Page 30 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)

Rowan

I’M SITTING CROSS-LEGGED IN AURORA’S fairy meadow, the one she showed me so many months ago.

The air is warm, and my hair is loose. It brushes my face, impeding my vision, so I reach up to push it out of my eyes.

In my other hand, I hold three long blades of grass, and I’m twining them around one another, braiding them into a circlet.

And seated in my lap, their small hands on mine, is my child.

Their hair is red, like mine, but they smell like Aurora—like lavender and sunlight with a hint of sugar from all her baking. And as we work together to weave the strong blades of grass into what will soon be a crown, the child starts to sing.

“Oh, the earth turns green and the sky turns blue, in a dance that’s ancient and forever true.”

Their voice is tiny, barely a voice at all, but it reminds me of Aurora and of how she sings while she gardens and hums while she bakes. It reminds me of her easy laughter and quick smile. And I’m overwhelmed with a feeling of love, as if all is right in the world.

Smiling, I join in, the words familiar to me thanks to how often Aurora sings this song.

“From the mountains high to the valleys low, the earth and sky in a waltz they go.”

While we sing, I finish braiding the grass and tie it off, then pluck a white flower from the earth beside me and tuck it into the tightly woven strands.

“There,” I say. “A crown fit for a princess.”

A princess.

So, I’ve a daughter, then. A red-haired daughter.

I place the crown atop her head, and she squeals with delight, then scrambles out of my lap to twirl through the meadow, lightweight cotton dress swishing around her calves.

“The sky does paint the morning light,” she sings, voice carrying in the flower-scented air, “with hues of gold and pink so bright.”

I clap along, laughing and smiling as she sings and dances and muddies her perfect little toes.

When we get home, she’ll surely track mud through the cottage, leaving her tiny footprints in the foyer and into the kitchen, where Aurora will be waiting for us, fresh snacks and lemonade already prepared.

My daughter stops dancing. She’s looking down at the ground now, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Da,” she says.

“Yes, princess?” I push to my feet and find that I’m barefoot as well. A memory tugs at me, trying to get me to remember something, but I push it away .

“What’s that?” She points down, toward her feet.

I take a few steps toward her, trying to see what the tall grass and flowers are disguising.

But by the time I get close enough to see, it’s already too late.

Because there, in the middle of the meadow on a warm summer day, is a frozen pond. And my daughter is standing atop it, watching as cracks thin as spiderwebs grow beneath her bare feet.

I try to lunge for her, but I’m stuck in the mud, my ankles being sucked into the earth.

Again, a memory tries to surface. I feel like I’ve been here before, but I can’t recall why. It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is the look on her face when she meets my eyes.

And her face is Lucy’s face now, when we were children. So it’s Lucy’s face I see as the ice cracks open and she falls.

But this time I pull free of the mud at the last moment, and I catch her. Splayed on the ice, with the summer wind tousling my hair, I scream, “Don’t let go!”

Far below Lucy’s feet, the water is dark and writhing. It crashes like waves upon the rocky coast, hungering for her.

“I won’t let you have her!” I yell into the chaos below.

“Da! Help me!” She’s no longer Lucy. She’s my daughter again.

As she looks down at the water below, the crown of grass slips from her head, and I track its spiraling motion as it falls down, down, until a wave lunges up to swallow it whole .

“I won’t let go,” I tell her. But even as the words leave my mouth, I feel her slipping from my grip, as if her skin is slick with honey. I tighten my hold, gritting my teeth.

“Row?” Lucy blinks up at me. “Are you going to let me fall?”

I open my mouth to tell her no, that I’ll never, ever let her fall. That I will hold her for as long as I draw breath.

But it matters not. Despite my crushing grip, my hand shaking with the force I’m exerting, my little sister slips right through my fingers. And she’s silent as she falls, red hair curling through the air, until the sea swallows her whole.

I awaken with a gasp, my body lurching upright in bed. My body is drenched in sweat, hair sticking to my face. And as I lift a shaking hand to touch my cheek, my fingers moisten with tears.

