Wild Rose and Larkspur (explicit version)

By Avery Ronan

Briar is an artist devoid of purpose, a reject among her fellow aristocrats for both her race and disability.

Thyo is desperate to seperate himself from the group of low-born radicals that have raised him up like a fighting dog.

Fate connects the two like some invisible string, but neither are sure if that's a good thing, yet. When Briar's parents find her in need of a bodyguard, it might be just the catalyst they need to set themselves free.

 

(This is the EXPLICIT version of WR&L, exactly the same as the original except for an added chapter near the end of the book which details a sex scene.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Avery Ronan
• Release date: Jun 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227482549

Book preview

Prologue - Dratat, Vercost

Callea - Autumn, 777

Callea sat at the massive , yew-carved table and felt like a stranger.

He ran fingertips over his own initials, exactly where he’d carved them more than twenty years ago. It once served as a sacred meeting place- now filled with empty chairs, in the haunted bones of a ramshackle house. Familiar, yet strange. Starla was sitting across from him looking run down too- dark bags fixated under both eyes, these days. Maybe it was new motherhood wearing her down, but he had a feeling it was something much more sinister.

So, She began in her usual gruff voice as she pushed a steaming mug of tea towards him. She tossed her red braids over one shoulder with a deep-set scowl, What are you doing here?

Callea couldn't help noting how different she was from the bright-eyed, young elf he met right here, all those years ago. She was jaded now. Hope had left her features. He sipped her bitter tea, exactly the same even if everything else had changed.

Actually, we’re here touring a few orphanages.

She raised a skeptical, blood-red eyebrow, To adopt?

Yes.

Would they even let you do that? She asked. When he just grimaced in reply, she scoffed, Right. I forget that when you're rich, you can do whatever you want.

Starla, come on. I'm trying, here.

She shook her head as if trying to shake off a bad feeling, Right. Sorry.

Silence stretched on between them, and Callea wondered if she could ever truly forgive him. Then, bitterly, he wondered if he even deserved all that scorn to begin with. Still hoping for peace, he forged on, How’s the boy?

You can ask him yourself, if you want, She raised her tone to a shout, Thyo! Come here for a second!

A handful of heartbeats later and the kitchen door opened, a child wandering in on silent footsteps. Seven or eight years old, at the most. Like any elven child, he was strange and ethereal, with serious green eyes that searched Callea with unwarranted suspicion.

Thyo, this is Mr. Fairsea, Starla introduced him, and Callea winced at the formality of it all, He’s mommy’s... Old friend.

Hi, Thyo muttered, half-hiding behind his mother's chair.

Hi there! Callea offered his most kid-friendly smile, Just wanted to get a look at you. You’ve gotten so big! And you look just like your mother, too, red hair and everything.

He's got his fathers temperament, though, Starla noted as she petted the boy's curls down. Callea was wondering if that was a good thing when he caught sight of something glinting in the boy's hair and his smile faded.

Starla, He whispered in dull surprise, Those aren't..?

She followed his gaze to the silver earrings adorning each lobe of the boy's pointed ears. Frowning, she tapped Thyo’s back and told him, That's enough. Go on back to your chores.

Callea barely quelled his reaction until the boy left the room, door clicking shut behind him, You can't be serious, Star.

What!? She snapped. It was angry, but he knew the woman well enough to know it stemmed from a place of shame, You're gonna stand in my kitchen and tell me how to raise my kid?

You want to raise him like this? Callea asked, lowering his tone to near-whisper, Starla, the last time we spoke, you wanted out of this place.

Things change.

I tell you every time, but I can help you leave. Please, I can hide you from-

Stop. Just, stop, She silenced him with an aggressive hand gesture, her expression disgusted, You and I both know there's no leaving this. Not for me.

...Fine. But the boy–

Will serve, She cut him off again, Just as we served. It was never going to be any other way, right? So mind your business.

He examined her carefully, then. Too thin, like she'd been having trouble eating as well as sleeping. Actually, now that he really looked her over, he thought the shadow of a fading black eye might have been making her bags seem worse. He was sympathetic, of course. But you couldn't help someone who didn't want it. So anger rose up his throat, choking out any chance at a rational response.

You made me the boy's godfather, He told her, Don't get upset with me for caring about him.

