Fallow: The Green Princess, #2

By H. L. Burke

Joined by magic. Separated by kings. United in love.

Two years ago, Kit's blossoming plant magic put a target on her back and forced her to flee for her life, leaving her beloved Prince Bryce behind. Now established as the leader of the rebel flora magi, she clings to hope that they can be reunited. However, the arrival of the charming and persistent Regyn, heir to the supposedly extinct quickened magi, challenges her fidelity.

The events surrounding Kit's flight broke Bryce's heart and damaged his faith in his family. Now he buries himself in his work as a Keeper, hunting bandits in the wilds. He longs to find Kit again, though his uncle's magic prevents him from seeking her. Then his manipulative cousin, Crown Prince Langstyn, offers him a chance at a truce, but only if Bryce agrees to a political marriage. Angering Langstyn could cost Bryce everything, but how can he betray the vows he made to Kit?

As powers within the kingdom fight for dominance, Kit and Bryce are caught in the currents of schemes not of their making. Schemes that could bring them together, or tear them apart forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. L. Burke
• Release date: Jul 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9798224476640

Book preview

Dedicated to Janeen:

For enduring my snowflakiness.

Chapter One

Bryce strode down the marble halls of the grand palace in Crown City. His footsteps echoed off the vaulted ceilings. At the end of the corridor, a guard in a crisp, scarlet uniform scornfully eyed Bryce’s weathered gray cloak and silver-flame insignia marking Bryce as a simple captain in his majesty’s Keeper brigade. He stepped in front of the doorway.

None but the royal family may pass this point without a summons. He tilted his spear in the general direction of Bryce’s chest.

From his fresh face, the guard had to be at least a few years younger than Bryce, who had just passed twenty. New to the palace.

Bryce swallowed a smirk and reached into his breast pocket. He pulled out a parchment marked with the royal seal.

Fortunately, I am both a member of the royal family and a possessor of such a summons. Bryce handed the letter to the guard. Bryce Bryantson, nephew to King Eamon and captain in the king’s Keeper force. I received this notice that my uncle wished an audience with me and have rode all the way from my camp in the Southly Mountains in response. Can you tell him I’m here?

The guard’s face fell. He snatched the letter from Bryce and scanned the contents. He cleared his throat. Forgive me, your majesty, but there must’ve been some mistake.

No worries. I’ve been away from the palace for almost a year and a half. I don’t expect every guard to know my face, but really, I have traveled a long way. Bryce nodded towards the door. I would like to see my uncle and find out what this is all about.

That’s just the problem, your highness. I can’t let you see him. I mean, I wish I could, sire. This letter is in good order, and I recognize you as a member of the royal family. I’m sorry that I didn’t at first, my prince, but I’m new to the palace, as you might’ve guessed—

Tired of the honorifics, Bryce held up his hand to silence the guard. No offense taken, but a point would be appreciated. Why can’t I see my uncle?

Because he’s not here. He left last week to see to a matter of some importance in the western sea ports and isn’t expected back for at least three more days.

Bryce frowned at the young man. He didn’t seem to be lying, more sincerely apologetic than cagey, but it wasn’t like Uncle Eamon to request Bryce’s presence but not be there to greet him. Thankfully, Bryce had his own way of verifying the truth.

Placing his left hand over his right wrist, he shut his eyes and reached out mentally, searching for his uncle’s presence. The tracking spell that connected him to the King was meant to allow Eamon to keep tabs on Bryce, but to a lesser extent it worked the other way around—though while Eamon’s ability to sense Bryce could work across many miles, Bryce’s was limited to at best one. Still, that would be enough to see if Eamon was in the palace.

Nothing. The area around the castle registered in his brain as an empty room with no sign of Eamon.

Bryce swallowed and opened his eyes. This doesn’t make sense. The date on the letter clearly states he sent for me less than four days ago. I left as soon as I got the notice. Why would he send for me if he knew he wouldn’t even be here?

He wouldn’t.

