Page 12

CHAPTER 12

BJORN

I pulled back, breathing hard.

“Don’t you dare apologize again,” Rosalyn told me with a lopsided grin.

I gently touched her face.

“I won’t,” I said, looking down at her.

She liked me…

me .

Not Prince Bjorn, just my ridiculously awkward self.

Her wings fluttered, sending raindrops and a shimmer of glitter around us that caught in the dim light of the cabin.

Outside, the rain pounded against the roof, creating a soothing rhythm that made the small space feel even more intimate.

“We’re soaked,” I said, stepping back reluctantly.

“To the bone,” Rosalyn said with a laugh, wringing out her hair.

“Oh, Merry,” she said, letting the caticorn out of his basket.

Merry shook his fluffy white hair with annoyance.

Turning, Rosalyn cocked a brow and snapped her fingers, sending blue sparks toward the stone fireplace.

A moment later, a fire sprang to life.

“Works on bread ovens and fireplaces,” she said with a grin.

Merry made his way to the rug before the fire and set about grooming himself, an annoyed expression on his face.

Smoke joined him.

Sensing the caticorn’s dilemma, Smoke turned up the heat.

His fur flashed red, drying himself and warming the cat, who eyed him suspiciously.

“Any clothes in this place?” Rosalyn asked.

“I have just my duffle with a few things, but Elder Thornberry said the cabin is stocked.”

Rosalyn fluttered over to the trunk and opened it.

“Hmm, let’s see what we’ve got here.” She pulled out a large woolen shirt and held it up against herself.

It would fit her like a dress.

“This will do for me. What about you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at her easy manner.

“I’ll find something.”

Rosalyn studied the shirt for a moment.

“Alas, no wing holes,” she added with a laugh.

“I’ll be right back.” Winking at me, she disappeared behind a small changing screen in the corner.

I went to my duffle and sorted through what little clothes I brought.

Just a few changes of clothing and, out of habit, my royal suit.

Frowning at it, I pushed it to the bottom of my bag and pulled out a pair of trousers and a clean tunic.

I quickly changed out of my wet clothes, hanging them on hooks near the fireplace.

Smoke sighed heavily, sending a cloud of steam into the room, then lay down before the hearth with a contented sigh.

Less damp but still displeased, Merry went to the windowsill to finish grooming while watching the rain with disdain.

Rosalyn emerged from behind the screen, swimming in the oversized shirt.

Her red hair hung in damp waves around her shoulders.

The shirt covered her to her mid-thigh.

She’d pulled on a pair of green and white striped socks, which she found in the chest.

They reached her knees.

All in all, she looked utterly charming.

“What do you think?” she asked, twirling around.

“High fashion. I look like a royal elf princess of the Bright Sidhe,” she said with a laugh, referring to the luminous and reclusive elves of Aurelune.

I chuckled, the relevancy of her joke not lost on me.

I gave her a warm smile.

“The elder has excellent taste. I’m perfectly happy with that outfit,” I said, unable to keep myself from flirting with her.

Rosalyn was adorable, easy to talk to, and stunning.

While I’d had my dalliances in the past, they were few and far between.

A youthful summer love on Smoke Isle that ended in nothing.

Another dalliance at the port when I traveled with the men.

But aside from that, I had never really been in love.

Infatuation?

Yes.

Sex?

Yes.

Love…

No.

And these days, with marriage foremost on my mother’s mind, I dared not even look at a woman for fear of my mother inquiring about dowry and lineage.

But Rosalyn was so…

natural.

I had never been close to a woman who had been so at ease in her skin and with me.

Would she feel different if she knew I was Prince Bjorn?

She grinned.

“As fashionable as this ensemble may be, pixies and rain do not go together. I need warmth.”

I took her hand and led her to the fire, then got a blanket from the bed and set it on her shoulders.

“Thank you, Bjorn,” she said softly.

“Always so mannerly.”

“My mother would be glad to hear you say so,” I replied with a laugh, then went to the small kitchen area and prepared a kettle of tea, which I hung over the fire.

“Ah, the infamous mother,” Rosalyn teased, her eyes wafting over the undone laces of my tunic and chest before she caught herself and directed her focus elsewhere.

“Is she the one who taught you such impeccable manners?”

“Propriety is one of her chief concerns.” I paused, feeling that gnawing ache in my stomach, the half-truth paining me.

“What about your mother? Is she a baker, too?”

“Oh, not at all. She’s a Butterfly Maiden.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know…”

“Butterfly Maidens are ambassadors of our pixie culture. They perform the silk dances, play the whisperharp, and perform pixie petal potion ceremonies. She’s a skilled singer, dancer, musician, and more… She was one of the most famous Butterfly Maidens in all of pixie lands. But she doesn’t perform anymore. Now, she teaches young pixie girls the art.”

