Escape to the Sea (Tangled Hearts #1)

Chapter 2 Mysterious Emeria

Ephraim

Unlike the other dances tonight, I am aware of every touch, every sensation. My palms feel sweaty as her hand slides into mine, slender but sturdy. I can hear my heart pounding loudly as I lead her to the dance floor. My hand slips around her waist and slightly towards her back, her hair brushing my knuckles and my fingers pressed against the bare warmth of her skin.

Is this improper? It has to be, right? Surely Kassandra or my uncle or someone will notice. Surely this elf will protest and there will be a whole scandal in the ballroom and—

My thoughts are cut as the elf clears her throat, looking down at me almost in annoyance. It’s then that I realize that I’m not moving at all, like an uncultured fool. I move instantly, almost too abruptly, and the first few steps are awkward. But then her hand on my shoulder shifts from my front to over my shoulder, drawing me closer.

The proximity of her, the scent of jasmine, and her mesmerizing light green eyes bind me in a spell, and I start to relax as I guide her along the floor expertly. Unlike the other dances, I recall every detail, every subtle movement. The way the skirts of her gown shift and curl around my legs. The firm hold of my hand on hers, and hers on mine. The softness of her hair and how the loose ends tickle my hand as we move. Her light footing, as though she were a leaf caught in a pleasant breeze.

I am fully spellbound by this mysterious woman and I don’t know her name. I can hear Bertrand, my equerry, chiding me in his grandfatherly voice about how I fall too easily, too hard, and too fast. That I ought to be more careful and discerning with my affections. But I can’t help it—doesn’t everyone want to fall in love and live happily ever after?

Before I know it, the tune is over. “Another?” I ask, my voice breathless.

“I should get some air,” she says slowly, starting to draw out of my grasp.

Fear seizes me and I take her hand and place it in the crook of my arm. “Let me accompany you.” My hand slips from hers, waiting. She looks down at me, her chin tucking under a little and I can’t help but trace the lovely sharp lines of her jaw with my eyes. My heart hammers in my chest but I dare not look away.

She nods, and I relax, smiling broadly as I start to lead us out of the ballroom and towards the lit gardens. “Thank you, Lady— Oh, how impolite of me. I don’t believe I caught your name. I’m Prince Ephraim of Branch Echtarch, by the way.”

“I’m aware,” she replies simply. “I am Emeria.”

“You’re the cultural ambassador for the Faesari delegation, correct? As a representative on behalf of Branch Duncan? I presume you live in Yaventown?” The Faesari elves live in the Great Thatch Forest near the city, which stretches north and as far south as the border of my hometown, Vinitore. Her distinctive coloring, however, stands out against the elves from the Thatch.

“I’m a member of the Four Fingers Consortium,” she replies, her voice smooth.

“Ah, of course.” It’s essentially a non-answer. The embassy of the four elven enclaves that comprise the Fingers to the far north admits no one but their own, no matter where they currently reside. I’ve heard my uncle grouse about them on more than one occasion. But no need to press the issue.

“Have you been to court at Yaventown before? What did you think of the Grand Hall?”

“I have not been to the Grand Hall before. It is unique.” She glances at me, her green eyes sharp as her mouth turns upwards. My heart skips a beat as I stare at her lips before forcing my gaze up. How untoward of me! I can only hope she didn’t notice…

“I like the dragonkin box. Branch Caillan, yes?”

I try not to let my irritation show. “Who wouldn’t? They sit on a pile of gold and jewels, like actual dragons curled up over a hoard.”

For a moment, there’s an excited glint in her eyes. Of course. All the interesting ladies are always focused on Branch Caillan and their mounds of gold. No one cares for the disgraced family who sit on a pile of dead leaves as their house symbol.

She shifts closer and I’m refocused on her entirely, the press of her breasts against my arm overwhelming. There can’t be anything between this thin fabric and the heat of her skin which seems to spread to my own body… I clear my throat, refusing to allow my mind to wander so lewdly.

“You must be tired, after a long court season. It can’t be easy running the empire. The deliberations today were a bit over my head, but it seemed intense.” Somehow her head dips so she’s looking up at me, her eyes wider, her voice sweeter. My cheeks heat and I am very thankful we’re alone.

“Oh, well, it…” I clear my throat. “It’s all quite tedious, today especially so. There’s nothing really of interest to talk about, and, as you say, it’s exhausting. It’s why we have so many balls and festivities in the two-month court season.” I touch her hand in my arm with mine lightly, leaning in. “Though I’m sure you’d rather discuss something other than boring court proceedings and squabbles.”

She gives me a polite smile in return, and, with it, a chasm opens between us. I’m not sure what I said was off-putting, but I am determined to salvage this.

“There are many other engaging activities at the summer court, though. It’s a shame you missed most of them. Last week I went on the most exciting hunt.”