Bryce winced at the voice before slowly turning to face his cousin, the Crown Prince Langstyn.

To a casual observer, Bryce and Langstyn had a lot in common. They were similar in age, height, and build, though Bryce was a few months older, a half inch or so taller, and had muscles hardened by years of practice with blade and bow. His cousin preferred the arts of diplomacy and dancing. They both had gray eyes and reddish brown hair, Bryce’s curly and short while Langstyn wore his in chin length waves. In nature, though, the two had few points of commonality.

Langstyn now strode out of the side hall where he’d been lurking, head tilted slightly to one side as he examined his cousin. It’s been a while.

Some might say not long enough. Bryce scowled.

Some might. Langstyn narrowed his eyes. What foul fungus has taken root on your chin, cousin?

In spite of himself, Bryce self-consciously rubbed at his beard. Not a lot of time for shaving between chasing down bandits in the wilds. I suppose I could’ve fancied myself up for this visit, but the letter led me to believe it was a matter of some urgency.

Oh, it is. Langstyn strode past the guard and pushed open the door. He beckoned Bryce forward.

Bryce considered ignoring him, but while the rift between himself and his cousin was obvious to anyone who could read body language or had an ear to court gossip, it probably was ill-advised to publicly demonstrate it. Bryce had some pride left. So instead, he gritted his teeth and followed Langstyn through the door into another hallway with many doors branching off it.

Langstyn selected the second door to the right and opened it, revealing a sitting area with an unlit fireplace, two armchairs, and a small table with a waiting carafe of golden liquor and two crystal tumblers. The prince approached the hearth and held out his hand. Fire crackled to life in his palm then shot forward, splashing over the logs. They caught flame, and in a heartbeat, a lively fire sent light dancing through the room.

Langstyn never missed an opportunity to show off his magic, especially to Bryce. While both Langstyn and Bryce had fire magus blood, the king had denied Bryce a seed, the magical object which, when inserted beneath the skin of a fire magus’s wrist powered his abilities and allowed him to control them. This was in part because of Bryce’s father, who Bryce’s grandfather had executed for treason when Bryce was only a toddler, and partially because of Bryce’s own history of resisting the royal will. Langstyn loved to rub Bryce’s lack of magic in his face—which was a major reason why they’d never gotten along.

I’m assuming it wasn’t Uncle Eamon who sent that letter after all. Bryce crossed his arms. How long did you keep all this waiting for me?

Langstyn sniffed. Oh, don’t act so surprised, Bryce. He settled into one of the armchairs and sat with his left ankle resting on his opposite knee. You’re nothing if not predictable. I knew if I sent that letter, you’d hurry to my father’s side which meant you’d arrive within a certain window. All it took was asking the guards at the palace gate to inform me of your arrival in order for me to have this stage set, so to speak.

I suppose. Bryce sank into the opposite chair. As little as he wanted to interact with Langstyn, he had to admit, he was curious where this was going. So, you’re impersonating Uncle Eamon now?

Would you have come if you’d known it was me? Langstyn sniffed.

No, Bryce said.

That’s what I thought. Langstyn leaned forward and poured himself a glass of liquor. You want some?

No, thanks, Bryce answered.

Oh, come now, cousin. I know you’re supposedly the ‘virtuous’ one, but you aren’t against a little drinking, are you?

No, I drink, but only with friends. Seriously, Langstyn, with everything that happened between us two years ago, do you really expect me to sit here and listen to you prate on for long? Get to the point.

Langstyn sighed. Yes, well, I need your help with something.

Bryce laughed.

Langstyn’s scowl deepened. Is that funny to you?

Oh, yes, very. Bryce shook his head. "After what you put me through? After what you put Kit through, do you really think I have any interest in helping you with anything?"

The prince rolled his eyes. You haven’t forgotten that flora magus harpy yet? She must’ve been quite the bedmate.

Rage heated Bryce’s chest, and he burst to his feet, pushing the chair back in his haste. He was halfway to the door when Langstyn caught his arm.

