The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(36)

She’d heard this speech several times from Meera.

“It’s the drastic dichotomy within the old ways that caused the change in practices for Galacia. We couldn’t harness the potential power and oftentimes succumbed to the destructive essence. There is a way, practiced in a few other kingdoms, to balance old magic. If I’m able to make it work, I can lift the ban on old magic and rerelease the confiscated conduits. More people would have access to magic again.”

“How?” Ellie stared at her necklace, twinkling like the stars.

“Old magic runs with the waxing and waning of the moon. The bigger the orb in the sky—from our vantage point—the stronger old magic is.”

“That explains why the glow in my necklace brightens and morphs with the burgeoning of the moon.” She nibbled her bottom lip.

“Makes sense,” Gerard agreed.

“Why study moon phases?”

“I’m hoping I can harness that old power and use it to balance the weather to ensure crops have enough rain and sunshine. If I help people figure out how to control the old magic, those who can’t afford gold can still practice. Old magic can heal the sick and right now, we’ve taken that healing power away. As advanced as we are, I find Galacia lacking in respect for human life.”

She sat back, amazed. She’d always thought the crown prince would act like a spoiled brat, concerned with his own dress, hunting, and other asinine events.

“As wealthy as some of my citizens are, others are woefully poor. Especially those who lack magical skills.”

She squirmed.

“Magical skill shouldn’t dictate a person’s outcome in life, their paycheck or their worth to society.”

“Well said, my future king.” She nodded her head in respect.

“You agree?” Gerard looked up from the fire.

“I know many people who can’t produce magic.” Myself before finding this gemstone. “I can’t deny them a comfortable living because they can’t create a flower out of thin air.”

Gerard reclined, pensive. “Most people shush me and encourage me to think of other, less noble pursuits.”

He looked her over, as if appreciating what he physically couldn’t see. For two people from drastically different worlds, she was surprised at how their ideologies meshed.

“Tea?” Gerard changed the subject.

“Sure, no caffeine.” She enjoyed the view of his backside as he lumbered to the kettle by the hearth and poured water in from a giant ceramic pitcher. “How’d you get all your things out here so quickly?”

“Edward, my manservant-slash-butler-slash-confidant-slash-bodyguard. He’s strong.” He set the pot over the fire and gathered a glass jar of tea leaves. “Chamomile okay?”

“Lovely.” As she situated herself, prickles of pain danced up her calves. “Ouch.”

“What?” Gerard turned, dainty ceramic mug in hand.

“Between my less-than-graceful sprawl in the town square the other night, and the awkward way I sat in this comfy chair, my scraped knees are bleeding again and my feet are asleep.”

Gerard tsked, sorted out the tea fixings, gathered a bundle of linen from a trunk she’d missed in the corner, and stalked to her side. “Hold this.” He set the bandage box in Ellie’s lap and scooted the other cushioned chair closer.

He returned to the kettle, poured two cups of steaming tea, handed her one, and set his own on a tray. Ellie sniffed and sighed.

“Feet.” Gerard patted his knees.

“What?”

“Put your feet in my lap.”

She swallowed. “It wouldn’t be ladylike…”

“I hate to break it to you, but you are the furthest thing from ladylike.” He gripped her tingling ankles and deposited her squirming feet on his sturdy thighs. “Quit wiggling.”

She twisted her ankles.

“Enough, you’re far too close to a part of me I know you don’t want to touch.” He raised a brow.

She froze. Saliva pooled in her mouth. Clenching her thighs on a lascivious ache, she fought to stay still as Gerard carefully removed her serviceable boots.

“And I see you can’t be bothered with silk stockings.” He tugged her woolen socks down her shins and dropped them onto the rug beneath their chairs.

Legs bared to his touch, she flushed. No man had seen this much of her exposed skin. Gerard, too, seemed to realize the intensity of the moment. His clinical handling switched to a gentle press of work-roughened hands as they slid along her calf. Warmth spread to her extremities.

And lower. To that place which seemed to rule her when Gerard was near.

She cleared her throat and snapped the tender moment. “Silk stockings are not practical. You forget that I work for a living. I need warm socks that won’t wear out if I’m on my feet all day.”

“Hmm, I do forget that you work.” He disentangled her old bandages and smeared a sweetly scented salve over her knees and bruised shins. Blood began to pump to her feet again and the tingling abated, replaced with a tense awareness of the skin he touched.

His brow knitted in concentration and a single lock of his honey-brown hair dipped over his forehead. It curled at the end in a way she envied. Her own locks, unruly and stubborn, only curled if Meera held them in place with a sprinkle of magic.