She smiled, heart leaping, and threw open the window. “Caelum!”
“How fares my favorite maiden?” he called in a loud whisper, still grinning.
Alora blushed, biting her lip to stifle her giggle. Excitement fluttered through her stomach.
“I’m coming down. Stay right there!” she called back.
She scrambled from the ledge to the trellis, her slippers landing on the ivy-wrapped beams.
“Careful, he warned. “You’re going to break your neck doing that.”
“I’ve done this climb many times before—” The hem of her nightgown tangled in the vines, and she yelped as her foot slipped. Caelum shouted as she fell but she landed safely in his arms.
“You were saying, princess?” He chuckled. “Still climbing out of windows, I see.”
She laughed, breathless. “And still catching me.”
Caelum set her carefully onto her feet and straightened her dress before he stepped back to sweep into a bow.
Always the gallant one, even with dirt on his boots and a smudge across his cheek. They stood still, observing one another. The moonlight gleamed silver in his soft green eyes, catching on his brown locks. He’d grown from a sweet boy into a handsome man.
“Caelum,” she whispered, smiling. “I hardly recognize you.”
“I can say the same…” he murmured back, holding her gaze.
Then they rushed at each other, and Alora threw her arms around him as he hugged her tightly.
“By the gods, I missed you,” Caelum whispered against her cheek, making her shiver.
Her cheeks warmed and she shyly stepped back, awed by how much he changed.
Caelum’s armor gleaned, trimmed in burnished silver that caught the torchlight like fire. The plates were polished to a sharp sheen, sculpted close to his frame with intricate filigree curling over the breastplate in the shape of Argyle’s crest. A dark green cape swept behind him like a banner of loyalty. The emblem on his pauldron marked his high rank.
“You’re a knight of Argyle now. A captain no less.”
He shrugged it off, but his smile was proud. “It took ten years of grueling training to earn it.” He glanced at the cornsilk doll tucked in her belt. “You still have it…”
Alora smiled sadly, pulling it out. “I distinctly remember you angrily tossing it into my carriage window the day I left and telling me to stop crying.”
“Do you also remember that I was blubbing like a fool, too?” He laughed softly. “I promised I’d come get you when I came of age and we’d marry.” His smile faded, his brow curling with guilt. “Forgive me for not keeping my word…”
Of course he couldn’t. The Midlands were cloaked in magic no mortal could find on their own.
Alora took his hand. “I know you tried.”
They wandered the garden paths beneath the stars, speaking in hushed tones, as if their laughter might break the world. She told him of her time with the fairies and their strange ways. Caelum told her of his studies, and travels, then eventually about the war. As son of House Basile, one of the oldest vassal families, he was expected to join his father on the front lines.
“My father has already given up. He’s forgotten Argyle’s creed.”
Caelum expression grew grim. “It is not without reason, Alora. We don’t stand a chance.”
Then he told her of Calveron’s relentless siege.
He described the three-headed Hydras that tore through Argyle’s battalions like wheat and sun magic they could not defend against. She couldn’t picture the grotesque way of war, much less by fae so beautiful.
The fae courts in Arthal were divided by season, each with ruling families tied to their queen, and the Calveron’s were said to be third in line for the Summer Court’s throne.
Alora remembered the day their envoys arrived at the Thornbearer’s Manor, radiant and intimidating in clothing of gold silk. Lady Zinnia had locked her away upstairs, but curiosity had driven Alora to creep onto the stairwell. She’d spied on bronze-skinned fae with hair that blazed in shades from pale gold to deep amber, their eyes unnatural hues of molten gold, flame-bright orange, and piercing turquoise.