“You didn’t follow in her footsteps.”

“Absolutely not. I was always in the kitchen.”

“How did she take that news?”

Rosalyn laughed.

“Your question tells me you’ve already guessed. She wanted me to be a Butterfly Maiden like her. ‘Rosalyn, you are too poised to sweat over an oven. Rosalyn, you sing too well to waste time making cookies. Rosalyn, you dance too elegantly to be wiping off tables.’” Rosalyn gave a heavy sigh.

“Eventually, she saw what my magic can do, so she let me pursue my own adventures. However, I think she always felt a bit disappointed. She greets visitors to our lands and teaches them about our pixie ways, and I… I bake scones in a distant city. We still talk, but I still sense some resentment.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, taking her hand.

And I truly was.

I knew what it was like to disappoint a parent.

Even though my father was only marginally interested in what his children were doing—he was content to let my mother do the parenting while he was busy attending to the kingdom—my mother was another matter entirely.

Only Alvar ever managed to stay in her good graces.

Rosalyn sighed, then shrugged.

“We don’t live for our parents. We live for ourselves.” She gave me a warm smile, and I could sense she knew her truth was not far from mine.

But then, something in the clothing trunk caught her eye, and she hopped up to investigate.

“Ooh, what’s this?” She pulled out a small wooden box with intricate carvings.

“Storm Stones! Have you ever played?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s a game. Perfect for rainy nights like this,” she said, bringing the box back to the fireside.

She opened the box to reveal a collection of smooth, polished stones in various colors.

“The rules are simple,” she explained, setting up the game board.

“Each stone has different powers and movements. The goal is to capture your opponent’s moonstone.” She pointed to a stone tinged with white, blue, and a hint of gold.

“But the fun part is that the stones have tiny enchantments. When you move them, they do…things.”

“What kind of things?” I asked, intrigued.

“You’ll see,” she said with a mischievous smile.

“I’ll help you as we go. Are you up for a game?”

I nodded, settling across from her, Rosalyn arranging the board between us.

“I’ll go easy on you since it’s your first time,” she teased.

My competitive spirit flared.

“Don’t you dare.”

Rosalyn laughed.

“Ooh, the Master of Horse has pride. I like it.”

I chuckled.

She made the first move, sliding a blue stone forward.

Immediately, a tiny wisp of mist rose from the stone, swirling in the air over the board, hiding the other pieces.

“Your turn,” she said.

“But I can’t see the stones.”

“Exactly,” she said with a laugh.

“That’s the fun. Either your stone’s enchantment will break mine or mine will overpower yours. We shall see.”

Moving blindly, I shifted a stone.

The air above the board cleared a moment to reveal a green stone.

A small sprout appeared from the stone, grew into a tiny flower, then wilted away.

“Pity, my fog blocked the sun. That stone is mine now.” Rosalyn grinned, taking my green stone.

The fog cleared from over the board, and Rosalyn made her next move.

As we played, each move brought new magical surprises.

Lightning crackled between stones, miniature rainbows arced across the board, and once, when Rosalyn captured one of my pieces—again—it let out a musical chime that hung in the air for several seconds.

I hadn’t felt this relaxed in…

well, possibly ever.

Even with the real Master Runeson tending to the unicorns, I was still Prince Bjorn.

The same thing was true when I was on my father’s ships, even though the crew tried to make me feel otherwise.

And with Asa, while we had fun, we were still royal siblings.

But here, now…

No royal duties, no one watching my every move, no need to maintain a princely demeanor.

Just a game, a beautiful woman, and the rain outside creating a cocoon around our small sanctuary.

“Ha!” I exclaimed triumphantly when I captured one of her key pieces.

The stone glowed bright orange with sunlight, pushing away her rain clouds before dimming again.

“Not bad for a beginner,” she admitted, studying the board with narrowed eyes.

“You’re a natural strategist.”

“My brother Magnus would laugh to hear you say that. He’s the mastermind in our family. I spent my entire childhood losing to him in Frost Hnefatafl.”

“Another game?”

“I nodded. Similar concept, different pieces.”

“I’d like to try my hand at that someday,” she said casually, giving me a soft smile.

At that moment, I felt both warmth and dread.

The more she learned about my real life, the closer to the truth she would be.

Maybe if I just told her now…

Rosalyn didn’t seem like one to judge.

She knew what parental pressure felt like.

Perhaps she would understand.

I opened my mouth and almost confessed everything, nearly telling her who I was, but fear held my tongue.

What if she looked at me differently once she knew?

What if the easy comfort between us disappeared?

This moment was perfect.

Maybe the most perfect moment I’d ever known.

The truth could destroy it.

Rosalyn moved another piece, seemingly oblivious to my internal struggle.

A tiny burst of colorful butterflies exploded from the stone, circling our heads before fading away.

