His Dark Delights

LILLY

Mr. Tatum offered another condolence before urging his mare onward.

With tears stinging the corners of my eyes and a heart made of stone, I turned and fled for the safety of my cottage.

The warning hung over my head like an executioner’s blade. The front door banged shut and moments later, a torrential downpour assaulted the roof.

With a shaky sigh, I stowed the honey cake and stoked the main fire for supper. After eating, I checked on the wounded knight. Whatever blood he may have stained his hands, I wouldn’t let him die.

He slept soundly, and color had returned to his face. He really was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Lured by a loose strand of hair, I leaned forward and brushed it back from his forehead.

His eyes shot open, and I squawked like a startled chicken. An unyielding hand caught my wrist, yet it was his dazzling blue eyes that held me captive.

“Has Freyja come to take me to the underworld?” his brittle voice croaked, deep and sultry regardless of the raw rasp from injury and disuse.

The sound reached deep and lit a spark in an undiscovered space behind my navel. My breath caught in my throat, and I shook my head.

“I am no goddess, sir. Rest.”

“Rest?” An unreadable emotion flicked across his face. “Can I? Have they all finally died?”

His eyes drifted shut and his head thumped into the pillow. Yet his hold on me remained when his hand dropped to his chest.

Heart hammering and cheeks burning, I twisted my hand free from the knight’s impressive grip. Unmoored in a sea of uncertainty, I thoughtlessly drifted to the window seat across the room.

I sank into the thin cushion.

“Who are you?”

***

Punishing spring storms assaulted the kingdom of Elleslan for nearly three days. The skies remained a moody gray, forlorn and weeping over the land.

In fleeting moments when the deluge slowed, I bundled up against the damp chill to check on my animals and the drenched garden.

There was nothing unusual, and no visible threats were in sight. Except for the potential threat recovering from the edge of death in my home.

A stranger.

A man.

Possibly a knight of the Butcher.

The ultimate trifecta of danger.

Yet I religiously tended his fever and dressed his wounds. Days were spent forcing broth past his lips and reading to him from my father’s favorite books.

I spent hours nibbling on honey cake and watching him. Admittedly, he was pleasing to look upon.

I noted the way his brow furrowed with pain, how his lips pursed as he dreamed, and the steady rise and fall of his well-muscled chest.

Attempting to nurse someone back to health followed an already familiar routine. The reminder of my father’s final months sent choking pangs through my chest that I continually battled.

It wasn’t until midafternoon on the third day that the first splinters of blue sliced through the storm.

Cooped up within my cottage, every nerve in my body buzzed to burst through the door and run barefoot through the meadow. To feel the damp soil on my toes, the breath of nature in my lungs, and the kiss of sunlight.

As the final clouds rolled out of sight, I ensured the knight slept soundly. I tied up my hair and rushed out the door.

A delightfully crisp breeze, heavy with the perfume of recent rain and loam, tantalized me.

I flung the barn doors open, and the herd burst into the fresh air and afternoon sunlight.

A jingling bell painted a smile on my lips. Millie lumbered toward me.

“Millie-Moo!”

“Moo!”

“I’m also glad to be outside again. I didn’t realize how badly I needed the fresh air,” I said.

Something about being trapped in close quarters with that man made my insides incomprehensibly warm.

The chickens pecked at bugs and worms in the garden. Millie joined the goats, following me into the field where they grazed on grasses and overgrown weeds.

I crossed the stream into the thriving meadow.

Flourishing flowers dazzled with vibrant colors, and raindrops glittered like gems on their petals.

They whispered and hummed to one another as they danced in the breeze.

Firmly planted among the wildflowers, I sank my toes into the rain-drenched earth, relishing the dirt rolling over my toes.

Every visceral ounce of my being sang with the flowers and the flora. I felt the roots in my muscles, the earth in my bones, and the rain in my veins.

Though I’d never met her, I knew I inherited this connection from my mother. Half of my heritage; the gift she’d granted me through blood.

Or, in the current political unrest—a curse.

Father told me wisps and threads about her.

He never told me her name.

Instead, he told me a story of a flower nymph and a simple farmer meeting by chance and falling in love.

Sometimes Father got lost in the story, telling me about the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and how their hearts beat in tune to the same song.

How the meadow flowers bloomed early the day I was born. That their perpetual blooming since my birth was a gift to me from my mother. That they would never wilt as long as she loved me.

