zander has placed your friend, Magali, under the safekeeping of a young protector named Ethan,” she explains, and turns to Tristan. “Your brother will be returning this evening, once Magali is settled, per a promise he made.”

  I exhale, grateful for the news, yet worried about Rulf.

  “Good,” Tristan replies.

  Queen Ophelia shifts her focus between Tristan and me.

  “Raindrop,” she stumbles at the name. “Your uncle Asher has requested that you remain in our realm, under our protection, of course, until he releases the order.”

  “Serena,” I interject, and Tristan chuckles. “I’d prefer to be called Serena, Your Majesty.”

  Ophelia shoots an annoyed glare at Tristan. “Of course,” she sighs. “I should have known better. I do hope, despite my son’s tongue-in-cheek behavior, you will do me the honor of being our dinner guest at the castle this evening.”

  “I would be happy to, despite Tristan’s attendance,” I respond, and an amused expression crosses Ophelia’s face.

  “I do believe you’ve met a worthy verbal opponent, son,” she says and turns on her heel—a signal for us to follow.

  We make our way through the woodland realm, and I can’t help but notice how lush and picturesque it is.

  It’s almost as if the land was hand-painted, each stroke as lovely and vivid as the next one.

  Queen Ophelia runs her fingertips over a tree’s leaves as we pass by. In an instant, it brightens, as if waking. The jade color deepens, like she breathed life into it.

  “Our realm is ancient, despite its youthful beauty. We owe much of its health to the water realm,” she explains.

  Tristan grunts next to her.

  “We owe nothing to Oren,” he retorts.

  Ophelia presses her lips together. “Ignore him. When the prince is hungry he becomes disenchanting.”

  Tristan throws an annoyed glance her way, causing me to smile. I like that they have a normalish relationship.

  “He must be hungry a lot, then,” I banter.

  Queen Ophelia releases a hearty laugh at my jab.

  When we reach the end of the path, it forks off, and I wait to see which direction we’re heading in.

  Ophelia takes my hands and offers a gentle squeeze.

  “Rionach and I look forward to hosting you this evening. Until then, I do hope my son will mind his manners and be respectful of the fact that you are a guest in our realm.”

  I sense her statement is a warning for Tristan, not me.

  “We aren’t going to the castle now?” I ask, confused.

  “I have some realm business to attend to. Since Tristan is your protector, you should accompany him to his home, where he will allow you to rest and freshen up. We’ll see one another shortly,” she says warmly, and gives me a small hug.

  The queen turns to her son. “You may be a protector in the outside world, but in this realm, you are a prince. Remember your duties and oaths. The forest has eyes, son.”

  His jaw tightens. “Of course, mother.”

  She places a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Off you go, then.”

  Tristan and I stand in silence as his mother takes her leave, before he runs his hand through his hair, aggravated.

  “Shall we?” he asks, and motions to the other path.

  “Sure,” I follow him. “What was it like growing up here?”

  His steps become measured. “It was . . . wholesome.”

  I laugh. “Interesting word choice.”

  We walk next to one another for a while in silence before his voice startles me. “Until Zander came along, it was .
. . lonely. My mother was always busy with her royal obligations. My father didn’t exist. I had hired nannies, guards, and playmates. At home I was schooled, trained, and taught as much as I could absorb about the supernatural worlds in preparation to one day become king.”

  I wrap my arms around myself, because it sounds a lot like my childhood. Sheltered and lonely.

  “I was under constant protection and watchful eyes for security reasons. Each day was the same. Then one day, my mother hired Rionach to oversee her security detail and army. With Rionach came Zander. With Zander came entertainment. For the first time in my life, I had a partner in crime. Someone to experience life with. To have fun and get in trouble with. Zander’s friendship allowed me to take off the mask I had to always hide behind. You know?”

  I meet his gaze. “Actually, I don’t. I’ve never had that.”

  He stops and wraps his fingers around one of my wrists. “What about Magali, Ethan, Ireland, and Ryker?”

  My toe kicks some dirt and rocks. “Their friendships mean the world to me. At the end of the day, though, they know who I am and where I come from. They may have lowered their expectations of me over the years, but they still see me as their future queen. My actions disappoint them in the same way they do my family. They just hide it better. I keep some form of my mask on to please them.”

  A dark smile curls at his lips. “What about me?”

  I avert my gaze from his. “What about you?”

  “Don’t do that,” he orders, placing his palm on my cheek, forcing me to look at him. “Where’s the mask for me?”

  “I don’t need it with you,” I reply, barely audible.

  “Why is that, raindrop?”

  “You break the rules with me. Let me breathe. You see past the façade and embrace the realness. I can just be me.”

  Tristan swallows. “Though I have the title of Prince, I’m not one, Serena. I can’t be anyone’s Prince Charming.

  “Well then, you’re in luck. I hate fairy tales.”

  Tristan

  Yeah, we’re not fooling anyone. The tension between us mounts as I stand here with her cheek in my palm. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help but touch her.

  My skin comes alive with each moment that passes, and I feel like we’re becoming something else. Something bigger than either of us are prepared for. The fingertips of my other hand run over the soft skin of her other cheek.