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“Very well.” I slip on a mask of indifference, and the fire in Lord Devlin’s eyes dies under its weight. His cheeks redden further as I flick a dismissive hand in his direction. “You’re dismissed. Arkyn, see him out.” To Lettie, I add, “Send her in.”

Chapter 15

GWYN

Arkyn and another male storm out of the study, the latter briefly pausing to toss me a severe look of disdain as I grant him a wide berth. He opens his mouth as if he has something unpleasant or vile he wants to toss in my direction, but one glance at Arkyn’s taunting grin has him clenching his jaw and fists as he retreats in silence.

“Riven’s waiting for you, Gwyn,” Arkyn says, winking at Lettie as he passes by.

The moment I woke, my handmaiden helped me out of bed, so I could brew a draught to increase my vitality. All it took was a bit of dawn-harvested rose petals (for renewal), crushed nettle leaf (for stamina), a sprinkle of mint (for clarity and alertness) and sunblossom honey brewed with a strong black tea. This specific tonic helped my sister witches counter any residual exhaustion and shakiness from the long sleep once they awoke.

I downed it in one quick swallow as Lettie ushered me into the bath, catching me up on the last three days.

One detail in particular caught my attention and held it.

The king spent every night by your bedside.

Riven Thaelon spent the last three nights in a chair beside my bed.

That doesn’t mean anything, Gwyn, I reminded myself. We have a bargain, that’s all.

Still, knowing even a small part of him was desperate for me to awaken from my dreamless sleep had my toes curling in my slippers as I requested she take me to him at once.

Now, as soon as the males are out of the hallway, I ask Lettie, “Who was that with Arkyn?”

“Lord Devlin.” She sneers and leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He wormed his way onto the council by seducing Queen Eliana. He fancied himself a stepfather to the king, but his majesty never accepted him as such. They’ve never seen eye-to-eye on anything, but especially not politically. He⁠—”

“I’m growing impatient, little witch,” Riven calls out from his study.

My handmaiden bows her head. “Another time, milady.”

I bid her farewell and venture into the dimly lit room, shutting the door behind me.

“You’re awake,” notes Riven, draining his chalice.

“And you look like shit,” I tease. He doesn’t. Not even with the stubble lining his jaw or the circles shadowing his narrowed eyes. I flash him a playful grin. “What? I thought we were both making astute observations.”

He chuckles as something akin to concern—hope? relief?—shines through the storm clouds in his eyes.

“I’m surprised to see you upright,” he says.

“Just a perk of being a witch who knows how to heal herself.”

His face grows serious, ink-stained hands fisting atop his desk. “You must allow me to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard during the summoning.”

I tilt my head. “Was there an apology in there somewhere?”

“I was getting to it.” His fists loosen as he takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

I stare at him, then laugh. “That’s it? I thought there’d be more groveling.”

“Do you want me to grovel, little witch?” The playfulness in his tone makes my heart trip over itself. Even after three crappy nights of sleep, he seems… lighter now that he knows the truth. “Would you like to see me on my knees, begging for your forgiveness?”

“Oh, yes.” I nod enthusiastically. “I’d like that very much.”

“You’re a nuisance.”

“And you’re shit at apologies,” I retort and glance around his study. “Did you get me a gift? A small token of your appreciation for me nearly burning myself out so you could snag a few more moments with your grandmother? Love her, by the way. Now I know precisely where you get your attitude from.”