At least two. A rare smile flashed across his lips, then was gone just as quickly.
“Yes, at least two,” he acquiesced.
Amaryllis took the flower, which
Faolan relinquished. When she raised it to tuck it in his hair, he braced his hands on the balustrade and leaned forward, making it easier for her to place as it suited her. His downcast eyes fixed on the slippers peeking out beneath the hem of her gown, noting that she might have difficulty running in an emergency.
Faolan snapped out of his contemplation of security when her fingers brushed against his temple and lingered on their way down his cheekbone. Work completely forgotten, his gold gaze flicked up to hers.
He was difficult to surprise; Faolan was alert and aware of his surroundings at all times. In a constant state of observation, there was little he didn't anticipate. Amaryllis, however, tended to surprise him regardless of how adamantly he was on the lookout.
Her touch was cool on his bronze skin, or perhaps it burned as hot as a brand — Faolan could hardly distinguish. The fingers of his right hand twitched on the balustrade, the beginning of a movement, then Amaryllis withdrew and the spell binding him ended.
“You may leave if you are tired.”
The moment was tender, a vulnerability that thrilled every cell in his body. He was practiced in denying this childish yearning. Faolan cared for her too much to compromise their friendship with the silly crush he'd harbored since their youth and was too committed to her protection to risk losing his placement and putting her in another's hands.
Faolan straightened, restoring a safe, and appropriate, distance between them. His hands gripped through balustrade with effort.
“I am not tired. And I am not here out of duty. I came because I wanted to.” he replied, his voice breathy, echoing her sincerity. Yes, it was his job to watch over her, but it was hardly a duty. It was his life's work, his devotion. His chest tightened and the thread of gold around his pinky tingled.
Too close. They were
too close.
Pushing away from the rail, he turned to break away from her gaze. Faolan drew a thin, long, and quiet breath to still his racing heart as he leaned down to pluck another peony from the garland. When he faced her once again, he held out a flower that could have been the twin to the one tucked ever his ear. They were perfectly uniform, a resplendent thing meant to disappear into the background — a waste of their fleeting beauty. He cleared his throat and twirled the new peony.
“There are more than 800 varieties of peony — some herbaceous, some trees, some hybrids,” he continued, as if he hadn’t looked at her with his soul bared. He lacked the finesse to find a smoother transition back to the previous subject and away from tender moments with grace.
“However, there are only 33 naturally occurring species. They have been cultivated for millennia to create a diversity of color, shape, and fragrance.”
The flower between his fingers stilled and Faolan let his magick flow into it. The peony was rejuvenated, brought back to its moment of perfection by the power of his
bloom. Its velvety petals sparkled, the flesh brand new again. The dark curling sepals unkinked themselves and brightened to a lush emerald green, and its stamens were once more dusted with pollen.
The flower was at its fullest potential and it was magnificent. It deserved to be noticed, honored.
Faolan raised the peony and set it behind Amaryllis’ ear. The sparkles of light that reflected from the jewels in her tiara danced along its edges, as playful as will-o'-wisp. He caught a lock of her curls and gently tucked it behind her ear. A gentle smile tugged at the edges of his mouth.
“There,” he said quietly.
“Now we match.”