“Well, that, and the Myrkwild ensures the truth is always spoken,” Lira added with a wink, then grabbed a honeyed roll from her plate. “Whatever you do, Caelian, do not drink the bloomfire wine tomorrow night.”
“Lira,” Morwyntsked and Sylvan ducked his head, biting back a grin. “Such talk is not appropriate for the fast-breaking hour.”
“No, no.” Caelian leaned forward, concern knitting across her brow. But there was a flash of curiosity in her eyes. “Why not? What’s wrong with bloomfire wine?”
Kjeld has a sneaking suspicion he already knew.
Stealing a glance at her queen, whose face was an expressionless mask, Lira lowered her voice. “Let’s just say bloomfire is a potent love potion.”
Morwyn scoffed, flitting one hand through the air. “It is no such thing. Bloomfire has nothing to do with love, that’s an ancient rumor.”
“Then what is it?” Kjeld asked, ready to determine if his assumption was correct.
“It’s a wine.” Sylvan shrugged, tearing off a piece of spiced beef. “A wine that will fill whoever consumes it with insatiable lust.”
Kjeld leaned against the bench, casually folding his arm around Caelian’s bare calves beneath her skirt.
He had absolutely been correct.
“Oh.” Caelian popped three more berries into her mouth, chewing quickly. “I see.”
“I wouldn’t call it insatiable.” Morwyn patted her knee. “Eventually your needs will be fulfilled.”
Caelian’s legs twitched, and Kjeld covered his laugh with a cough.
“Either way,” she continued flippantly, “avoid the bloomfire wine if you choose, but know that partaking in it will lead to an evening of sensual bliss.”
Kjeld figured it was time to excuse them from breakfast before Caelian’s cheeks turned an even brighter shade of red and she died of mortification on the spot.
He pushed off the floor pillow and offered Caelian his hand. She grasped it without hesitation. “I believe it’s time to check on the dragon eggs, and we still need to write a letter to Ariesian.”
Kjeld inclined his head in a show of respect. “Morwyn, do you by chance have some parchment and ink?”
“Of course.” She pointed back inside the main hollow of the Eldergrove. “There’s an office one floor above your rooms. The door is painted sage, and it’s marked by a crowned eagle with silver eyes. Inside, you’ll find everything you need.”
“Thank you.”
He bowed swiftly, and beside him Caelian dropped into a perfect curtsy.
“Breakfast was wonderful,” she added. “And very enlightening.”
Kjeld guided her toward the main entrance of the Eldergrove, where polished wood gleamed, sheer banners of emerald and gold waved, and stained glass windows reflected a rainbow of light within the hollow.
“So,” Kjeld drawled, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow as they ascended the winding staircase toward the fifth level. “What do you say? Should we try this bloomfire wine?”
Caelian laughed, musically and unapologetically. Her sapphire eyes slid over to him, and she leaned in close, like she was conspiring. “I think I might indeed. Though I must be honest. I don’t need a potion or wine to ever be filled with insatiable lust when it comes to you.”
Kjeld loosed a laugh of his own, but his was a poor attempt to disguise his growing erection. Her words were liquid temptation.
“I think this is the correct floor.” Caelian mused, wandering through the arching corridor carved with vines of ivy and flowers. Her hand slid down his arm to link their fingers together.
They walked past a door of misty blue, another of the shade of sunflowers, before stopping in front of a green one. Carved into the painted wood was an eagle with outstretched wings, a crown of laurel upon its head.
“This looks like the one.” Kjeld reached for the bronze handle and pushed it open.
Inside the room, the walls were lined with shelves, each filled with books. It wasn’t nearly as rundown as the study in Brackroth, in fact, this one looked as though it was used fairly often. All the bindings of each book were etched and embossedwith gold, stacked neatly in some kind of order, with pretty vines unfurling beneath the shelves. It smelled of old parchment and worn leather, a comforting, welcoming scent. There was a circular window where golden sunlight spilled through, and shoved into the far corner was a single desk. Its surface was littered with pots of ink and quills, along with a stack of fresh parchment and hard wax to melt for seals.
Caelian walked into the space, her powdery blue skirts swishing around her ankles, bare feet treading lightly across the hardwood floor. “It looks more like a library than an office.”