She never returned after leaving me with my father.

It wasn’t safe for a human and a Fae to be together, making half-Fae like myself a rarity.

Thanks to Father’s half, I was passably human, save for the slight arch of my ears. Even that was hardly noticeable with the long waves of my strawberry blonde hair covering them.

Mother had to leave me behind and return to the Fae Wild.

But her flowers remained.

Influenced by the meager traces of Fae power in my blood, the flowers shivered and unfurled further.

I danced through the flowers, brushing against butter-yellow coneflowers, purple aster, and scarlet cardinal flowers. Their stems bent their colorfully adorned faces toward me as if heads bowed in supplication or reverence to royalty.

Millie-Moo meandered into the meadow beside me, chuffing and brimming with energy.

Breathless, I collapsed onto her neck, giggling and buoyant.

I went to pet her nose, but Millie’s enormous head swung around. Her ears snapped up on high alert.

My heart skipped and my spine snapped straight.

“What is it, Millie?”

She huffed, bobbing her head to gesture behind me.

I pivoted on my heel.

A hard surface blocked my elbow as I spun. A scream took flight from my lips and soared free.

My face smacked into a hard, unyielding chest covered in cottony bandages. One brawny arm belted around me, suffusing warmth into my skin.

A voice deeper than canyons and stronger than mountains swept through my body. “Apologies, my lady. I had no intention of frightening you. Please, I’m—I’m sorry.”

The knight.

With a gasp, I pulled myself from his embrace. My heart flounced in my chest, and my cheeks flushed pink.

Stepping back and tipping my head up, I met his curious, wide gaze and the richest blue eyes I’d spent hours thinking about.

“It’s—I’m so glad to see you conscious,” I replied, my voice thin and breathless.

He is alive and awake!

But he shouldn’t be up walking about so soon.

“You saved my life, didn’t you?” The wide, arousing smile that split his lips elicited a flutter in the pit of my belly.

“I-I—Well, I found you bleeding out in the forest.” Shaking fingers gestured toward the edge of the woods.

Long, chiseled fingers caught my hand, encircling my entire wrist with his fingers overlapping.

“In that case, thank you. I am forever in your debt, my lady.”

My breath hitched when he lifted my hand. He pressed soft, warm lips to the back of my hand and sparks skittered over my skin.

Our eyes locked. I bit down an undignified whimper at the heat coursing through me.

Gratitude and something I couldn’t name swirled in his gaze.

“No need to thank me, sir. It was the right thing to do.” I slipped my hand free and dipped into the curt bow my father had taught me, in case I ever encountered a noble, as I suspected I was doing now.

Another scorching touch stole my breath. A gentle yet guiding finger curled under my chin, enticing me to rise and meet his intense stare.

“Do not bow to me—forgive me, I don’t know your name.”

His touch erased every word I knew. My lips quivered on the verge of replying, and his keen stare caught the movement.

His tongue darted out and licked his bottom lip.

“Lilliana, but you can call me Lilly,” I finally sputtered. As much as I wanted to back away, his delicate touch commanded me to stay.

“And you, sir knight?”

“Knight?” A chuckle escaped him before he looked down to assess himself. Clearing his throat, he said, “Yes, a knight. But you may call me Ren.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Ren. I’m so thrilled that you’re alive.” I beamed at him, pouring my joy into the space between us.

Ren blinked several times, as if facing the sun. He shuddered a breath.

“And I’m thankful a lady as lovely as yourself saved me, Lilliana.” His voice was lower, suddenly husky and rich.

“Oh, please, think nothing of it. Life is sacred, and I wouldn’t leave anyone to suffer like that—”

Millie nudged my back with her nose, interrupting my nervous rambling.

“And while I’m glad to see you awake, I must insist you rest. Your injuries were nearly fatal, sir.”

“While I’m eternally grateful for your tender care, Lilliana—”

“Lilly.”

“Lilly.” Gods, he smiled so beautifully. “But I promise I am feeling much restored to health. Loathe as I am to trouble you further…might I request a change of clothes and some water to wash?”

My eyes widened as he smoothed a hand over his bandage-clad chest. “Yes, of course!”

Then I turned to Millie. “Mind the others, please.”

Ren’s gaze followed me as I made my way to the cottage. His stare felt like a physical thing tickling the back of my neck.