But you're not his godfather anymore. Or did you forget that? Her eyes were cold, even as a snarl touched her lips, Or, is that why you're here? Can't have a kid of your own so you came to steal mine?

The chair made a loud scuffing sound as he stood, offended and hurt. But he tempered his rising reaction. Be the bigger person. Right. He took a deep breath before telling her, calmly, Starla, I’m your only true friend. I know you think these... People, care about you. But they don't.

He didn't wait for a response. He knew one wasn't coming.

i. Street Fight

Briar - Winter, 788

Briar was sixteen. Or she was about to turn sixteen, anyway.

She was out in her city; Sunderbreech. Breathing it all in. The salty sea air mixed pleasantly with the scent of local copper mines, somewhere upwind. Oh, how she missed it. It was her first outing on her own since her return from boarding school for the winter's break. Sure, her parents had taken her out to celebrate a successful semester, but it took days to shake their overbearing attention, let alone to escape for some alone time. Now that she had it, she was hellbent on enjoying it.

There was a delicatessen that she loved, yet rarely visited, all the way down in the lowest part of the city, the Anchor District. It was too far to walk on her bum leg- but the trolley was up and working after more than a year out of commission. Perfect timing for a perfect day. And the trolley car rose, steadily, to its track two dozen feet in the air, and then Briar watched the streets fade from the bright, well-maintained Orchid District to the grimey neighborhoods of lower Sunderbreech.

Her parents would not approve of their teenage daughter coming down here all alone. It wasn't that they disliked the slums- it's just that she was already a frequent target of specific brands of vitriol. The city guard here was as likely to give her a hard time as they were to sit by and let someone else do it. Her families’ influence, though great, could only reach so far.

Luckily, she had a nice, new hunting knife. The possession of weapons was forbidden on the streets of Sunderbreech, but she had... Unique methods of concealment. She wasn't worried.

Three trolley stops and a two block walk through melting, brown snow put Briar in the deli’s warm embrace. It wasn't terribly early, but every baked good still smelled fresh. She exhaled heavenly bliss as the counter-girl handed over her paper bag. She didn't even reach the door before her mouth was salivating. She tightened her cape and briefly debated waiting until she got home, quickly losing the battle with her stomach. She stepped outside, deciding to look for a place to sit.

Uptown was just lousy with benches, yet the lower city streets seemed allergic to sitting down. As her leg ached, just slightly, she thought it was rather unfair. What about the people here who couldn't walk for very long?

She was searching off the main street when she first heard it- several voices shouting in tandem. Curses. A scuffle? It kicked up her heart-rate, yet instinct drove her towards it. Her mind was alert to the fact no guards would be coming to help them, here. So if there was trouble, she should do something. Right?

She followed the shouting to an alleyway and froze. A man was being jumped by at least five other ones, though it was hard to tell the exact number, or much about them, in the fray. Despite his status as vastly outnumbered, he was fighting like hell- wildly swinging, his fists and elbows colliding with jaws and stomachs. He was holding his own, maybe, but it was clear he wasn't going to be winning this thing any time soon, unless a miracle took place.

Hey! Briar shouted before she thought it through properly, Assholes, stop that! Leave him alone!

Two of the boys slowly dislodged themselves from the fight, turning to glare at her with venom in their eyes. They were human- most of the city was- dressed in shabby clothes and matching neckerchiefs in vibrant yellow. Her heart skipped. Was this a gang thing?

One of them made a rude gesture with his hands before yelling back, Fuck off, pig face.

It was an unoriginal slur.

She noted that they didn’t appear to have any weapons. It probably wasn't that kind of fight. Yet. She knelt down and set her paper bag aside, yanking up the leg of her pants. The shiny, carved bronze of her prosthetic greeted her, and she easily popped open its hidden compartment before removing the massive, six inch hunting knife still in its tooled, leather case. Her dorm-mate had given it to her as a birthday joke, but it was a real knife- and a nice one. She unsheathed it as she stood up and a third boy suddenly broke off, eying the blade with proper apprehension. Well, it was probably half the blade, and half just... Briar, over six feet tall herself already. She hoped it was all adequately intimidating, because she had no idea how to fight with a knife. She was well-educated and peaceful, so she could think of a hundred better uses for the tool first.