Come on, cousin! Hear me out. I’m not coming empty-handed.

Bryce shook his cousin’s hand off and rounded on him. I can’t imagine a thing in this world that would convince me to cooperate with you.

You forget I’m your future king. Langstyn’s eyes glinted. Yes, you may hate me, but when my father dies, when the throne is mine, do you really want to be my enemy? You like being a Keeper? One word from me and that ends.

Bryce swallowed. His decision to join the Keeper forces had given him purpose after his separation from his beloved Kitrin. At first it was a matter of distraction, something to focus on to drown out the heartache, but in the last year or so, he’d become quite good at soldiering. He’d climbed in the ranks, learned how to lead men, gained the respect of those above and below him, and for once in his life, he felt his actions made a difference. It might not be flashy work or greatly lauded, but tracking down the bandits and highwaymen who plagued honest citizens was all he had.

The unfortunate truth of the matter, however, was that life as a Keeper made Langstyn his future employer.

He sighed and shut his eyes. What do you want, Langstyn?

With a smug smile, Langstyn returned to his chair and took up his glass again. I’ve arranged a marriage for you.

Bryce coughed. You what?

You should thank me. It’s a good match. Langstyn’s words picked up speed as if trying to get enough momentum to jump over the hurdle of Bryce’s objection. She’s a little older than us, but only by a few years, twenty-four, and not bad looking for an old maid. Influential family; in fact, she’s better connected than you are by far. This is a step up for you.

What in the Creator’s name are you thinking? I’m already— Bryce bit his tongue before married slipped out. While he’d meant every word he’d vowed to Kit, their ill-fated union hadn’t been backed by any law of man. Still, he’d lived by that vow, not so much as looking at another woman since she’d fled for her life, regretfully but unavoidably leaving him behind. I am not looking for a wife, well-connected or not. He narrowed his eyes. Besides, what’s in this for you?

Langstyn concentrated on the liquid swirling in his glass. I ... I’m in love, Bryce.

Bryce snorted. With something other than your mirror? I find that hard to believe.

Oh, shut up. Langstyn’s cheeks reddened. I’m not the monster you make me out to be. Nevina is everything I want, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She’s perfect ... but she’s also the younger sister of Lady Vestra.

Bryce frowned. The Vitality Key?

One of the three branches of magic King Eamon allowed to practice, vitality magi could heal sickness and wounds with a touch. The Key, the head of the magical family, was the most powerful user of any given magical house. Eamon himself was the Key of the fire magi. Young Vestra led the vitality magi—or relayed Eamon’s orders to them. It was hard to say anyone other than King Eamon ruled anything in Embryn.

Yes, and she doesn’t want her little sister to marry before she does, something about ensuring the line of heredity.

Bryce nodded slowly. The Key was an inherited position. When a Key died their Key seed would magically transport itself into the arm of their closest blood relative, usually a child, but if none had been sired, a sibling could receive the gift. Wants to be sure the line continues through her own blood, not her sister’s?

Yes, which is fine.When Father dies, I’ll have my own key-seed as well as the crown. I don’t need Vestra’s seed to pass to my wife or my child, but blast it if that stubborn witch isn’t holding Nevina hostage until she’s lost her own virginity ... which trust me, if she has to get a man based purely on her own charm, is never going to happen. I’m not lying that she’s pretty enough, for an older woman, but she’s so domineering.

Yeah, well, she’s the leader of an entire magical house, Bryce pointed out. She’s not going to survive that position with an attitude of compliance. Still, you’re the son of a king. Just have your father pull some strings, and I’m sure Vestra will relent.

Langstyn threw back the last of his drink in a great gulp.

Realization crept over Bryce. Uncle Eamon refused to help you, didn’t he?

The prince’s eyes darkened. Father said that denying her sister a suitor was Vestra’s prerogative as the head of their family, and he wouldn’t interfere in it. Also made some flippant remark that I should marry the older, smarter sister rather than the younger, prettier one.

