Page 6

“ T hank you!” Elizabeth called.

“Come again soon, my lady,” Giselle responded.

Elizabeth stepped out onto the cobblestone street and lifted her face to the breeze.

Her hand patted the leather satchel she wore.

Three books lay safely tucked inside. She had exchanged the book she had picked up several months ago for one of them.

Giselle had been most pleased to add a new book to her vast collection.

Slipping her hand into the front pocket of her dress, she fingered the small leather pouch that contained the few coins she had left. It had taken her nearly a year to accrue what she had and less than a day to spend nearly all of it.

“But, it was worth it,” she murmured consolingly.

The day was still young and she had plenty of time before dark to continue her explorations. She glanced back and forth. In reality, all she wanted to do was find a quiet spot where she could listen to the music and read. Turning to the left, she continued moving up the winding road.

She was completely lost forty minutes later. Turning in a circle, she tried to remember the route she had taken. Her mistake had been stepping into a baker’s shop to purchase a bountiful meal of fresh bread, cheese, and more fruit. The meal had cost her the last of her coins, but she didn’t care.

There had been two doors into the shop. In her delight at her find, she had mistakenly exited the back door that led to the narrow, winding street she now found herself on.

The chirping of birds and the cheerful bubbling of water sparked her curiosity.

Following the sounds, she crossed to a wrought-iron gate covered in thick vine.

The gate opened under her hand, and she entered, mindful to close it behind her. Delight filled her when she found herself in a grand garden. Beautiful stepping stones, embedded in a rich layer of topsoil and surrounded by lush grass beckoned her to follow it deeper into the walled oasis.

Never in her life had she seen anything so beautiful. Delicate roses that she had only seen in the illustrations of books, grew up tall trellises. Her lips parted on a breath of awe as she touched one of the silken red petals.

“Careful, they have thorns,” a deep voice warned.

Elizabeth released a startled gasp and twirled to face the man who stood holding a rake.

Her heart thundered in her chest as they stared at each other in silence.

She wasn’t sure if her wayward pulse was because of the fright he had given her or if it was because of her immediate awareness of how tall and handsome he was.

“I’ve never seen a rose before. They are beautiful. The entire garden is breathtaking. Did you do all of this?” she asked, waving her hand.

“My-Queen Ruby started the garden centuries ago. It… has been entrusted to me-my family to tend it. The rose you touched was planted centuries ago,” he said.

She turned back to the rose and lifted her hand to touch it again, drawn by a need to feel the delicate petal once more. A hand reached around her and pulled the stem closer to her. Her eyes flickered to the brilliant brown eyes of the man before she studied the rose’s intricate layers.

“Breathe deeply,” he instructed.

Bending forward until her nose was almost touching the flower, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply as he instructed.

The fragrance of the rose filled her senses.

The gentle scent mesmerizing her that anything so beautiful to look at could also be as wonderful to smell. Without thinking, she lifted her hand.

“Careful!”

His word of caution came a split second too late.

She hissed when a sharp prick of pain caused her to open her eyes and jerk back.

She didn’t realize how close they were standing until she bumped into him.

The rake in his hand clattered to the ground and he wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her.

She turned in his arms when he reached down and cupped her hand. A rosy blush rose to her cheeks when he lifted her injured finger to his lips. Her lips parted when he swiped his tongue over the dot of blood on the pad of her finger.

“You’re right. They do have thorns,” she said.

“I’ve pricked my finger more than once on them. They can be quite vicious if you aren’t careful.”

“Is it alright that I’m here? I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble. I was looking for a quiet place to have my meal and read,” she explained.

Thin lines crinkled around his eyes when he smiled. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to caress them. Her blush deepened when he dropped her hand and stepped back. She watched as he bent to pick up the rake.

“I have plenty of food… if you would care to share a meal. That is… if you are hungry,” she added, blushing wildly when he stared at her with a frown. “Or not. I should probably leave you to your work. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

Or’Ang chuckled to himself, his attention fixed on the young maiden who fumbled over her words, offering a proposal and then quickly taking it back, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

The initial irritation that had bubbled up inside him at being interrupted in his sanctuary quickly faded when he saw her staring at his mother's roses, her face alight with wonder.

He stiffened, his eyes widening in astonishment as a second, even more shocking fact dawned on him.

He couldn't hear her thoughts, not a single whisper of them, even though she was standing right in front of him.

A deep crease appeared on his forehead, drawing his brows closer together as he focused on her face.

Her cheeks were flushed with the same rosy hue as the flowers in the garden.