We’re further in the gardens now, down a path lined with white rose shrubs, low neatly trimmed hedges, and statues of figures and animals in various poses. Very plain and very Linklater. But it does offer seclusion—perhaps the only good feature.

As I carry on with this quite honestly unexciting tale, Emeria nods along. When I start to embellish my role in the hunt, she must note my feigned enthusiasm for hunting because her hand slips from my arm.

I pause, watching her stride towards a rose bush and fall silent. She doesn’t even seem to notice that I’ve stopped talking. Lovely; the boring roses are more interesting than my foolish chatter. Maybe Marius is right and I need to get out more—I could at least get practice making small talk for when it matters.

Emeria bends over, thumbing a leaf quizzically as if she’s trying to sort something out.

Carefully, I move next to her and peer down. “May I ask what you’re looking for?”

She frowns. “It looks healthy.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

She shakes her head. “Mine never look like this.”

“Oh! Well that’s partially because the royal gardens are magically maintained, keeping the soil healthy and preventing pests from entering while allowing healthy bugs needed for the ecosystem in.” I scan the bush and point to a caterpillar. “Like that one.” I draw back and turn to her more fully. “What problems are you experiencing in your rose bushes?”

She gives me a long look in that porcelain stare before turning back to the roses. “They start to brown early, even with the right sunning and watering.”

“Ah, must be a soil issue,” I muse. “It may simply be that roses aren’t suited to the soil where you’re trying to plant them. Climate is important to consider.”

She nods, her gaze still on the roses. I have no doubt she’s having a full conversation with herself.

I give her a moment and then add, “The Linklater gardens, of course, are paltry compared to my gardens back home in my castle, Vetro di Mare. My rose garden is lovely, with all sorts of shades, colors, and variants—ground cover, grandiflora, climbing, hybrid teas.” I chuckle as I add proudly, “I should mention my rose garden is only one of several gardens at my estate.”

My cheeks heat under her pointed gaze and I quickly add, “Of course, I’m sure that’s not of interest—”

“It’s better than that farce of a hunt,” she snorts.

Relief floods through me. For the first time, I crack her facade, a glimpse of her under the careful shell she’s cultivated around her person. I escort her to a bench, hoping to continue pulling her out of her shell. “My disinterest in hunting is that obvious?”

“You were describing it as though it were out of a novel. A boring one at that. Besides...” She sits primly on the edge of the stone bench, hands folded neatly in her lap. “That’s sport. Not a hunt.”

“I agree,” I say nodding. “My father used to take me out into the woods around our estate all the time. He showed me how to hunt a little, made me skin a rabbit or two, but I don’t have a liking for it.”

Emeria gives me a small, and what I hope is an approving, smile. “My father taught me to hunt as well, though I quite enjoy taking down a buck for supper.”

My heart beats faster as I edge closer to her. “So, Lady Emeria, a gardener, a hunter, and perhaps a reader? What else is there to you?”

She chuckles and leans forward. “A great many things, Your Highness. Though not a lady.”

I swallow, heat shooting through me. “Please, just Ephraim.”

“Very well, Ephraim.” The way my name rolls off her tongue, soft and natural as though she says it all the time, makes me thankful I’m sitting. My knees suddenly weaken, my heart starts racing, and my mind becomes a whir. “Tell me more about your gardens.”

It takes much of my willpower to focus on the question and block the continuous string of untoward thoughts racing through my mind. How we’re all alone, how her knees are pressing against mine, and how her long neck sweeps downward into a soft curve at the nape of her neck that’s perfect for my lips…

I don’t know how long I talk for, but Emeria seems far more engaged with this line of conversation than anything else I’ve said or done tonight, nodding along in a quiet focus. I move on from talking about the gardens to gardening and horticulture more generally, and even though I’m prattling on, she’s still nodding, her expression focused.

“But, if I’m being honest,” I say, plowing on, “I think there’s a lot horticulture has to offer besides decoration. Take the inorana plant, for example. The red blooms are used to make healing potions, but the white berries underneath—”

“—make for the deadliest poison,” she finishes, nodding.

“Yes!” Excitement floods through me as I gush on, “And so, what else could we gain, what else could we learn? There’s so much variation in nature. Take, for example, bioluminescence. Is there a way to harness that to cultivate lighting at night that doesn’t rely exclusively on magic or fire? Could it be more sustainable lighting in rural areas that don’t have easy access to magical commodities?”

Her head tilts, her lips pulling into a line as she mulls it over. “It’s certainly an intriguing line of thought. I’ve seen some of the cavern bioluminescence myself but I never thought—”

“Really?!” I exclaim. “What’s it like? Where did you see it? I have a coastal cave by my castle but the tides make it impossible to cultivate anything! Was it easily accessible from the surface?”

She stiffens, frozen, looking at me in surprise and I realize my mistake.