Are you sure it was flippant? Bryce arched an eyebrow.

With Father? Hard to tell. He’s got his own oddities. Langstyn rubbed his forehead. Look, Bryce, I’m coming to you not as your future king but as your cousin. Also, I know you aren’t going to marry for love. I ... may have done some checking up on you, and according to my intelligence, you’ve been avoiding the female sex since— Langstyn hesitated.

Since you forced Uncle Eamon to make Kit choose between marrying you or facing the gallows? Bryce growled. He and Kit had been moments from negotiating their happiness when Langstyn had stepped in and ruined everything.

That was spiteful, I know, but seriously, you’d known the girl for only a few weeks, and you haven’t seen her in nearly two years. Aren’t you over it yet?

Doubt clouded Bryce’s thoughts. It had been harder lately to remember Kit’s face, her voice, the smell of her skin, or the waves of pleasure contact with her had sent through his being. He knew in his heart that those things were precious, but when he tried to grasp them they slipped like sand through his fingers. Of course Langstyn was the main reason he only had Kit as memories rather than a flesh and blood person he held in his arms every night, so that wasn’t exactly a point in his cousin’s favor.

I’m not really interested in a political marriage. Or any marriage at this point. Bryce frowned.

When I said I wasn’t coming to you empty-handed, I meant it. Langstyn poured another glass. You could use the political capital. Everyone knows you were colluding with the flora magi and should’ve hanged for it. The only reason Father trusts you not to betray us again is that tracking spell he placed on you.

Instinctively, Bryce’s hand flew to his wrist. Though invisible, the spot where his uncle had inserted a blood spell still itched sometimes. It stood as a stark reminder that his family didn’t trust him—and that he couldn’t trust his family. Truthfully, if not for the knowledge that his presence would lead his uncle to Kit’s hiding place and doom her, he would’ve sought her out, no matter how long it took or what he had to leave behind.

Do you think you have a place in this kingdom without my father’s protection? Langstyn continued. And thinking ahead, to when he is gone, without mine?

Bryce’s throat closed in on itself. Langstyn was an ass, but he spoke the truth. Politically, Bryce was a pariah. He had to fight for the scraps tossed aside by others, when a place at the table should’ve been his right as a prince.

Langstyn extended his arm, revealing the red flame-shaped mark upon his left wrist, the seed mark declaring him a wielder of fire magic. Play this right, and you finally might get your seed out of it and be a full-fledged fire magus. 

I don’t really want that any more. Which wasn’t a lie. What had happened with Kit had soured Bryce’s enthusiasm for such things. However, Langstyn’s favor could be the difference between continuing his career as a Keeper and ending up in the dungeons, or worse, the gallows, when his uncle passed. He couldn’t keep pretending that day would never come. Why me?

Because you’re the perfect storm of royalty and obscurity. Langstyn stood. Connected by blood so that the marriage seems like a step up for Vestra, but in truth low enough in status that you need something from me. Besides, it’s not like you’ll need to be with her much. You can keep your position, stop in on leave, father a baby with her so she needn’t fear her inheritance slipping to her sister, then go off and ignore her while you chase down bandits and play with swords.

Yeah, because what I do is just play, not an essential service that provides safety and justice to the kingdom and its inhabitants, Bryce scoffed.

Whatever you do, it’s at my mercy, maybe not today or tomorrow or even five years from now, but eventually. You won’t get far without my favor, Bryce. Remember that.

Bryce shifted from foot to foot. Do you need my answer right away?

Langstyn sighed. I suppose I can give you some time. Nevina wants a spring wedding, and it’s nearly midsummer.

I’ll let you know, but in the meantime, I need to get back to the Southly Mountains. We’ve been chasing a group of bandits targeting the local wardens and tax collectors. They’re specifically going after royal interests, so we’re under a lot of pressure from the chain of command to get rid of them. I didn’t even want to leave the hunt to come here, but ... well, I thought I was following a royal order.

You were. Langstyn smirked. I am royalty after all.

