Page 10

Aldronn

The mate bond tugs at my chest, and there’s no denying the sexual attraction May and I share—our mutual dreams made that crystal clear.

Yet talking to her— really talking to her—might be my new favorite thing.

When I told her the truth of my past encounters, my moon bound didn’t judge or deem me less than kingly. She understood. She empathized.

Would other people have been as understanding if I’d given them the chance? Am I the one who’s isolated myself from any form of emotional intimacy beyond the friendship of Starfall and a few of my advisors?

Perhaps. It’s a bitter pill to swallow. I don’t like it.

Yet May doesn’t know my deeper worry. I’ve felt not a single spark of love or even strong affection for any of the women I’ve encountered. Everyone else I know seems to have had at least one teen sweetheart, one object of infatuation, but not me. I’ve never told anyone about this, my darkest secret.

We stop at a creek, so Starfall can drink and I can refill the waterskins. May disappears into the underbrush, cleaning cloth in hand.

My eyes track her, and my magic spools out, searching for any hints of danger to come. Thankfully, it finds nothing.

“She’s good for you.” Starfall bats me with her horn.

I grunt and dip another waterskin beneath the surface.

“No, I mean it. You hold yourself apart.”

“It comes with the position, as you well know.” Even if I can now admit to myself that I’ve been part of the problem, the realization is too raw to say out loud.

“It does, and I know I’ll face much the same when I return to lead the herds,” she says. “But that only means you have to make sure you find someone you can really talk to.”

“Besides you.”

“Of course, besides me.” Starfall snorts and stomps the ground. “Didn’t you just hear me? I’m going to leave.”

“Ah, but I have access to a teleporter now,” I tease. “I plan to drop in on you regularly.”

She nuzzles the side of my head, her tone softening. “You better.”

I reach up to pat her neck.

“Just don’t expect me to shift into a biped and build a cottage on my nice grasslands.”

“Perish the thought,” I say with a grin. Most of Alarria’s animal fae, such as the cat sith and cu sith, have enjoyed shifting into their more humanoid forms, but not the unicorns. “I’ll make sure to bring my tent.”

May returns, and I lift her into the saddle and mount behind her.

“We’ve talked a lot about Alarria, but not much about you,” I say as Starfall picks up speed, the breeze of her passage lifting May’s hair until the honey-gold ends tickle my nose, filling them with her sweet scent.

“Are you going to ask me where I’m from?” she says.

“I thought you were from Ferndale Falls.”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean like that.” Her tone sounds a little bitter. “I meant where my people are from.”

“You seem to be implying something particular,” I say, using all of my diplomatic training to keep my voice neutral. “But I can’t tell what.”

She twists to face me. “Aren’t you going to tell me I look ‘exotic’?”

“You do.”

Anger flashes across her face, pulling an answering frown from me.

I’ve misstepped, but I don’t know how, so I try to explain. “All humans look exotic to me. I’ve met eight of you so far, and not a one of you is green.”

Her eyes go wide with shock for a split second before she bursts out laughing. Her breath hitches, gasping in between guffaws, until she’s bent over, clutching her stomach. It takes several moments before she catches her breath and straightens, knuckling away tears. “Oh, god. I never thought of it like that. Of course, I look unusual to you, just as you do to me.”

“I’m sure if I’d been raised beside elves, all the various cream and brown-based skin colors wouldn’t seem so unusual.”

“Yeah, well, pretty sure green would still be rare on Earth unless you’re hanging out with the Hulk or She-Hulk.”

“Another of your colloquialisms?”

“Nope.” She waves an airy hand. “Pop culture this time. Remind me to introduce you to Netflix. I think you’ll like superhero movies.”

Instead of asking what “pop” and “Netflix” refer to, I redirect the conversation back to my initial query. “You were going to tell us something of yourself.”

She gives a jerky shrug. “Not much to tell. I’m no one important.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Neither do I,” Starfall says. “You’re one of my new favorite people. That automatically makes you important.”

“What can I say? I’m a college dropout who couldn’t pick a major and instead backpacks around the world.”

“Why couldn’t you pick a major?” Starfall asks before I can. “Were none of the officers worth following?”

“What? No! Not that kind of major.” May trills a bright laugh. “It means field of study. I couldn’t pick the topic I wanted to specialize in. I liked too many things: languages and literature and history and psychology, which is the study of behavior, why people do the things they do.”

“Those are all very good subjects.” My arm tightens around her. “They sound perfect for a queen.”

“You really think so?” My moon bound’s voice goes soft with hope.

Has no one believed in her before? How can that be possible? She’s so vibrant and intelligent.

“I really do,” I say. “They’re all subjects about understanding and relating to people.”

“I was at one of those universities that doesn’t make you choose a major right away. I got to take whatever classes I wanted my first two years.” She throws a hand wide. “I loved it! I’ve never admitted that to anyone, but I really did.”

May’s quiet for a bit, so I make my voice soft. “What happened?”

“The university makes you declare your major at the end of your second year so that all the classes you take from then on are only in that one subject.” She shrugs, and the next words come out of her in a rush. “I couldn’t choose. I couldn’t find a way to squish myself down into one of the boxes they wanted me to fit into. My father accused me of dropping out because I couldn’t handle the workload, even though all of my grades had been good up until then. It made me so mad that I let him and everyone else think he was right.”

“He wasn’t. I might not have known you for long, but I know this: You’ve got a fighting spirit. You wouldn’t give up on something just because it’s difficult.” I chuckle. “If anything, that would only make you fight harder.”

May sucks in a breath, and her body goes still in my arms.

“No one’s ever really believed in me before. Not like this.”

“I’m sorry for that,” I say.

“What?” She jerks so violently she almost falls off Starfall. Only my hold keeps May in place. She twists to look at me. “You’re sorry for what?”

I frown. “That no one believed in you before me.”

“Fucking hell.” She clutches the sides of her head. “I didn’t say that out loud.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Starfall says.

“So it’s just me.” I grin at May. “I get to read your mind, too.”