My cheeks burn. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to blather on. I don't meet many who are interested in this hobby that aren’t at least fifty years older than me. Most certainly none of my friends anyway.” I look back at her, sheepish. “But... I appreciate you listening to me all the same. It’s nice. Your company, I mean.”

Her cheeks darken to a pretty purple hue and she glances away. Even from the side, her profile is lovely. I rise from the bench and go over to a rose bush, carefully reaching in and breaking a stem. Carefully, but easily, I pluck off the thorns. The bloom is full and luscious, and I take a moment to inhale the sweet scent before sitting back down. She looks at me curiously, but then her eyes widen as I carefully place the rose behind her long, pointed ear.

I smile fondly at her, my heart pounding again, letting my fingers graze the side of her cheek. Her green eyes meet mine and I can’t help myself as I lean in and place a light kiss on her lips.

My lips linger, unsure if I should pull away, but then the gentle press of her lips in response assuages my concerns, all further thoughts ceasing in my mind. My hands find her waist again, careful not to clutch at the tantalizing expanse of her back. Her lips part as she sinks into my embrace, her hands pressing against my chest, clutching my stuffy jacket.

All at once I’m too hot. It’s too much, all too quickly, my hands sliding up the smooth expanse of her back like I’m running my fingers along a soft petal, the kiss deepening, her tongue in my mouth, jasmine and champagne swirling together in a most potent concoction of desire. I can’t remember the last time I held someone like this, wanted someone with such a passion, a fervor that threatens to take hold of all reason. It’s a dizzying spell I know I should end before we cross the line, but gods, it’s so hard with her body pressed so perfectly against mine.

When she breaks for air, I take the moment to pull back and level my mind. It takes all my willpower not to lean back in and kiss her again at the sight of her flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

“Perhaps,” I pant, “Something to drink? Shall I fetch something for us?”

Emeria nods, her gaze still a little dazed. I can’t help myself and I lean in again for another heated, albeit brief, kiss. Oh, gods, if I keep kissing this elf, my hands might stray over her perked nipples showing through the thin fabric of her gown, over her thighs between her legs. I want to hear her gasp and moan, make her wet for me, and—I need to cool off. Now.

I break the kiss and stand, making sure to steady myself before turning to Emeria and offering a hand. Even so, my voice is breathy. “A drink? And… perhaps another dance?”

She stares up at me, blinking, as if letting the daze from the kiss wear off before slipping her hand into mine. I hold it, warm and slightly calloused to the touch, intertwining my fingers with hers.

The ballroom comes back into view all too quickly, and the magic of our solitude is ruined as other couples pass us. They pause to stare, but I pay them no mind. Emeria, though, watches another group go by and then turns her gaze to the ballroom, assessing.

“To be honest, Ephraim,” she says, “I’m not really one for dancing. I’ll wait here.”

I step in front of her. I lock my gaze onto hers as I take her hands and kiss her knuckles. “I’ll be back shortly. Wait for me here.”

Everything in me is abuzz, alight, as I find more champagne and head back to the garden. This night took a turn that I could never have expected. Emeria… I know Kassandra told me to keep my line open, but Emeria is so enthralling, so gorgeous and captivating in her quiet demeanor. An enigma I want to unwrap layer by layer, bit by bit.

“Lady Emeria!” I call, “I’ve—”

I stop short at the spot I’m fairly sure I left her at. But there’s no sign of her.

Did she get called back to the Faesari delegation? But that quickly—it’s not possible. I head back into the ballroom and set the drinks back down, frantically scanning the room.

“Ephraim, there you are! Is something wrong?”

I turn as Marius and Ed approach, cheeks flushed from the night, Ed pushing up his glasses on his nose before giving me a wave. On his other side, Leo and one of the gents, Billy, approach.

“I need to find someone,” I explain, trying not to sound panicked. “I was with someone, an elf—”

“An elf? My father says they’re nothing but trouble,” Billy shakes his head. “Why mix it up with them when there’s a whole gallery of ladies waiting?”

I ignore him and focus on Marius. “She was assisting the Faesari delegation but isn’t one of them. She’s from the Fingers—soft purple skin with luscious dark hair, in a green dress that flutters like a leaf in the breeze. I went to get us drinks and then she disappeared.”

Leo’s hand claps my shoulder. “Maybe she ditched you. I mean, can you blame her, with that description?”

I shrug his shoulder off roughly and straighten, glaring at him. I hold his gaze for a tense moment before he shrugs, laughing.

“Come on, Bill. I want to find someone to warm my bed with.”

“Hey, cuz, we’ll help,” Marius says, grabbing my arm and drawing my attention back to him.

Ed smooths back his brown hair and straightens, or rather, tries to, as he lists to the side before Marius takes hold of him. “But first, more drinks. Then, investigation!”

We get another drink, and another, and another, but Emeria is nowhere in sight. When I finally stumble into bed, I can’t help but wonder if she was simply a dream.