Sure. Bryce grimaced. Good-bye, Langstyn.

Bryce strode from the room. He couldn’t do it, of course. Even after two years, he still held his vows to Kit as sacred. However, if he were going to refuse, he needed to find a way around Langstyn’s wrath. He already lived with a sword over his head as far as his cousin was concerned. If he wanted to keep any semblance of a career, he had to placate the future king.

Damnit, I hate politics.

Chapter Two

Kit stood in the midst of the forest clearing, her hands outstretched and her face turned towards the midsummer sun. The heat washed over her like waves of warm water. It soothed her, as did the energy rising off the plants growing about her. Smiling, she flexed her toes against the soft grass before continuing her walk.

Even on the coldest days or in areas she knew to be nettle infested, she chose to make her rounds without shoes. She needed to feel the earth beneath her feet, to connect with the life within the soil. Once every dozen or so steps, she stopped and focused her flora magus powers on the space around her. Her awareness would expand through the network of plants, traveling through the earth in an ever-expanding web. With a little focus and expended energy, she could generally get a sense of the area around the camp for at least a quarter mile. Any sign of camps or troop movements, and she’d send out her followers to investigate.

So far in the two years since they’d settled in this remote section of the Briskwood, they’d only had a few false alarms, mostly hunters from the village straying closer in search of game.

At first, her followers had observed them to be certain they didn’t detect the flora magi’s encampment but taken no action. After a bit, however, they’d realized the villages in this area were poor, isolated, neglected by the Embryn government. Other than the occasional tax collector or a check-in from a wandering Keeper division, the people here had no contact with or support from the crown. Bandits and highwaymen preyed upon merchants and sometimes raided villages. Not allowed vitality magi, the villagers suffered from sickness and injury without respite. Poor harvests and wild beasts made survival a struggle.

And so, after a few months of hiding, Kit had sent out ambassadors to the villages, offering them protection and aid with their crops in return for allowing the flora magus refugees to live unquestioned in the nearby woods.

The arrangement had been mutually beneficial. The flora magi bolstered the villagers’ crops with their magic and drove off criminals and predatory animals. In return, the villagers protected their secret from the outside world and sometimes traded with them.

Still, with the fire magus king, Eamon, having outlawed flora magic, they had to stay ever watchful. Now detection meant not only death for the flora magi, but for the villagers who had succored them.

A trilling noise drew her eyes to a nearby tree. Her friend, the small green plant dragon, Sprout, hopped from branch to branch. He stopped and poked his nose into an empty bird’s nest.

There are no eggs this time of year, you silly creature! Kit called up to him. The nestlings have flown.

The dragon cooed but ignored her and continued in arboreal explorations. She tsked.

Kitrin! Where are you?

Kit groaned. Over here, Sylvis!

A middle-aged woman in a worn green tunic and leggings hurried towards her. She kept her right hand habitually on the hilt of her dagger, always ready for a fight, especially if it meant protecting Kit. Her left arm, however, remained tucked under her cloak, hiding the stump where her wrist had been severed during the great war. A magus’s power could only travel from their heart to their dominant hand. If that hand, and therefore the stream of heart magic, was severed, the magic would leave them. Many flora magi had paid that price at the hands of fire magi soldiers. The loss of her magic, however, hadn’t stopped Sylvis from being a formidable ally and teacher for Kit.

What are you doing out here? There’s snakes about. Sylvis motioned towards Kit’s exposed feet.

Kit shrugged. Sprout wouldn’t let a viper near me. Besides, the plants give me energy. If I get injured, I pull from them and it evens out.

You shouldn’t be out here alone. Sylvis’s gaze darted through the trees as if they were all potential traitors rather than their natural allies. It’s too dangerous, and any other magus could do this.

