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“This is actually a brilliant idea,” he continues.
Except it’s not.
Riven doesn’t want me as a wife—he wants a bride to break the curse, and I’m the easiest option in reach. My chest tightens at the memory of the first time I thought he seemed repulsed by me, when he agreed my non-fae body was difficult to look at. I can still hear the way he said I wasn’t pretty enough to tempt him.
A lifetime with him like that.... used as a tool, never chosen, never loved for myself. It would be unbearable. Every touch, every word, every expectation would be shadowed by duty, not desire.
No happiness. No fulfillment.
Why would I ever choose that life when I could be free?
No.
If he seeks a bride, it most certainly won’t be me.
The hope lighting his voice needs to be snuffed out.
“No,” I say flatly. “I’m not going to trade one cage for another, Riven. We can barely spend five minutes together without verbally sparring. Do you really want to spend a lifetime doing that with me?” His lips purse. I press forward. “I will uphold my end of the bargain and help you find a bride who will be suitable for you and your kingdom. But unless you intend on forcing my hand, my answer is no. I don’t want to be a wife or a queen.” Pressure builds behind my eyes. “I just want to be free.”
“Fine.” His lip curls back into a formidable sneer. “We’ll find a willing bride who isn’t fae, and I’ll wed her and be done with it.”
“Riven, you couldn’t even say that without looking disgusted. How do you expect any non-fae female to believe you’re interested in them?”
“I can be quite convincing, little witch.”
“Then convince me,” I say, challenging him with fiendish joy.
“What?”
“If you believe yourself to be that skilled at convincing a female you’re interested in her when you’re most certainly not, then convince me.”
“You want me to convince you that I’m interested in you?”
I nod. “I mean, it’ll be much harder for you than it would be with someone else, considering you were already very vocal about how I’m not pretty enough to tempt you, so…”
He says nothing as he pushes away from his desk and stalks around it. Those long legs of his close the gap between us in a few breaths, and then he’s pushing me up against the wall. One hand grips my waist while the other tips my face upward. His thumb caresses my bottom lip, my jaw, as he leans in. I can feel the warmth of his body as he presses it against me. There isn’t a hint of a smile on his mouth as he says, “Is this convincing enough for you, Gwyn?”
I do not trust myself to speak for fear he’ll hear how breathless I am by his proximity.
So, I shake my head. A silent message. No, not at all.
It’s a dare.
“Very well.”
His hand drops to the other side of my waist as he hoists me up and carries me to his desk, where he sets me down. He uses his knee to nudge my legs apart just wide enough to make room for him to come closer. He slowly lowers his head, nose brushing against my neck, and inhales. There’s a choked sound in the back of his throat—a groan? Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound forced at all. It might even be real. The prospect of that sends a jolt through me that I haven’t felt in a very, very long time.
Desire.
As our breath mingles, I’m acutely aware that he likely scents the liquid heat pooling between my legs. It’s a dead giveaway of how convincing the fae king is.
My gaze falls to his lips, to the whisper of space between us, and I can’t stop myself from imagining precisely what Riven tastes like.
Probably lightning storms on a warm summer night and sun-dried berries.
I also can’t stop myself from closing that gap and finding out.
At first, it’s just a brushing of our lips. When I pull back to look at him, I half-expect to find his face contorted with disgust. Instead, I find it limned with something else. Surprise. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his lips lifted in the ghost of a smile, and a single dimple pockets his cheek. That’s all I make out before he’s kissing me again, this time as if he’s starving. It’s all tongue and teeth, caressing and nipping, and I cannot get enough.
