Page 42 of The Reaping Rose

My mind trails to what Idunn told me of the prison growing bored, of it making its own decisions. The fact that it let us out might have nothing to do with Fae spells at all. What if it wanted us here instead?

If that’s the case, what do the fates have planned?

I shake that thought. “It was too big of a risk; you could have been stuck there.”

“Then we would have been locked in there together.” He says it with so little care for his well-being.

“You need to think about yourself—about your kingdom.”

“I was thinking of my kingdom. Of my realm.” He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “How can I be a male fit to wear my crown if I don’t do everything in my power to save their future queen?”

A laugh bursts out of me, so sudden it surprises even me. “Your queen? I’m still processing being your mate. I think we’re far from discussing kingdoms and crowns. You’ve never so much as taken me on a date, King Riven.”

His eyes heat with the choice of name, even as amusement plays in the corners of his mouth. “Difficult and beautiful as ever, I see. Would you like me to woo you, Starfire?”

“It’s a start.” I bite my lower lip at the surge of static between us.

“Fair enough.” Wilder sets my hand down on the bed. “After I claim my crown⁠—”

“What do you mean after?” I cut him off. “You haven’t already?”

His gaze drifts to the open window, a wave of tension rolling off him. “Things are complicated with the state of the realms. Quietus blooms, but that’s not the case in many places stretching the western border of Vaelier.”

“We’re in Quietus?”

“At my court.” He nods.

“It’s lovely here.” A bird’s song heightens as it flutters nearby. A hauntingly beautiful sound. The opposite of home. “Is this your room?”

“Our room.”

My eyes snap to his. Each time, my breath catches as if he’s nearly impossible to take in.

“I know the feeling.” He hums in my mind.

“I don’t think you do.”

After all, Wilder is gorgeous. Solid muscle. Perfect apart from that single scar on his face. An imperfection that somehow makes him even more stunning. How does a male like him find any interest in me?

His magic grazes my chin, forcing my stare to his, and when our eyes lock, he responds to my thoughts with a few of his own. Only, his answer does not come in the form of words. A sensation moves through the thread between us. A vision. Assurance. Solace.

Beauty.

Comfort.

“You.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, dragging his fingers through the strands and toying with the blue ends. “That feeling—that sight—is what you are to me.”

I shift closer. His scent overwhelms my senses. His eyes burn into mine. Our lips are a breath apart, my blood bubbling, as a knock comes at the door.

“I’m going to kill Atlas,” Wilder grumbles through clenched teeth.

I pull back. “You can sense who’s out there?”

“I hear him.” Wilder taps the side of his head. “Correction. I’m going to kill all of them.”

My gaze moves to the door. “How many are there?”

“Just him letting me know everyone is ready if you’re up for it.”