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I blurt out, “Mystglove is poisonous when ingested.”
Her eyes shine with pure disbelief. “What?”
“As witchlings we were forbidden from harvesting it because of its toxicity to living beings,” I tell her. “For Lord Devlin to brew your tea with it…”
Color begins to seep into the edges of the world, and Eliana’s silhouette flickers.
My hold is weakening.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “He poisoned you.”
She cannot pale, but if she could, I’d expect her skin to be as white as a daisy petal.
She stares at me for a single long moment, and then— “I never told anyone, but he said I was the love of his life.” Disgust coils across her delicate features. “I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t poison the love of my life. Would you?”
Riven’s handsome face flashes to the forefront of my mind.
I push it aside, even as I tell the queen, “Never.”
“Good,” she says simply. “Because I’d find a way to haunt you if you ever hurt my son.”
“We’re not— He’s not—”
“I saw the way you looked at him, Gwyn.” She smiles at me. It’s soft, disarming, motherly. “It’s the way all females who’ve fallen in love with Thaelon males look. Lost to their current, drowning in their touch.” Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. “It begs the question... How did you manage to work around the vow?”
Sweat drips down my spine, dampening my gown. “I-I brewed a potion.”
“A potion?” She arches a brow. “How does it work around my rune?”
“It mutes the pain for him.”
“And for you?”
“There isn’t any.”
She tilts her head to the side, gaze assessing. “That doesn’t make any sense. Just touching him should bring you inconsolable pain.”
And yet, all I feel when I’m with him is pleasure.
Enough is enough, Death declares.
Just give me—
She thrusts me out of the Threshold with a snap of her fingers.
Color bursts back into the world around me, and I gasp for air.
“Gwyn!” Riven shouts, launching himself into the ritual circle and catching me around the waist just as my knees give out. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say, voice weak and raspy. “I just need to sit down.”
He lowers himself to the floor, tugging me onto his lap, as Arkyn slips from the mausoleum.
“Why did you send me away?” Riven asks, smoothing a hand over my hair. His heart beats a wild rhythm, pounding in time with my temples. “I was worried sick.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, burrowing into his chest. “I had some questions for your mother, and I couldn’t hold the connection as long with both of us there.”
Exhaustion tugs on all my edges.
