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“I know,” I say, more to myself than to him. I don’t need to hear him say it aloud.

I can’t have her. I can’t want her.

Even with all the power I wield as king and supreme, I cannot let myself indulge without torturing myself in the process.

And yet, the sight of a star-kissed Gwyn is tempting me to do it anyway.

Chapter 17

GWYN

For the past few days, I’ve lounged in the solarium and palace gardens, chronicling flowers for my compendium—desperate to keep my mind off a certain fae king who has consumed my thoughts.

I’ve just taken my lunch beneath an ancient tree, as far from the ichor creeping over the garden walls as I can get. Achlys is having the time of his life, racing around, fetching whatever sticks or stones I toss, only to bring them back and drop them at my feet.

Besides the blight, the gardens are peaceful.

They’ve granted me a safe place to recharge and deepen my connection to my magic and the Fae Isles. They’ve also given me a space to think as I sketch bloom after bloom: about my past, my future, but mainly about the kiss I shared with Riven.

That foolish, ridiculous, mind-blowing kiss.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it that night when I was alone in my bedroom with my hand between my thighs or the next morning when I broke my fast with Riven and had to squeeze my legs together the moment he licked frosting from his damn finger.

There’s an unfamiliar feeling of want beating within me like a hummingbird’s wings just from thinking about these moments now while I’m in the gardens.

It’s unsettling.

Especially considering Riven’s… affliction.

Curse. Whatever.

His reputation precedes him, though now I know it’s all a ruse, much like his glamouring of the blight and the mask he wears when maneuvering through court. A deflection to hide the truth beneath the prickly exterior. The truth that he cares. Deeply. About others, about his kingdom.

But does he care about himself beyond self-preservation?

Has he ever done something just for himself?

I doubt it.

The Fae Isles are inextricably linked to him, his thoughts, and feelings. All that loneliness I felt must’ve been his, which means there’s a side to him that not many are privy to, and it’s that side of him that I want to nurture. And it starts with doing something kind for him. Just him. Not his kingdom, not his people. A kindness that only Riven will benefit from.

But what could that be? What could I give a king who has everything?

I could weave him a garland of protection…?

I sigh as I sit up off the ground. No, that won’t work. He’s plenty capable of protecting himself, and beyond that, he has Arkyn.

Achlys trots over to me and drops a stick at my feet. It’s slick with his saliva, and I cringe as I pick it up by its slightly drier edge and toss it across the garden. He takes off after it, tail wagging.

Riven’s words from the other day come drifting to the forefront of my mind—I have more power than most creatures as king and supreme, and yet I don’t have the power to choose something as simple as who I take to my bed.

Heat blooms throughout me, warming my cheeks and making my heart race.

What if I created a tincture that temporarily gave him back his free will? A potion that dulled the pain he experiences during intimacy with otherworlders?

My brain sifts through what I’d need to brew a pain-muting concoction. To start, I’ll require duskmint, a hybrid flower found in most apothecaries that acts as a relaxant to ease nerve pain. Chamomile blossoms are a great addition due to their protection and purification properties. I can toss in a bit of lavender to soothe both body and mind while softening the bitter taste of crushed willow bark (a natural all-over pain-reliever).

And to bind it all together, I’ll add a dollop of sunblossom honey.