Page 48 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

Owain knew that his father would make good on his promise. He would kill Orla, and he wouldn’t put it past his father to make him watch before killing him too. Owain had but one thought as he stalked towards his rooms in the palace.

I have to protect her. I have to protect what’s mine. Mine.

The word echoed in his head. He had no right to claim Orla, especially after how he had betrayed her. But in his heart, she was his. And if she rejected him, well, he deserved that, but he would do everything he could to keep her safe.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

He knew what he had to do. The decision was made before he was even consciously aware of it. Owain turned down the corridor opposite to his rooms and headed for Chrys’s room. He didn’t knock, instead barging into the small space. Chrys was stepping out of the washroom in only a towel.

“Can I fucking help you?” he asked, hair dripping as he padded over towards his clothing chest.

“He’s going to kill her.” The words were out in a rush as Owain closed the door and waved a hand, placing a sound shield over it.

“There’s only one her you’d be this flustered about dying,” he said as he pulled on his leather armor. “What happened?”

Owain recounted his father’s words in the throne room and his realization that his father was using Owain’s feelings for Orla against him. Chrys stood silently, looking pensively at Owain through the retelling. When he finished, out of breath from the words tumbling out, he told Chrys his plan. “I need you to impersonate me and help the envoy plan to go to Ovidur while I get a head start and get to Orla. I know a place that I can take her that will be safe from my father, but I assume he will have me followed if he gets wind that I’ve left the palace. But I won’t lie to you, Chrys, if he discovers you, he will kill you.”

Chrys was quiet for a long moment, pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

“When I asked you if she was worth dying for, I guess I should have been asking myself the same question.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Chrys let out a long sigh. “I’ll do it. Because everything I have as a warrior, I owe to you. But if I do this and we live, I’m done with the politics. I told you, I am loyal to you. And for reasons I can’t fathom, you have fallen for her, so I will help you. I will stay for two days. The evening of the second day, I will ride to meet you.”

Owain embraced Chrys in a bone-crushing hug.

“I owe you everything, Chrys. Thank you.” Not for the first time, the two put their heads together and made a plan. Though neither acknowledged that none of their other plans had panned out well so far. Alas, they soldiered on.

* * *

Later that night, during the witching hour, Chrys crept into Owain’s room to put their plan into place. Owain was dressed in black trousers, a black tunic, and a large hooded black cloak that covered his antlers. Chrys was bearing the resemblance of the small messenger imp with his red hair and flat nose. He had a sword strapped to his back in case they ran into trouble.

Sneaking out of Owain’s room would be a challenge. Though they didn’t know who it would be, they assumed King Vernon would have Owain followed, so they had to be cautious. Slowly, Chrys slunk out of the room and down the hall towards the back stairs with Owain trailing close behind. The mage lights were no longer lit, but the large hall windows let in enough moonlight for the two males to be seen.

“Too bad your power isn’t manipulating shadows,” Chrys quipped.

“How the fuck are shadows a power?” Owain asked in a whisper.

“You know, like making shadows move. Being master of the dark.” Owain continued to stare blankly at him. “Never mind, keep moving,” Chrys said while rolling his eyes.

They made their way to the servants’ stairs that were tucked into an alcove near the entrance to the picture gallery. Owain’s heart squeezed, thinking of when Orla had brought him to the gallery. The first time he had ever seen Orla smile was in that gallery, and he had become addicted to those smiles. The memory helped spur him on as he continued to follow Chrys down a dark narrow staircase.

The winding staircase seemed to go on forever with the occasional mage light to illuminate their path. As they approached a closed door, they heard a thud on the other side. They froze.

Chrys was safe while using the imp’s visage. Though it would be strange for the palace messenger to be out this late, it wasn’t unheard of. But Owain had no reason to be out of his rooms and sneaking down the servants’ stairs.

Chrys held up his hand, gesturing for Owain to remain silent as he stepped through the door. Owain couldn’t see what was on the other side, but he could hear Chrys speaking in the imp’s high, scratchy voice.

“Good evening, m’lord. Surprising to find you down here at such a late hour,” the person in question responded.

“Not that it is any business of an imp,” he said contemptuously, “but I have been stationed here on order of the king.” Dread gripped Owain. He knew that haughty, low voice anywhere: Lord Calix.

“But of course, m’lord. Though I was sent by his majesty to come find you and tell you that he is requesting your presence in the royal offices, m’lord. I’d be happy to escort you if you wish.”

The lie was very well done, Owain thought. Chrys’s moons of impersonating the imp had paid off. He heard Lord Calix shuffle off. He was too proud a male to ever take the servants stairs, even if it was the faster route.

Owain let out a sigh of relief as Chrys reopened the door and gestured for Owain to follow. The door let out into a small storage room that held various cleaning supplies and servants’ attire. Beyond it, there was another narrow dark hallway with an old door at the end. Once they reached the door, Chrys opened it as the door let out a loud groan. Both males held their breath, hoping that the loud sound didn’t alert any of the king’s other guards to their movements.

Once the door was opened, they were hit by the brisk winter air and the rushing of wind outside. Owain resisted the temptation to warm the air around them, fearing that if someone were near, it would give away his identity. They clung to the shadowy sides of the palace walls as they made their way towards the stables.

No stable hands should be working at this hour, but they still kept silent as they made their way over to Owain’s mare. Once the horse was saddled, Owain felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He just had to get her out of the stables, and he would be able to start making the journey to Orla. He could protect her. And maybe with luck, he could get her to forgive him.