And always, he made every task enjoyable, and I loved how full of life he was. He taught me more about woodcutting, showed me how to throw an axe, and even performed more of his daring blindfolded chops. Sometimes we sat in the grass and just talked, and at other times we hiked. Once he even hung a rope in a tall oak, formed a swing, and pushed me on it for a short while before he attempted to repeat childhood tricks he’d once been able to do while swinging—flipping and twirling and other perilous feats.
For the most part, I’d been content with my simple life in Inglewood Forest. But hearing him speak of the outside world made me realize how much I still had to do and see and learn. His tales of his adventures sparked a longing inside me to experience more of the world the way he had.
On the day before Chester was due to return home, I tried not to dwell on the fact that this would be my last time with Kresten. I didn’t want to spoil the day with gloomy thoughts, so I simply savored the hours we had together. As we finished the morn by picking crab apples, I went slower than usual, not ready for the time to come to an end.
“Watch this.” He plucked a particularly high cluster. He waited for me to focus on him, and then he twisted his arm behind his back and tossed an apple toward the basket. It landed squarely on top of the others.
“’Tis only a matter of good fortune,” I teased. “Not skill.”
“I beg to differ.” With bright eyes and a wide grin, he performed his trick again. Strands of his light-brown hair had come loose, and he raked them back, as charming and handsome as he’d been every other morn.
“’Twould seem you are a woodcutter of many talents. After all, not many men can claim to weave flower crowns and pick crab apples the way you do.”
He chuckled. “I should say not.”
I loved how easily we could banter. I’d never done so with Chester. He’d always been so serious and purposeful about everything he did. By contrast, Kresten’s playful nature was unexpected and refreshing.
And I would sorely miss it . . . miss him . . . even though I’d known him less than a week.
Quietly, I plucked a final cluster and placed the fruit in my basket. ’Twas past time for me to return to the cottage. That meant it was also time to say farewell to Kresten.
All last night I’d tossed and turned in my bed, trying to figure out a way to continue seeing him without Chester or my aunts knowing about it. But I always arrived at the same conclusion—I couldn’t sneak off and deceive them any longer.
I also couldn’t tell them about Kresten. Not even if I tried to reassure them he was nothing more than a friend. Because that wouldn’t be the truth either. Although I’d never interacted with a man the way I had with Kresten, I knew well enough that my attraction toward him wasn’t mere friendship.
As I’d arisen in the morn, I’d decided there was only one thing I could do—put an end to our relationship. We needed to go our separate ways and not see each other again, and I couldn’t allow him to persuade me otherwise.
“Is everything alright?” Kresten dropped a last handful of crab apples into the basket.
I could no longer hide my melancholy. “I must be on my way.”
He nodded, his expression growing somber as though he, too, dreaded the end of our time together. “I’ll walk you to the clearing.”
We ambled through the woods, talking of small things. And when we reached the clearing a short while later, I forced myself to keep going.
Kresten
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked, holding myself back from chasing her.
I’d sensed her growing more comfortable in my presence with each passing day. She’d talked more about her aunts who’d raised her, giving me vivid descriptions of both of them, their quirks and personalities and interests. My stomach gurgled every time she described the food Aunt Elspeth made. And I liked the no-nonsense attitude of Aunt Idony, who had an herbal remedy for every ailment under the sun. Clearly, Rory doted on the two women and loved them dearly.
She’d also talked of her friend Chester, who had been a companion while growing up and had taken over the charcoal kilns after his father died. She’d explained that Chester’s father had made great efforts over the years to capture weasels and then release them into the forestland surrounding the ravine. He’d strategically situated them along a wide perimeter, nurturing, feeding, and protecting the population so they’d increase in number. And Chester now oversaw that task in addition to wood burning.
As a result, the area was free of basilisks, for apparently the weasel was the only animal that could slay the deadly creatures. With the weasels living in the woods and forming a protective barrier, Rory and her aunts had never worried about the serpents. And as we’d traipsed about picking fruit or resting in the glade, she’d assured me we had naught to worry about either.
I found myself sharing more with her as well. Though I refrained from revealing my royalty, I talked of my past adventures—the cliff-diving into deep gorges, scaling steep mountains, and hunting for dangerous wild animals. She listened with rapt attention as though living out the escapades in my retelling.
Always in the back of my mind, Jorg’s warning nagged me: “A girl like her doesn’t deserve for you to toy with her.” The warning was valid. I’d had a history of breaking the hearts of many a young woman, and I wasn’t proud of it.
However, with Rory I was determined to be different, because I realized even more just how different she was from anyone else. She was humble and yet confident, shy and yet bold, lighthearted and yet serious, amiable and yet reserved. The dichotomy of her character resembled the rings of a tree, each one built upon the previous, lending her a depth that never failed to fascinate me.
“I shall not be back to see you anymore.” She halted at the edge of the clearing.
In the middle of eating another of the small crab apples, I paused. “No. We must meet again—”
“Chester will return from the market today.” She hefted her full basket higher on her arm, refusing to meet my gaze. “Once he returns, he will not allow me to wander off by myself.”
“Bring him along.”
“You do not know Chester. He would never approve of my meeting you here, even if he came to chaperone.”
“Once he meets me, surely he’ll see I’m a decent fellow.”
“He is very strict about where I go.”
“Perhaps I can come to your home instead—”
“No!” Her beautiful eyes widened with panic. “No, you cannot.”
“Then somewhere else? He can choose.”
“Please try to understand.” Her voice softened. “As much as I have enjoyed these past mornings together, I must not see you again.”
The bite of apple in my mouth turned bitter, and I tossed the remainder to the ground. She was putting an end to our being together.
“Why?” The question fell out before I could stop it.
The September morning was fair, and her cheeks were flushed from the cool air, making her eyes all the brighter and her beauty all the more radiant. With each passing day, I thought I would grow accustomed to how stunning she was and become less enamored with her. But I was only more besotted. All I could do was watch her, my longing for her likely starkly displayed upon my countenance.