But these were the summer months, when everything was green and warm and still moist with ice melt from the Skoerr Mountain glacier fields. When he stepped inside the greenhouse, he found himself surrounded by warm, steamy air that made him glad for the customary lightness of his Calbernan garb.
His bare feet moved soundlessly on the dirt floor of the greenhouse. The structure was massive. At least a quarter mile long and half as wide, filled with neat rows, boxes, and suspended pots all overflowing with vegetation. The tall glass roof, steeply angled to shed heavy snowfall in winter, was supported by massive columns, around which grew trained limbs of fruiting trees and vines laden with grapes, tomatoes, and bean pods. Wintercraig’s growing season might not be long, but this greenhouse had been designed to make the most of it. Dilys didn’t doubt the produce from this building could keep the whole of Konumarr and its palace in fresh fruit and vegetables the year round.
Spring, clad in a light, unadorned green gown with a heavily-stained apron covering her bodice and the front of her skirts, was kneeling beside a bed of lettuces, plucking weeds and thrusting her fingers into the loose, loamy soil. She wore no gardening gloves. As Dilys drew near, his skin tingled. She was using her magic.
Not the weather magic that was the gift of every direct member of Summerlea’s royal family—weathergifts didn’t do much good inside a greenhouse—but something else. Growing magic of some kind. He took a breath. The magic tasted bright and grassy against his tongue. Like sunlight and springtime. No hint of danger.
“Princess Spring,” he murmured. He kept his distance. Always wise to do with women of magic.
She kept plucking weeds and digging her fingers through the soil without responding.
He waited patiently. He was used to waiting for women to finish working their magics.
Five minutes later Spring drew her hands from the soil, wiped them absently against her dirt-stained apron, and got to her feet.
“Princess Spring,” he said again, still keeping his distance.
She turned towards him, her brow furrowed in thought, then blinked in apparent surprise to find him standing there. “Oh, Sealord. Forgive me, I didn’t hear you come in.”
She had a streak of dirt on her cheek and another on her chin. Her normally piercing green eyes were soft and hazy, and her long, ruler-straight hair hung in two braided loops tied near her ears with green ribbons. The effect left Spring Coruscate, the eldest and most coolly regal of the three Seasons, looking surprisingly innocent and girlish.
“If you please,Myerialanna,” he murmured, “I would have a moment of your time to speak with you about your sister Gabriella.”
The hazy look left Spring’s eyes, and so did the softness, leaving the intense, piercing green gaze he’d come to expect from her. “What about her?” A wealth of protectiveness curled around those words. A wall of thorns, just waiting to rip him to shreds.
His heart warmed with approval. Protectiveness was a trait he admired, no matter where he found it. “You know I have been sending her daily gifts.”
One elegant brow rose, a sleek, black, expressive arch. “I could hardly miss it. Your gifts have become the talk of Konumarr.”
Of course, they had. After having initially danced attendance on Autumn and Spring, he’d wanted to declare his interest fixed on Summer in no uncertain terms. Not just to convince Gabriella of his determination, but also to quash any thought that he’d somehow “settled” for her instead of choosing her outright. Summer Coruscate was thelianahe’d chosen, the only Season he wanted, and he would not allow the slightest whisper to the contrary.
“This afternoon, I gave her a puppy. A goldenmalam. She returned it, which I expected, of course, but when she did, she was visibly upset, even near tears.”
“Ah,” said Spring.
Dilys frowned. “‘Ah’ what? She loves animals. I know she does. I have seen how she smiles when the children in the village bring their dogs to the park to play. I have watched her pet those dogs, throw sticks for them. And I have seen the longing in her eyes when they depart.”
“If you want to know why your gift upset her, perhaps you should ask her directly.”
A loyal response. But he was a courting Calbernan who had somehow misread something vital about his chosenliana,and wounded her as a result. He needed answers, and he would not let Spring’s loyalty stop him from getting them.
“If I thought she would speak to me, I would, but even if she did, it’s unlikely she’d tell me the truth.”
One sleek black brow rose. She fixed him with a cool, hard look. “If Gabriella doesn’t want you to know, then I can’t help you. The last time I let Autumn convince me to do so, Gabriella came back distraught and disheveled and shut herself away in her rooms. She claims nothing happened, but we both know that’s a lie, don’t we?”
Dilys’s fingers curled. “What happened between Gabriella and me that day is not your concern—”
“I’ve been looking after my sisters since our mother died,” she interrupted. “I consider their well-being very much my concern!”
He sucked in a breath, fighting back a hot retort. She was not Calbernan. She did not understand how gravely she’d just insulted him.
“Did you know,” he said, “that Calbernan males must earn the right to claim aliana? And it is not some easy task. A Calbernan spends decades learning, training, and earning sufficient gold and glory to prove himself strong, brave, and skilled enough to be worthy of a wife.”
One sleek black brow rose. Spring said nothing, but her vivid green eyes watched him with unblinking intensity.
“Once a Calbernan has earned that right, there is no greater privilege or responsibility for a Calbernan male than to ensure the happiness and well-being of hisliana,” he continued. “There is nothing he would not do for her. Nothing he would not give to bring her joy. A Calbernan would rather cut off his own arm than cause hislianapain—even if she is not yet his in the eyes of the world.” He let both his voice and his gaze harden as he said, “And if I ever assaulted a woman—any woman—in the way you’re suggesting, my own men would slaughter me and throw my shredded remains to the sharks. And they would be right to do so.”
“I see.” Spring rubbed the back of her hand on her chin. A new, much larger smudge of dirt joined the one already there, turning almost her entire chin black.
