Page 15 of Pippa of Lauramore (The Eldentimber #1)

The world hasn’t grown. That idiot fairy king shrunk me.

“What are you doing?” I demand. “Do you know who I am?”

“You are the fair Princess Philippa of Lauramore,” he says, his eyes full of humor. Now that we’re the same size, his voice no longer sounds high pitched. “And I’m afraid you were not gifted with a beautiful singing voice.”

“Turn me back.”

“I don’t think so.” He smiles and drifts a few inches off the ground. “The man wants the Eldentimber resin. Would you like me to give it to him?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes…”

“Become my bride, and I will give him whatever he wants.”

“No!” Archer and Galinor both say, their voices deep and booming.

“I will not marry you! You’re a fairy!”

He grabs me by the waist and pulls me close as I struggle. “ I assure you,” he whispers in my ear, his voice playful. “It works the same way.”

Fairies.

“Let me go.” I push against him.

Archer, who now seems gigantic, swings down from his horse. Just as he’s ready to snatch us from the ground, the fairy king whisks me into the branches.

“Please let me go,” I beg, feeling lightheaded from the flight.

He grins and straightens the golden circlet on his head. “No, I don’t think so. You’re feisty, and I like that.”

I squirm away from him, repulsed. Just as I’m about to grasp hold of one of his ethereal wings and give it a good hard tug, I remember my new knife. I sag in the fairy’s arms as if defeated, and Brugpondam smiles. He grasps the back of my head, ready to force a kiss on me. “That’s better.”

It only takes a moment to pull the knife from my boot and less than that to circle behind him and hold the blade to his throat. He tenses, shocked.

The fairies around us gasp, and several look like they’re ready to shoot spells.

“Stop!” I yell. “If you do anything, I will kill him.”

They hesitate, but angry rumbles travel through the crowd.

“You will let us leave the forest safely and unchanged, you will give us the Eldentimber resin, and you will restore me to my proper size.” I push the knife’s edge against the king’s neck for emphasis.

“All right,” he says through clenched teeth .

I move the knife a fraction of an inch, and he gasps. “Swear it.”

“I swear.”

“You will never bother us again.”

“I swear.”

“Turn me back.” I drop the knife, knowing a fairy is bound by his word—whether he likes it or not.

The king turns, and there is an even larger grin on his face than before. “I was right about you. You are a fiery thing, and I really do like that.” He winks. “I won’t change your hair. That wasn’t my work.”

I stare at him, surprised. “A fairy really did enchant my hair?”

He laughs, and it’s a rich sound. The others join him. He pulls a strand forward and raises his eyebrows. The golden ends shimmer in his fairy light. “How could this be anything but the work of a fairy?”

Suddenly the tree and all of its shimmering inhabitants shrink. I’m suspended in the air, but once I reach my proper size, I fall to the ground.

Hard.

The fairies laugh at my squeal.

Archer is already helping me up, and his protective hand stays on my arm.

I snap my fingers at the king and hold out my hand, palm up.

A white fairy hauls over a good-sized chunk of resin, struggling with the weight as he flies, and places it in my hand.

I feel instant relief as I close my fingers over the precious treasure.

The king gives me a final wave. We leave the grove as quickly as we can safely ride, glad to be away from the fairies and their tree.

Through the thick blanket of the forest, I can’t see where the sun is in the sky, but judging from the angle of the shadows, I fear it will be very late before I’m back at the palace.

“Pippa, we don’t have time for this.” Archer clicks his tongue, impatient with me.

My feet are getting soggy through my boots, but the only patch of waterchivel I’ve seen is in the middle of this creek.

I promised Yuven I would find it and the merryming, which is already safely hanging from my pack.

I had almost forgotten but remembered when I saw the purple flowers growing alongside the trail.

The waterchivel wasn’t so easy to find.

“We’re late anyway. What difference will a few more minutes make?”

Late is an understatement. It’s past dusk, and I know we’ve missed dinner. Not only will my absence be noticed, but Archer’s is sure to be as well. It won’t take Father long to figure out who I disappeared with this time.

“Princess,” says Galinor, climbing down from his horse. “I will retrieve it for you. What if you fall in?”

“Then I’ll get wet,” I answer, irritated. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, Galinor, thank you,” I amend as I hop from one rock to another.

The creek isn’t deep or fast; it’s just wide.

Galinor hovers at the edge, unsure how to save me.

Archer snorts. “It’s all right. Our princess is as surefooted as a mountain goat—and equally as stubborn. ”

I glance at him, a sharp remark on my tongue, and the rock I’ve just settled on shifts under my foot, tipping sideways. Suddenly, I’m sitting in the creek, water up to my stomach. My hind end—which was already tender from falling from the Eldentimber tree—throbs in pain.

Galinor crashes through the water, soaking his fine leather boots, and drags me to my feet.

My skirts cling to me, and I pull the drenched fabric away from my legs so I can walk.

Archer waits for us at the bank, and for the second time today, he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

He holds his hand out to me, offering assistance, but I slap it away.

