“I am Queen Morwyn Willowblade.” She dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Welcome to Wenfyre.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Impossible.
Caelian grabbed Kjeld’s hand instinctively, and he softly murmured, “I know.”
Proof that she wasn’t losing her mind.
Because Queen Morwyn Willowblade of Wenfyre looked almostexactlylike Queen Elowyn Willowblade of Aeramere.
They possessed the same brown eyes and facial shape, the same strong nose and delicate mannerisms. But when Queen Morwyn spoke, her voice was soft and lulling, like the chimes of a bell, and her smile was full and genuine. As opposed to Queen Elowyn’s tight-lipped sneer.
“It is quite rare for us to have guests,” Queen Morwyn continued, gesturing to the grand forest at her back. “Especially those who arrive on the back of a dragon. Usually the archaic magic of the Myrkwild deters travelers, so you must be rather special indeed.”
Though she was speaking to both of them, her eyes were focused on Caelian. She motioned for them to join her on the beach where she stood barefoot. “Come, so I may greet you properly.”
Kjeld squeezed Caelian’s hand once in reassurance, then he leapt down from the rider’s seat atop Odyrss’s back, reaching his arms up for her. Caelian let him help her, and he lifted her with ease, setting her down next to him. The obnoxious heels she wore sank uncomfortably into the squishy sand.
Beside her, Kjeld bowed, and she followed suit, dropping into a practiced curtsy.
“I am General Kjeld Holtstrom of Brackroth.” His tone was clipped and commanding. “And this is Lady Caelian Starstorm Celestine of Aeramere.”
“Caelian,” Queen Morwyn repeated, her smile widening as she glanced between them. “A child born of the stars. How lovely.”
She stepped back and two other Druids glided forward, a male and a female. The male was tall and strapping, his rich umber skin glinting in the glow of the sun. His hair was past his shoulders, the color of freshly fallen snow. It was fashioned into twists with silver charms at the ends, and a crown of antlers sat atop his head. He was decked in a fitted teal shirt and loose black pants. Leather straps crisscrossed his chest, and at his back was a quiver of arrows and an elegantly carved bow.
“Sylvan Oakheart of the Myrkwild.” The male draped a necklace of large amber beads over Kjeld’s head. “Welcome.”
He placed his fist over his chest, his violet eyes flitting between them as the female approached Caelian. Her hair was dark pink, dazzling in color, and it fell in long, wild waves that tumbled down her back. She wore a layered dress of pale blue, the sleeves long and flowing, and dozens of crystal chains dangled from her swaying hips. A bodice of lightly tanned leather was wrapped snugly around her waist, and much like the queen, she also walked barefoot in the sand. But flowers blossomed around her.
“Lira Nightbloom of the Myrkwild.” She placed a woven crown of soft green leaves and pink blossoms on Caelian’s head. Fisting her hand over her chest, her turquoise eyes twinkled as she said, “Welcome.”
The delicate scent of rose and sandalwood drifted through the warm breeze, and while Caelian admired the Druids standing before her, she couldn’t help but feel out of place. The fabric of the gown Queen Viktoria had given her seemed to scratch at her flesh, causing her to shift and squirm. But with each movement, her heels sank further into the sand. Pinpricks of sweat beaded along her spine, sticking to the satin. Suffocating her. Stifling her. Her pulse raced, the dreaded quiet of her mind sent her into a panic, and she clawed at her cape, fumbling with the clasp.
“Take a breath.” Kjeld was there, right in front of her, his bright blue eyes calm and his hands steady as he unfastened her cape for her.
Her chest heaved.
He draped her cape over his arm. “And another.”
She sucked in a gulp of warm air, filling her lungs with the salty tang of the sea.
Kjeld nodded, then stepped aside, and Caelian quickly blinked away the threat of tears.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Her voice was hoarse when she spoke, and she swallowed hard in an attempt to quell her anxiety. She swiped the back of her clammy hand across her brow. “I believe I’m a tad overdressed.”
“An easy remedy.” The Druid queen offered Caelian her hand. “And please, call me Morwyn. I prefer it over the formalities of titles and such things.”
“Of course.” Caelian scrubbed her palms against the skirt of her gown and accepted the queen’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Come, we shall find you something more comfortable to wear, and then you can tell me all about your travels.” Morwyn glanced over at Kjeld, an aura of generosity radiating from her. “Your dragon is free to roam, so long as he does not set fire to my beloved forest.”
She winked.
Kjeld shoved a few strands of hair back from his face, then roughed his knuckles along his bearded jaw. “Aye, he’ll be on his best behavior.”
Caelian allowed Morwyn to lead her toward the forest, looking over her shoulder twice to make sure Kjeld was coming as well and that this wasn’t some trick where she was actually being led to her doom. He unstrapped the satchel containing the dragon eggs, hefted it easily over one shoulder, and stalked up the beach alongside the dashingly handsome Sylvan.