It was just a dream , I tell myself. But still, the tears don’t cease.

“Rowan?” Aurora sits up beside me, her gentle hand finding my trembling shoulder in the dark. “Was it another bad dream?”

I want to apologize for waking her, but tears clog my throat, and I don’t trust myself to speak. All I can do is nod.

“My love,” she whispers, moving closer, until her chest is pressed against me and her hand rises to touch my tear-streaked face. “Speak to me. What’s the matter?”

Last time this happened, I was able to brush it off, pretend like it was just a normal bad dream. But Aurora is fully awake now, and she’s scooting around to better see my face in the low light coming from the still-burning hearth.

“You’re upset. Tell me what happened.” Her thumb brushes the tears from my cheek, but they don’t stop coming.

“It... It was our daughter,” I finally choke out.

Aurora’s thumb stills.

“And it was Lucy. And I...” I grit my teeth. Anger and guilt and shame flare to life inside me, twisting my stomach and heart into painful knots. “And I lost them both, failed them both.”

I remember the previous dream, the one my subconscious was trying to remind me of.

I remember Lucy falling into the chasm in the earth.

The quiet afterward. I remember the angry sea rising up to steal my daughter away from me.

And I remember what happened in my waking hours, how the ice cracked beneath Lucy’s boots, her startled expression as she met my eyes right before falling through and into the frigid water below.

Remembering makes my shoulders shake harder, makes me drop my head into my hands and dig my fingers into my hair.

“Rowan.” Aurora’s tone is different now. Startled.

As I shake, she wraps her arms around me, holding my shoulders and pressing her head close to mine.

“It’s okay, my love. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” I grit out. “I failed Lucy. She’s dead because of me. And what if—”

I stop myself. But then I recall what Niamh said to me at the harvest festival this past autumn: “I encourage you to speak with Aurora. Sharing your worries with her may unburden the weight from your shoulders.”

This whole time, I’ve felt it’s my duty—my responsibility—to bear this weight alone. Aurora already carries so much. But as she holds me in the dark, her fingers tracing my naked skin, I feel that I can no longer do this alone. I need her, even if I wish I didn’t.

“What if I fail our child? What if something terrible happens and we lose her because of me?”

My words linger there, in the warm darkness of the room. They feel forbidden, and for a long moment, Aurora doesn’t speak. Her fingers go still, making me wonder if I’ve made a mistake.

But then she untangles my fingers from my hair, cradles my face in her palms, and lifts my chin so she can look me in the eye. Though the light is low, her eyes are visible, and she holds my stare with unwavering strength.

“You aren’t going to fail.” Her words are firm.

I open my mouth to argue, to tell her she doesn’t understand, but she cuts me off.

“I know you’re not going to fail because you’re going to be here , you’re going to try, and you’re going to do the very best you can.

We will do the very best we can. And that is more than many children can say of their parents.

It’s more than I can say of my father.” Her fingers tighten around my face and jaw.

“You’re not alone in this. And I don’t want you ever thinking you have to hide your fears from me.

Because I have them too.” Her eyes grow glassy, but she doesn’t break our stare.

“I’m scared too. I’m terrified . But we’re going to do this together. ”

A single tear streaks down her cheek.

And my shoulders feel lighter already. With every shared tear and shared breath, the burden I’ve been carrying for what feels like endless miles finally drops away.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Aurora asks.

“Because I didn’t want to give you anything else to worry about.” I lean forward so my forehead kisses hers. “You already do so much for all of us. I wanted to do this for you, to be strong for you.”

“And you are ,” she says. “But being strong doesn’t mean you can’t also be soft, can’t also be afraid.” As one final tear traces the line of her jaw, she smiles. “I thought you already knew this, Sir Rowan. Or did they not teach you that in knight school?”

A snort bursts out of me. “Knight school? Are you mocking me, my queen?”

“Mocking you? Never. ”

“No?” My hands find her waist, the cotton of her nightdress soft against my fingertips. “Are you sure?”