My range is twice that of the other magi. Kit’s thumb traced the green mark on her wrist in the shape of three leaves. An average flora magi only had one leaf as their seed mark. Kit, however, was the Flora Key, the source of all flora magic and its most powerful user—a fact she was still getting used to after having her adoptive parents hide her true heritage from her for the first sixteen years of her life. Now past eighteen, she still didn’t feel comfortable with her power and status—especially since it had meant fleeing from the only home she’d ever known and the boy she loved to escape the Fire King’s wrath.

Your range may be twice theirs, but your value compared to theirs is infinitely greater. Sylvis grabbed her by the arm. You can’t keep taking risks. You’re too important to the cause.

Kit wrenched away. As someone prated at me just the other day and should very well remember, a leader who puts herself before her followers is no leader at all. She stomped a few feet away, a mix of anger and pleasure brewing within her. Pleasure and pride for so skillfully throwing Sylvis’s own words back in her face. Anger because she hated being a position where striking out was the only way to maintain her independence.

For once can I manage a life without everyone telling me how to live it?

Sylvis gave a sigh. That is true, but selfishly, your value to me, personally, is also far greater.

Kit faltered. Yes, Sylvis could lecture and often drove Kit hard, but she had also been a caring and protective guardian, the only one Kit truly trusted to see her as a person, and not just the Flora Key, since her parents’ death—and the loss of Bryce.

Sylvis placed her hand on Kit’s arm. Please, Kit, stop trying to prove yourself with these risks. It would shatter me if harm came to you. Kit turned and found the woman staring at her with plaintive eyes.

It’s just a walk in the woods, Momma— Kit swallowed her words as the title slipped out unbidden. Perhaps it was the familiarity of the argument she’d often had with her late mother. Perhaps Sylvis’s motherly touch and tone. Whatever had triggered the words, a blush spread across Sylvis’s weathered cheeks in response. Kit’s face warmed. I didn’t mean to ... to call you that. I’m sorry.

I don’t mind, Sylvis’s voice cracked. She angled her head away, cleared her throat, and whistled. Sprout spiraled down from the nearest tree and alighted on her shoulder. Still, I didn’t just come out here to lecture you. Elma and Ovarin were looking for you when I left the stronghold. I think they have some complaint or other to lodge.

Kit winced. Whatever it was, she’d certainly heard it before. Elma wanted to know why she hadn’t taken a husband yet and would lecture her about the danger of a Key not having an heir to take their place should the unthinkable occur. Ovarin would be arguing for more aggressive measures to prepare for an eventual war on the Fire King ... which of course went in direct opposition to her other advisor, Mallic, who thought they were taking too great a risk as it was, staying so close to Embryn’s borders rather than fleeing over the mountains to safer lands. The first lesson of leadership: whatever one did, someone would be angry about it.

Sylvis smiled sympathetically. You need to at least hear them out. It’s too small a camp to avoid them altogether.

I could try growing a tall hedge between my tree and theirs. I’m good at that. Kit sniffed.

Sylvis laughed. Yes, you are good at that, but I think if a towering bulwark of shrubbery sprang up overnight between you and your council, someone would catch on to how and why. You need to—

Present a united front for the other magi. I know, I know. Kit shook her head and trudged in the direction of the camp. I’ve only half finished my rounds. I’ll have to find someone else who can manage it if I’m to be tied up politicking all afternoon.

In the sixteen year gap between the death of Kit’s biological mother, the last Flora Key, and Kit discovering her heritage and joining the exiled flora magi, factions had formed among the survivors. Forced to live in hiding for fear of the Fire King, flora magi had either done their best to blend in among normal folk, some even removing their seeds and surrendering their magic to avoid detection, or gathered around clever, capable magi who promised to keep them alive. When Kit had returned, multiple flora magi bands had converged upon her location. While they brought her numbers, and therefore safety, each had their own leader with their own agenda. Balancing the strong personalities—personalities housed within persons old enough to be her parents if not grandparents—drained Kit to the breaking point.

Still, some of their demands simply couldn’t be met. They didn’t have the numbers to challenge the Fire King, and as for marriage and heirs—

Her fingers strayed to the red-gemmed ring upon her left hand. No, she couldn’t consider