“I have you now. Your move, Runeson,” she said with a challenging smile.

I moved a red stone diagonally across the board.

Rosalyn frowned when a tiny bookworm, a small dragon known for keeping pests away from books, appeared and chased the butterflies from the board.

“Oh, burnt ends,” she grumbled, then giggled when I took her stone.

“So, why Moonshine Hollow?” I asked her.

“Apprenticeship, originally,” she said, her eyes on the gameboard.

“I came to study under Master Baker Brambleberry, but then I fell in love with the town. The way everyone here is accepted for who they are, not what they are…” She captured another of my pieces.

“In Spring Haven, I was my mother’s daughter who was not following in her famous mother’s footsteps. Here, I’m Rosalyn, baker extraordinaire and notorious romantic.”

“Notorious, is it?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed.

“Ask anyone. Notorious and disastrous. But if the way this game is going is any indication, maybe my luck’s about to change,” she said, giving me a flirtatious smile.

“Your move.”

I glanced down at the board, trying to focus on the game rather than how her words made my heart race.

I slid my stone forward, not entirely surprised when I realized too late it was a tactical error.

“Distracted?” she teased, swiftly capturing my piece.

“My secret weapon works again.”

“You have too many unfair advantages,” I protested with a smirk.

“Is that so, Mister Runeson?”

“It is. All of which are very distracting .”

Rosalyn lowered her lashes and then looked up at me with a warm smile.

“Good.”

The game continued, our conversation flowing as easily as the rainwater down the cabin’s roof.

She told me about her first cooking disasters as a baker’s apprentice.

I shared stories of the magical creatures I’d encountered in the frozen north.

I carefully avoided the topics that might reveal too much, but there was an undeniable pull between us.

When she finally captured my moonstone, the game board briefly illuminated with a wash of silver light that bathed her face in an ethereal glow, sending illusory sparks of celebratory confetti upward.

“Victory!” she declared, throwing her arms up in triumph.

“Well played,” I admitted.

“Another round?”

She shook her head.

“Let’s save the rematch for later. It’s getting very late. I should probably…” She glanced toward the door, but thunder interrupted her, followed by an even heavier downpour.

“You can’t go out in that. The path back to town will be washed out by now.”

Rosalyn bit her lip, looking torn.

“I don’t want to impose…”

“It’s not an imposition,” I assured her.

“Please, stay. It would ease my mind to know you’re safe. And Merry would never forgive you.”

Merry, who was asleep on the windowsill, cocked an ear toward us but didn’t open his eyes.

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

Merry meowed from the windowsill as if adding his own opinion on the matter.

“See? Even Merry agrees,” I said.

“And I think we can trust his judgment.”

“Well, if Merry says so,” she replied with a soft laugh.

“Thank you.”

I nodded, suddenly acutely aware of the cabin’s limited sleeping arrangements.

There was only one bed.

“I’ll take the floor,” I said quickly.

“There are plenty of blankets.”

Rosalyn looked at the narrow bed, then back at me, hesitation clear in her eyes.

“With the rain, it’s far too cold for the floor, even with the fire.”

“I’ve slept in worse conditions.”

She seemed to debate something internally, then straightened her shoulders.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The bed is small, but we can share it. I promise not to take advantage of you,” she teased.

My heart hammered in my chest.

“I… If you’re comfortable with that.”

“I am if you are.”

The darkness outside made the cabin feel even smaller, more intimate.

We prepared for sleep in a dance of careful movements and avoided glances.

I banked the fire to keep it burning through the night.

Smoke, who seemed to have no interest in moving, stretched out as Merry carefully approached in search of a warmer place to sleep.

Eventually, he curled up by the fire too.

When we could delay no longer, we approached the bed together.

I felt absurdly nervous, more like an unsure teen rather than a grown man.

“Left or right?” she asked softly.

“Either is fine. You choose.”

She slipped under the covers on the right side, and I cautiously joined her on the left, trying to keep a respectful distance in the narrow space.

We lay side by side, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain and breathing.

“Bjorn?” she whispered after a moment.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for today. For the game, the conversation…for everything.”

I turned to look at her.

In the dim light from the banked fire, her profile was soft, her expression open and unguarded.

“You’re very welcome, Rosalyn,” I said quietly.

“More than you know.”

She smiled, her eyes meeting mine.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

I closed my eyes, all too aware of her warmth beside me, the faint scent of vanilla that clung to her even after being drenched in rain, the whisper of her breathing.

Sleep seemed impossible with her so close, yet I felt more at peace than I had in years.

Tomorrow, I would worry about unicorns and secrets and the inevitable complications of who I was.

Tonight, I would simply be Bjorn, a man fortunate enough to share a small cabin and a warm bed with a woman who saw him for himself.

For the first time in all my memory.