His eyes flare with something dark and he steps forward, brushing his knuckles lightly along the curve of my jaw. It’s gentle, but it makes my skin crawl. “Then you’d better clean yourself up,” he murmurs, thumb ghosting beneath my lower lip. “Wouldn’t want the kingdom thinking you’ve been crying over me.”
I laugh, too brightly, too breathily. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He leans in, breath warm. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t need to. You’re already doing it for me.”
Then he turns and disappears into the main room, leaving only the specter of his grin and the wreckage of my nerves in his wake.
A shudder slips down my spine. I need a bath.
My fingers tighten around the coat until the velvet crushes in my grip. I exhale slowly, trying to purge the feeling of him from my skin, from my lungs.
He thinks he won, but he has no idea what’s coming.
Twenty-Eight
I slip into the hidden chamber beneath the pantry whenno one’s looking. My footsteps are silent as I descend the stairs, candlelight flickering across the damp walls.
Alderic is already there, leaning over the table, sleeves rolled, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair mussed from running his hands through it one too many times. A map is spread before him, corners pinned with mismatched cutlery and a chipped porcelain vase of drinking chocolate, still steaming. Beside it is a plate of ripe strawberries, thick cream, torn hunks of bread, aged cheese, and golden honey.
He doesn’t look up right away. Which means I get a full, unguarded moment to look at him.
My stomach dips, low and aching, like I’ve stepped off the edge of something I can’t quite see the bottom of. My skin prickles. My mouth dries. He looks…edible. Like every dark, aching thing I’ve ever wanted. And suddenly, all I can think about is how I need to feel that mouth on my throat, his hands gripping my hips, theweight of his body pressing me down as he—
“Are you mentally undressing me?” Alderic glances up, and that slow, self-satisfied grin spreads across his face like he already knows exactly what I was thinking. Which, unfortunately, he probably does.
My whole body jerks, and my face flames. “I—no,” I sputter, flinging the coat out between us like a shield. “I brought your clothes.”
His gaze drops lazily to the coat, then back to my flushed cheeks, and I know he’s cataloging every detail of my mortification. “You only brought a coat?”
I clear my throat and straighten like I’m presenting a quarterly report instead of resisting the urge to climb him like a tree. “And a shirt,” I say, flipping the velvet over my arm to reveal the rumpled linen button-down. “And pants.”
His lips twitch. “Just pants? No underthings? How bold of you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Do you want your clothes or not?”
He tilts his head, gaze sweeping down to the bundle of fabric, then slowly dragging back up to me with deliberate hunger. “I’d rather there was no fabric between us,” he murmurs, “but I suppose this will do.”
He takes the bundle, brushing his fingers against mine in the exchange. It’s nothing, barely a whisper of contact, but it slides through me like silk pulled slow across bare skin.
We hover there—coat limp in his hands, a current of heat thrumming between us. His eyes drop to my mouth, linger. When they rise again, there’s something molten in them, something that dares me to keep pretending Idon’t want this. Don’t want him.
He steps closer. Just an inch. But it’s enough to make the air feel thinner, tighter. The warmth of his body spills over me, skimming the exposed line of my collarbone, stealing the breath from my lungs.
I want him.
God, I want him.
Even now, with the memory of his deception still jagged in my chest, with everything he’s kept from me still coiled beneath the surface—I want him.
Because there’s magick. Because there’s the Lovers card. Because from the moment I found him in the woods, naked and endearing and mine without even knowing it, something’s been pulling me to him.
Maybe it’s magick. Maybe it’s destiny. Maybe it’s both.
But here, in the eye of the storm, with danger pressing in on all sides and nothing certain beyond the next breath, I want something real—something I choose.
If this is the edge of a cliff, then let me jump knowing I felt something before the fall. Even if it’s selfish. Even if it’s reckless. Even if it’s only for a moment.
He moves closer. Close enough that I feel the tremble in his exhale, the hesitation. Close enough that the world narrows to the shape of him.
