Page 90 of A Match Made in Error

Beneath a sky scattered with stars, we become as close—physically and spiritually—as two souls can be.

Chapter Thirty

RIVEN

The fire burns low beside the spring now, the embers glowing deep orange, flickering and cracking against the soft breeze. The fire is warm on our bare skin, since our wet clothes are drying on the stones near the water and it’ll be morning before we can put them on. Sure, Poppy could have conjured us some, but she conveniently forgot it was possible, and I didn’t feel like reminding her either. I watch the steam twist off the water through the cool air, coiling like my shadows do when they’re restless. Which they aren’t now. They’re puddled under Poppy’s sleeping form as if they were her own.

Poppy is asleep, curled against my side, facing the fire. One of my arms is slung across her abdomen, a reflex at this point. My hand rests on her bare thigh, tracing delicate patterns on the soft skin there.

The island is quiet. Well, at least the sacred hot spring is. There are probably still pirates somewhere on it. A fact which still doesn’t make sense to me, but it got me Poppy, and that’s all I care about right now.

I sigh, looking down at her. Her face is flickering with the soft light of the fire. Deep breaths sinking her deeper and deeper into sleep. My eyes pass over every eyelash and freckle, trying to memorize her and this moment. Her damp hair is curling at her temple, and I can feel the way she unconsciously burrows into me even in sleep, her hand fisted loosely on my forearm under her.

She looks peaceful.

Which feels wild considering we were awoken a few hours ago to fight off pirates and escape.

And then came the confessions and universe-altering covenant and then...

My face heats like I’m a pre-shadowed faeling.

I’ve been with many women, and it’s never felt like this after. I feel giddy, and I want to stay. I’ve snuck out so many times, I’m surprised I haven’t earned a nickname.

The Midnight Leaver. Blink, and he’s gone.

Doesn’t roll off the tongue.

And I guess it doesn’t matter because I’ll never do it again.

I cannot believe it took a truth serum for me to admit it to myself. To see that I’ve been slowly falling in love with Poppy all along.

Three years.

Three years of watching her laugh and look at me like I hung the damn moon⁠—

And it took magical coercion to figure it out.

In my defense, I am very committed to bad decisions. It’s on brand, I guess.

My mind races now with memories. How she looked when I confessed my feelings. The soft blush of her skin when I thrust into her. And memories further back too. Tankard toss championships. Winter solstices spent quietly in my manor house. The way she took my side when I punched her match last year. How she always stayed by my side when I needed it most and couldn’t ask for company. Her hair catching fire in the sunlight during the first trial. How I was supposed to be listening to instructions, but the breeze toying with the strand of her hair had me utterly transfixed. The way she curled into me that first night in her sleep, even across the bed divide.

How she cared for me wasn’t subtle.

It was never covert.

I was just an idiot.

The memories keep rolling. Her voice trembling when truth-serum forced her honesty. How it absolutely undid me because I could feel how much she wanted love. A pirate with a knife at her throat and the moment of pure panic that followed. I’ve been in fights my entire life, but never once thought I might not walk away from one. Until her. Because if she got hurt tonight, I might as well have died by his hand myself. Never again. I will protect her with my dying breath, and even after that, from the great beyond.

Poppy adjusts in her sleep, brows furrowed and head twisting, trying to nestle deeper into my arm like it’s a pillow instead of a limb made of pure muscle. Humble brag, I know.

I shift subtly so she can get more comfortable. Her head lolls onto my chest, allowing my thumb to absentmindedly brush her tanned skin.

My shadows drift over , quieter than usual and without their sharp edges. One shadow tucks a loose strand of her hair back. I take notice but don’t comment. The shadows are undying and semi-sentient. If they want to use their limited free will to take care of Poppy, I won’t stop them.

I know how they would feel if they had the ability, because I feel this way and they are, in part, me.

The voice in my head is raw as I think this, the inevitable truth of my words sinking deep into my brain and wrapping around my soul.