King of Pain - Tasha Black Page 0,3
of the pony’s steps lulled her into her usual frame of mind.
A gorgeous field of wild flowers grew just a short ride from her home. Jessica picked a bunch each day to bring back to the cottage with her, since the brass vase in the library was always empty each morning, no matter how many times she filled it with blooms. The scent of the wildflowers was so lovely in that peaceful space. The walls were lined with books of fairy lore and history, Jessica’s favorite subject. It was impossible to be anything but happy there.
Generally, she spent most of her late morning studying, and then began the routine again in the afternoon - a light meal, a ride, and a study session in the library, teasing the pages until they blushed pink in the dying light.
Aerin cheerfully carried her on as she thought about the peacefulness of it all.
They arrived at the wild flower meadow just as the morning sunlight went warm and yellow.
Jessica dismounted and walked through the stems, admiring the brilliant blossoms. She selected a flower here and there as she walked, enjoying her stroll and feeling no need to hurry.
Aerin busied herself grazing on the lush grass and sweet clover.
A clump of buttercups, banana-yellow and perfect, caught Jessica’s eye. She bent to pick them, but felt a sharp, sweet pain on her hand.
She gasped and pulled her hand back.
“A bee sting,” she realized out loud, gazing down at the small red dot between her thumb and forefinger.
That had certainly never happened before.
She put her hand to her mouth and looked around. Things looked the same as always.
Except for the sky.
Dark storm clouds had gathered over the hills that bordered the meadow, and they were moving in her direction. A grey shadow darkened the land beneath them as they traveled.
“Aerin,” she called out.
But the little mare was spooked. She cantered away, leaving Jessica alone to face the storm.
4
Jessica
Jessica watched her pony flee.
She could see her cottage, but there was no way she would reach it on foot before the storm was upon her.
As the clouds rolled in, she noticed something else headed her way - a figure on horseback, his dark hair whipping behind him with the speed of his approach. He seemed to be outpacing the storm itself.
Her heart stretched taut at the sight, as if it were reaching across the meadow for him.
She knew she should seek cover form the storm, but she found herself spellbound as the earth shivered with each hoofbeat of his massive steed. She could only stand there, stone-still, waiting for him as if she had grown roots.
The familiar stranger drew closer and closer, his snow-white horse thundering relentlessly toward her.
“Jessica,” he called out as he reached her, his voice rough and raw.
How does he know my name?
The horse stopped barely a stride away from her, and the man gazed feverishly down at her for a moment before leaping off and landing right in front of her.
She lifted her chin to meet his gaze.
He was huge, wildly masculine, yet something about his tragic expression told her she had nothing to fear from him.
“Jessica,” he said again, reaching for her hand.
When he touched her skin, a surge of emotion overcame her, like something bubbling up from somewhere deep inside.
She closed her eyes and a long-forgotten memory surfaced.
She sits on a picnic blanket, her beloved journal in her hands, taking notes and trying not to be distracted by the giddy proximity of the god-like man who reclines beside her under the willow tree.
She is in love with him already.
But he is a wealthy man from the city, only visiting her small town for a short time.
Talking with her amuses him, but he will not return her love.
She knows this, and she doesn’t mind. Loving him is enough for her, even if she has to keep it a secret.
“What are you writing about?”
His deep voice is slow and lazy, teasing her senses.
“Just notes for my book,” she replies, feeling happiness rise in her like soda bubbles.
“Jessica,” he says her name like a prayer as he sits up.
Now his size is more apparent. He dwarfs her, though she is not a small woman.
“Give me your hand,” he murmurs in that deep, rough voice.
She acquiesces without a thought, lifting her hand and placing it against his, palm to palm.
“One day you will be my queen,” he tells her.
It is a strange choice of words, but something inside her unlocks and she is overcome with wonder.
Before her