Get outta here!  The same boy snapped, posturing himself as unafraid. Something in the tremor of his voice said otherwise. So she pointed the blade right at them.

No. Six on one isn't fair. Let’s even things out.

You wouldn't.

Try me.

The other boys had stopped fighting now, to watch. They were holding down their victim, writhing in their grip like an eel. The yellow neck boys were all human, but their target was undeniably an elf– pointed ears poking out from a mass of crimson curls.

I won't warn you again! Briar snapped after a silent beat, not wanting to lose the upper hand that she had only gained by taking them off guard. One of the boys flinched, and she realized it was working. Emboldened, she took an exaggerated step forward.

Fuck this, One of the gang members holding down the elf jumped to his feet and bolted. A few heartbeats, then two more followed suit, kicking their victim as they abandoned him.

As soon as enough hands were off him, the elf was up, too. He pounced on the nearest boy, who had mistakenly turned his back on him, with the viciousness of a caged animal. Briar gasped in horror as the elf actually bit the boy's exposed arm, tearing off a chunk of flesh in one bloody, animalistic motion. The boy shrieked in pain, grasping at the bleeding wound as he turned to flee his attacker. The rest was a blur- the remaining gang members escaping down the other end of the alleyway while the elven boy screamed and chased after them.

Briar had a hard time parsing his elven words, despite knowing a bit of the language herself. Something about pink-skinned assholes and tearing you limb from limb. His anger was frantic with fear, though, and she could see him trembling even from a distance as he slowed to a stop. Still frozen in place herself, Briar watched his shoulders heave for what felt like an eternity. Then, to her dismay, he turned around. He stomped back towards her with a feral snarl painted on his lips, holding his ribcage like it hurt. For a beat, she wondered if it was a good idea to free him, after all.

He came to a rigid stop just a few feet away so that they could examine each other in silence. He was very tall and lean- features angular, like all elves- but slightly darker skin than she was used to. His hair was the most startling, though- shoulder length curls as red as the blood coating his bared teeth.

Why did you do that? He snapped at her in the common tongue, voice still raised to yell. Briar blinked in confusion as he spat blood into the dirt.

I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you'? She replied, in elven. That threw him off, but only briefly. His anger resolidified.

I don't need help from some rich brat and her toy knife, He glared at Briar with the same visceral hatred he held for those human boys, Go back to your precious Orchid District.

Then he shoved past her and disappeared. She stared down the alleyway for a long moment, adrenaline still pumping in her veins before his reaction even fully hit her. What an ungrateful fucking dickhead.

ii. The Philanthropist

Thyo - Autumn, 791

Thyo was twenty-one , more than ready to be taken seriously now that he was nearing the end of adolescence.

And yet, he’d never felt more like a lost child. That was the magic of a fancy restaurant- and this place was nicer than any he'd ever experienced. He was hyper-aware of every judgemental glance his way, every fragile thing that he could possibly accidentally break. He was in his finest clothes and still, somehow, he was underdressed.

Quit bouncing your leg, Shaega commanded, her voice tinged with annoyance. He did, firmly gripping his knee to hold it still. He just couldn't help it. He just wanted to leave, honestly. Or hide. He would just get drunk, but he didn't have the taste for rich, human liquor. In his silence, Shaega noted, This isn't even that fancy, for the Orchid District.

Which just made him feel worse.

She was swirling her wine glass as they waited, sharp ears decorated in dozens of ornate, gold earrings. Each earring marked an achievement, a battle won, or signified her status within their group, the Larkspurs. Gaudy, maybe, yet it was nothing like the sheer status on display here, among the other patrons. A combination of hundreds of little things that all screamed: I’m wealthy. They wore dainty, thin chains and glittering fine gemstones. Their skin was clear, hair perfectly maintained. Clean hands cradled fine glass like it was second nature, unblemished by any hard work. He stared down at the silverware and wondered exactly why his people were starving in the streets. So every rich asshole could have five forks?

It's disgusting, He told Shaega.

It was true, but if he was being totally honest, the opulence fascinated him, too. He might enjoy it, in a less intense setting than this one, fraught with opportunities to embarrass himself beyond repair. To expose himself as the fraud he was.

That's humanity for you.

She spoke the word like a curse.

Hello there, A man finally approached, pulling out their third chair and sitting down across from them. Speaking of humanity- he was a