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She twists out of my grip. “I just— I don’t want to go through that again. Your people don’t have to love me. But at the bare minimum, I would prefer it if they didn’t hate me. And I thought…” She chews her lip again. “I thought if the wedding were actually on midsummer, it’d give me time to convince them to tolerate the idea of me—a witch—as their queen.”

“I hear you,” I say. “But so much has changed since I first brought you here and announced I’d be seeking a non-fae queen. Our magic has strengthened; the blight has receded. My people... they can feel it.” A plan forms in the back of my mind, and I blurt out, “What if we do both?”

Her brow furrows. “As in?”

“We marry today in secret, just the two of us, but we hold a larger ceremony in a couple of weeks once the blight is reversed and everything has gone back to normal?” Hope courses through me. “Would that be agreeable?”

No one, and I mean no one, has ever looked at me the way she is looking at me now. With eyes so full of adoration, and dare I say… love?

Her grin is crooked. “Entrapping me with another bargain, grandsire?”

“Not at all.” I kiss the corners of her mouth, her jaw, and down the length of her neck until my lips press against her scar. “This time it’s just a promise between lovers.”

She’s a giggling, pliant mess beneath me as she says, “Yes.”

I lift up onto one arm. “Yes?”

“There’s just one teeny tiny thing,” she says, smiling sheepishly. “I have to tell Ava.”

A groan slips out of me.

Her hands cup my face. “She’s my dearest friend, Riven.”

“I know, sweetheart,” I say, swiveling my head to kiss her palm. “Once Arkyn returns, I’ll send him to collect her.”

“And Quill?” she asks softly.

“I don’t particularly love you mentioning another male’s name in my bed.”

“Another male?” She rolls her eyes. “It’s your brother, for Dagny’s sake. Get over it.”

“I’ll get over it if you get on top of me.”

She bursts out laughing—gods, it’s the most beautiful sound. “That isn’t even remotely clever.”

I grip her hips and tug her onto my lap, bucking up against her, smug at the way her laughter catches.

She reaches for my neck. “Aren’t you⁠—?”

“I drank the last of the potion this morning before you woke,” I tell her, voice hitching as her hand slides between us, fingers curling around me. “A necessary precaution in case you’d rather stay in bed and avoid marrying me.”

“This is a rather large precaution.” She moves her hand up and down my shaft, pumping slowly, as she adds, “And sort of useless since I already said yes.”

“Useless?” I repeat, flipping her onto her back. “Be prepared to regret those words.”

“Already am.” She spreads her legs wide, taunting me, and drags her fingers over her slick core. They come away gleaming. “Want a taste?”

I dive forward, ready to consume her, but she claps her thighs together.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” she sings. “If you want to taste me, Riven Thaelon, you’d better commit to inviting⁠—”

“I’ll tell Quill,” I promise. “I’ll do anything you want.”

Her smile is incandescent.

“Now, may I?”

“You may,” she says coyly, letting her knees fall open. “But I do think you should do more than tell your brother.”