She nods, a smile threatening her lips. “Quite.”

With my tears drying on my cheeks, I bring my mouth to hers.

And in the dark, I’m reminded of our first time.

That night, Aurora’s hair smelled of woodsmoke and summer flowers, and her mouth tasted of honey and wine.

She was an unknown, a stranger in the circle of my arms. But now, as she eases herself into my lap beneath our shared blanket and I trace the curves of her hips, her body feels familiar.

Though the pregnancy has changed her, made her soft where once she was firm, she’s still my queen, the one I chased through the woods and captured, the one I made love to as the summer air wrapped around us.

And her lips still fit mine perfectly.

My hands drift lower, to the hem of her nightdress, and she sighs against my mouth as I lift it to her hips. She rises onto her knees and reaches with one hand to find my cock and guide it to the wetness gathering between her legs.

I know Thorne is out on the couch right now, just a few steps away from the closed bedroom door, yet I can’t prevent the moan that slips from my lips as Aurora’s pussy wraps around me.

Her walls stretch as she sinks fully onto my lap, and I pull her nightdress the rest of the way over her head and drop it upon the mattress beside us, then capture one of her firm nipples between my lips.

As her pregnancy has progressed, her nipples and breasts have become larger.

They used to fit comfortably in the palm of my hand, but now they’re heavier, fuller, and she moans as I take one and squeeze it gently.

Her fingers find my hair. She tips my head back, forcing me to release her nipple from between my teeth, then brings her mouth to mine.

We fall into a rhythm, Aurora’s hips rocking against mine, her tongue tracing my lips.

I explore her mouth like it’s the first time, let my fingertips trace her neck, her shoulders, the dip of her spine.

Her hair falls around us like a veil, trapping us in the dark together, in a space I wish I never had to leave.

Without slowing her pace, Aurora untangles one hand from my hair and slides it between our bodies to touch herself .

“Wait,” I say.

She tips her head at me.

“I want to watch.”

“Me touch myself?” Her tone is tinged with shyness, and if there were more light in the room, I believe her cheeks would be turning pink.

Instead of answering, I scoot back, Aurora still in my lap, and ease myself against the pillows so I can gaze up at her.

“Okay,” I say. “Go ahead.”

She starts slowly, seeming bashful. As she first begins touching herself, fingers circling her swollen clit, she seems unsure where to look, her face turning one way, then the other. Her teeth bite down on her lower lip.

“Pretend I’m not here,” I whisper, though my dick is still buried inside her, twitching and begging for release. “Pleasure yourself like you would if you were alone.”

Aurora takes a deep breath. Then she closes her eyes.

And I watch as she loses herself in her own pleasure. She braces one hand on my stomach. Slowly, she rides me, matching the pace of her fingers as she strokes her clit. Her bottom lip is still trapped between her teeth, her forehead furrowing delicately.

I keep my hands to myself, not wanting to distract her. But with each heavy breath and stroke of her pussy along my cock, I struggle to hold myself back.

“You’re getting harder,” she says, voice breathy in the dark.

“Shh,” I whisper. “Focus.”

Her lips turn up in the corners. “Are you trying to give your queen orders, Sir Rowan? ”

“Yes. And I order you to make yourself cum.” Just saying it almost makes me fill her up, but I resist.

Her smile melts away. Her lips part as she tips her head back, long hair tumbling along her spine in the darkness. The fingers braced against my stomach curl, and Aurora’s nails claw into my skin. But the pain only heightens the sensations, and I’m at my edge when her breath catches.

Then she does just as I ordered.

Her warmth spills around me, and in return, I let myself go, release everything I have inside her spasming pussy.

And it’s more than a physical release; it’s a letting go of everything I’ve kept bottled up for so long, a release of all the baggage I’ve had draped along my shoulders for these many years.

And in the darkness, I shed one final tear. It slips from my eye and down the side of my face to fall upon the pillow beside me. But this time, it’s one of relief, of knowing that everything is going to be okay, and that Aurora will be here with me every step of the way.