Page 39 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

“You don’t hate me.” Orla hiccupped. It wasn’t a question. She had felt so much love in Cessly’s hug. As if the two hadn’t been separated by years of grief and loss.

“I could never hate you, Orla. You’re my best friend.” Her hazel eyes were red from tears.

“I’m sorry, Cessly,” she cried, tears spilling down her face once again. “I’m so, so sorry.” Cessly wrapped her arms around Orla again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Orla. Come on, let’s talk.”

* * *

They arrived at a familiar tavern up the street from the townhouse. Orla felt as if she were transported back in time. The dark wood of the bar was worn with age, the smell of stale ale hung in the air. Even after all these years, Hosh, the old cyclops, was still working behind the bar. It was packed that evening, creatures from all over the kingdom coming into Imsil for the king’s upcoming ball and to see the Elven nobility who ruled over them all. Cessly navigated them to a booth towards the back of the tavern before heading to the bar to grab drinks. She returned with two tankards of ale and two shots of whiskey. They took the shots quickly before turning their attention to their tankards.

They sat in silence for a while, people-watching the various folks in the tavern. There were several ogres and a few imps. A fearsome looking minotaur sat a few tables away, talking to two satyrs. A nymph was sitting on the lap of an orc, running her hands across the males tusks, clearly trying to seduce him.

Cessly broke the silence.

“Why did you leave?” It was a simple question, but Cessly’s voice was thick with emotion.

“I just… I couldn’t stand it, Cess. Everyone looking at me like I was a hero. Asking me about Fontina. Reminding me of Rhyan. I had to get away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you’d try and stop me. Or maybe I was too ashamed to face you knowing I failed you.” Cessly’s eyes widened, looking shocked.

“How did you fail me, Orla? You ended the war and made it home safe.”

“I did, but Rhyan didn’t.” The tears from earlier threatened to spill again. “You told me to keep him safe, Cess. You told me to protect him, and I didn’t.” Her voice broke.

Cessly reached across the table and gripped Orla’s hand in hers.

“That’s not your fault, Orla!” Orla averted her gaze.

“Look at me,” Cessly said. “We were warriors. Of course I wanted you to keep each other safe, but we danced with death every time we entered a battlefield. I would never blame you for what happened to Rhyan. We all knew the risks of joining the king’s army, of fighting in those battles. Rhyan never would have wanted you to blame yourself for his death and neither should you.”

She made it sound so simple, as if Orla could just stop the constant voice in her head saying she had killed her friend. That it was her fault. But a small part of her knew that Cessly was right. They had chosen a dangerous profession. Rhyan was the son of a general; he knew more than anyone what could happen in battle.

A small weight lifted off Orla’s chest for the first time in seven years. It wasn’t a massive change, and she knew she couldn’t change overnight, but Cessly’s words meant more to Orla than she could ever express.

The two continued to drink. One tankard became three, one shot became four, and soon they were deep in their cups, laughing and catching the other up on what had happened in the ensuing years.

It turns out, Cessly had been as lonely as Orla. She had a relationship during that time to a lamia named Lillia, but that had ended because Cessly was unwilling to commit to the female. Orla told Cessly about her string of lovers before she left Imsil and about her lonely life in Benin. She told her about her guard duties at the palace and that recently she met someone who she was beginning to care deeply for, though she didn’t say who he was. The complication of Owain being the Edamish heir was too much to untangle on the first night of reconnecting with her old friend. When it was clear that she wouldn’t be making it back to the palace that evening, she used Cessly’s magic to send Owain a missive saying she would see him in the morning.

That night, Orla felt more carefree than she had been in years.

Orla arrived back at the palace midmorning, having slept in from her night out with Cessly. There was an increase in activity at the palace as people arrived for the king’s ball at the end of the week. As she walked through the grand entryway and up the large marble steps towards her room, several people stared at her and the whispers began.

There she is. Hero of Fontina. Lady Orla. Fontina.

But for the first time in seven years, Orla didn’t want to run and hide. She held her head high and breathed as her heart rate increased. She didn’t have to be their mascot or their hero. She could just be Orla. Her previous night spent with Cessly, and the days spent alone with Owain in his rooms had begun to heal something in herself that had been broken for a long time.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Owain was talking to Chrys in the parlor when a knock sounded at the door. The previous evening, after the meeting with the Edamish lords, Chrys took Owain sparring to take his mind off Orla and the tasks he had to complete. When that inevitably didn’t work, the two went riding through the palace grounds before returning to Owain’s rooms and making their way through several bottles of whiskey. Yet he still felt on edge. The timing of the assassination of King Mikki had been decided, and now he needed to make sure he could protect Orla from the fallout of what he had to do.

He opened the door and relief flooded over him. There she was, dressed in her riding dress and pants, smiling up at him like he hung the moon.

In an instant, he had her wrapped in his arms, bringing her into a deep fervent kiss. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“That’s one hell of a hello,” she said, breaking their kiss.