Her brown hair flowed freely, its strands kissed by the morning breeze, and a crown of wildflowers, their petals slightly drooping, adorned her head.

Her eyes, the color of a young fawn, were bright with intelligence, looking back at him with curiosity.

His eyes followed the contours of her frame, lingering on her simple, yet well-worn blue dress and the scarred leather satchel she hugged protectively to her chest.

“I am rather hungry… if the offer to share your meal still stands,” he said.

Her face lit up with a brilliant smile, and she nodded.

He stepped to the side so she could step beside him.

They walked in silence along the path. He couldn’t stop studying her face, which was an open book.

Her eyes were wide with wonder as she looked around the garden.

There was no malice or deception in her eyes.

She was so captivated by the vibrant colors and intoxicating scents of the garden that he wondered if she even noticed he was walking beside her.

He stopped abruptly, startled, when she grabbed his arm and pointed.

He looked in the direction she was pointing.

He furrowed his brow and his eyes narrowed as he tried to see what had caught her interest.

“What is that?” she whispered.

His eyes followed the flutter of a puffin, its bright orange beak and black and white feathers a stark contrast to the white rock wall bordering the garden.

Its orange beak pointed towards the sea, the black bird cocked its head and let out a short, sharp trill before taking off, its wings a blur of motion as it soared towards the ocean.

They turned in unison, their heads following the Puffin's arc through the sky, the faint trill of its call fading as it disappeared.

“This truly is a magical place,” she breathed, turning to face him with shining eyes. “I must add him to my book.”

His eyebrow raised in inquiry. “You are a scribe?”

The rosy tinge graced her cheeks again and she looked away. “I want to be.”

It suddenly dawned on him that he had no idea who his lovely intruder was. Her ignorance of who he was told him she was a stranger to his kingdom. A disturbing feeling of alarm flashed through him.

“You aren’t from these parts. Surely you aren’t traveling unaccompanied?” he asked.

She laughed and shook her head. “No, I’m with my father. He is a bard and trader. This is the end of our journey before we begin our trip back to the glen before winter sets in.”

Her eyes sparkled again with delight when she noticed the gazebo.

She moved ahead of him, her steps light, almost as if she were dancing across the ground.

Pride filled him as he studied the awed expression on her face as she explored the interior.

The gazebo had been a favorite of his parents.

They often sat under the vine-covered arbor, reading or painting.

Some of his fondest memories were of himself as a child playing as his father painted and his mother tended her plants.

“Have I told you that this is magical?” she laughed, twirling around in a circle with her arms wide open before she stopped and looked back at him.

“I’ve been completely remiss in introducing myself.

I am Elizabeth, Queen of the Fairy Glen.

” She sank into a deep curtsy before giving him a mischievous smile and rising.

“I’m not really a queen, nor a fairy in reality, in case you wondered.

I’m just a simple human, but in your beautiful garden, I feel as if I can be anything I want to be.

And who are you? A knightly guard? A mischievous gnome?

A—” Her voice faded as she studied his features as if she were trying to guess.

“The wise Prince of the Puffins? I know you are a shifter. I haven’t met many.

Father said we must be careful as not all shifters like humans.

He said that King Or’Ang is different. That he protects us.

Do you think he does? Is he a kind and just king as the human villagers were saying? ”

He swallowed at her earnest questions. “My name is… Bobbin.”

His lie felt thick on his tongue, like cotton.

While he felt guilt at his deception, he didn’t want to see her openness and jubilance change.

He wanted to be a simple gardener… or Prince of the Puffin…

for a short while. He followed her into the gazebo, leaning the rake he had been carrying against the beam.

“In this garden, I’m naught but a simple gardener.

As for your questions, the king thinks highly of the humans who live here.

As did his parents before him, he has sworn an oath to protect all his people, humans and shifters alike. ”

Her eyes softened and she smiled. “He sounds like a good king. Mayhap I’ll get to see him before we leave. If I do, I’ll have to add him to my story.”

“He would be most honored to meet such a talented scribe,” he replied.

She pulled her satchel over her head and placed it on the table.

He watched as she pulled out several bundles wrapped in thin, waxed paper.

She laid out a virtual feast of rosemary bread, aromatic goat cheese, and fresh fruit.

She added a small amber bottle before gracefully waving a hand at the empty seat across from her.

“Our meal is served, Sir Bobbin of the Magic Garden,” she announced in a regal tone, before giggling. “I’m afraid I have no cups, plates, or utensils, so we must eat with our fingers and share our midday wine,” she added.

“I could think of nothing I would want more,” he said, sliding into the empty chair.