“Your fault,” I say to him, and he frowns at my testy answer, trying not to smile.

He nods, though he doesn’t look terribly sincere. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

I’m freezing. The brisk night air felt good before, but now the breeze is icy. I wring my skirts out the best I can, but there’s too much fabric.

“Turn around,” I command.

They obey, and I roll my skirt up to my thighs so I can really squeeze out the water. It doesn’t help much, but it’s better than it was.

When I’ve finished, Galinor wades over to the clump of waterchivel and pulls it from its watery home. Mud clings to the roots, and it glops into the creek as he makes his way back.

“Thank you,” I say, as I accept the weed. “You are very kind.”

I give Archer a sharp look, but he only holds out a hand to help me on my horse. I ignore him and turn back to Galinor. “We should part here.”

My prince nods, his eyes dark in the night. “I hope you don’t find too much trouble at home.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.

I should embrace him or pat his arm…or something. Archer turns away, busying himself with something in his saddlebag. I should be grateful he’s giving us a semblance of privacy, but I still feel awkward.

Galinor solves the problem for me. He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. “Goodnight, Pippa.”

I sigh. “Goodnight.”

He helps me mount my horse—which is extremely difficult in wet skirts—and then Archer and I continue on the trail.

I glance over my shoulder. Galinor sits on his horse, looking like the perfect prince. He raises his hand as a goodbye. I take a deep breath as we ride along, willing the butterflies to riot. My stomach grumbles instead. I can’t expect butterflies when I’m hungry.

“Are you cold?” Archer asks after we’ve ridden about five minutes.

“No.” I shiver, but I think it’s too dark for him to notice. “I’m fine.”

He glances at me, a wry expression on his face.

I shiver again as the cold air sinks into my bones. “Maybe a little.”

We have at least an hour ride back to the palace. Perhaps he brought a cloak with him.

Archer doesn’t answer at first, and when he finally does, he looks straight ahead. “Ride with me. You’ll be warmer.”

The butterflies, which are just a little late from my parting with Galinor, decide to show up.

I can’t ride with him. It’s not right being that close to a man you aren’t going to marry—even if it is only Archer.

Besides, how much warmer could it possibly be?

I rub my hand over my arms, trying to ignore the chill.

A small voice I’ve been working very hard to ignore whispers over my other thoughts: What if you like it too much?

I’m being ridiculous. It’s either I ride with Archer or catch my death before I arrive home.

“All right.” The words come out like a croak.

The moon rises, and pale, white light illuminates the woods around us. In the far distance, I can just make out the palace on its terrace. The waterfall shines in the night, and the mist from the pool glows like a fairy light.

I crawl down from Willowisp, cursing my wet skirts as they tangle around my legs.

Archer attaches a lead to my horse and then ties her to his horse.

I pull off my bow and arrows, and he secures them to Willowisp.

I accept his hand and try not to compare it with Galinor’s.

I attempt to swing my leg over his horse with grace, but once again, the skirts get in the way, and I end up wrestling with them. Once I’m seated, he pulls himself up.

I don’t mean to, but I tense when Archer settles behind me.

Then I sigh, because he’s right—it is much warmer.

His tall frame blocks the wind from behind, so it’s no longer swirling around me.

He radiates heat as well, and I can feel it from his chest, though I am careful to keep distance between us.

Part of me—most of me—wants to lean against him and draw from his warmth. His arms brush my shoulders as he takes the reins. I must keep my head slightly to the right so he can see the trail in front of us, and occasionally, his chin bumps against the back of my head.

“Archer?” I whisper.

“Hmmm?” His voice is a low rumble in my ear.

“Do you think we will find the fifth item tomorrow?”

He takes a deep breath, and for a moment, his chest meets my back. I clench my teeth. It’s just as I feared—he’s so warm. And I can’t help myself…I settle against him, relishing the feel of his heat.

His muscles tighten, and his arms go rigid at my sides. After a moment, he relaxes. “I don’t think it’s the pearl, Pippa. I don’t know what the answer is.”

His head is over my shoulder now, and the stubble on his jaw brushes against my cheek.

“The pearl is the obvious answer,” I muse, wondering if Archer’s right. “I don’t know what else it could be.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, his words tickling my ear. “I will figure it out.”

I turn my head to meet his eyes.

“I promise, Pippa,” he says quietly.

I’m feeling strangely tingly and a little weightless. Archer’s arms tighten around me, and without thinking, my eyes drop to his mouth. I feel, rather than hear, the hitch in his breath.

“Archer?”

I’m not sure if it’s Archer who moves first, or if I do, but our faces are closer now, and I can feel his breath on my lips. At this moment, I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want to kiss him.

He pauses, his lips a breath away from mine, as if he has just remembered why we shouldn’t be this close. I wrench my head away, biting my lip hard.

What am I thinking? I can’t do this to Galinor. I can’t do this to Archer . “I?—”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s my fault?—”

I cut him off again, my stomach tensing with apprehension when I see lights growing in the distance. “Archer, there are torches ahead.”

Father has sent a search party.