Finally, I step forward, leaning down so my face is close to the sword and wave. “Excuse me? Prince Ezryn?”
The hammer clangs one final time against the molten metal, then the Spring Prince places it to the side. His whole body stills, and I gulp. He feels like a predator, preparing to strike.
“Do you know how dangerous it is to be near an active forge without proper eye protection?” His voice reverberates from the helm.
I straighten and take a step back. “Uh, my name is Fare. Farron. Prince Farron. Of Autumn. I’m here to get?—”
Ezryn turns his back on me, and I hold up my hands to prove I’m not actually invisible.
He reaches into a large chest and pulls out a gleaming lance. “A gift from Spring to the High Princess of Autumn. I forged this with my very hands. It is of the finest quality and will see Her Highness to victory in many battles.”
“Great.” I reach for it, but Ezryn yanks it back toward his body.
“Careful,” he says coolly. “It’s heavy.”
What, because he’s rippling with muscles and can work a forge and wears armor most of the time, he doesn’t think that I can manage a lance? I narrow my gaze and hold my hands out for it.
Ezryn gives the slightest shrug of his shoulders then passes the weapon with one hand. I grab it with two. Immediately, the weight of it drags my whole body down, and its hilt slams on the stone ground, the sound ringing out in the din.
I can’t see Ezryn’s expression, but I get the distinct feeling he’s scowling at me. Giving a sheepish grin, I hoist the lance up over my shoulder and turn to leave. “Thanks.”
When I’m a few steps away, I hear his voice call out: “I can make you one, Prince Farron, if you wish.”
I turn back. “I’ve got weapons in Autumn. Lots of them. Swords and bows and shields and, uh, flails, yeah, we’ve got those too?—”
“The heir to the Autumn throne should wield a weapon of distinction,” Ezryn says, words ringing out between the clangs of his hammer. “I crafted the blade that Keldarion of Winter wields, as well as various weapons for the three sons of Summer.”
And just like that, with that single word, it all comes flooding back.
Summer.
The taste of salty ocean and sun-kissed skin. Sand, white as sugar, and water so reflective, I could make out the flecks of color in his eyes.
The Autumn Equinox came and went, and his whole family arrived, but Dayton wasn’t there. I had begged and pleaded the staff to contact the head-of-house in Winter to see if he’d confirmed his attendance for the upcoming Winter Solstice event in Frostfang. Again, his whole family said they’d be there, except for him.
I’ve written letters that have gone unanswered. Stalked our tradesfolk for any update when they return from Hadria. My mother has begun grumbling it was a mistake to ever suggest this match at all.
Is Dayton avoiding me? Or maybe he’s ill. I should go to him. Nurse him back to health. Or maybe he hates me, and I’d been a nuisance all along, one he was glad to be rid of.
Every day we’ve been apart, I’ve felt sick with longing for him. Like he kept a piece of me with him. I thought what we had meant more, especially after our night together on the isle. But it’s like he’s forgotten me.
I realize too long has passed since Ezryn asked me about the sword.. He’s laid his hammer down and now sits on a stone bench, with a different sword and a whetstone in hand. I like the way I can’t tell if he’s looking at me through the helm, how I don’t feel pressured to respond to him.
Dragging my feet, I shuffle up to the bench, lean the lance on the edge, then sit down beside Ezryn. He stiffens but goes back to sharpening the blade.
“Ezryn?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Ezryn?”
“Yes?” he says gruffly.
“Your parents…they’re fated mates, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Have they ever talked about what it’s, you know,like?”
