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“My issue?” Riven repeats.
I gesture to his crotch, then regret it.
“Gwyn, I don’t have trouble getting hard.”
“I’m well aware of that,” I mutter. “I-I meant it’s a potion that should help numb the pain so you can—”
His laughter cuts me off, and my cheeks burn like they’ve been licked by the flames beneath my cauldron. My shoulders curl inward as he desperately tries to catch his breath, but every time he looks at the vial, he loses it again.
I’m halfway to the door when his hand loops around my arm.
“Wait,” he says, still a bit breathless. “I’m not laughing at you.”
My skin is hot where he touches me. And where he doesn’t.
“No,” I say, wrenching myself free. “You’re laughing at my gift.”
I snatch it from his hand and dash toward the hearth. “If you don’t want it, I’ll just—”
He catches me around the waist and scoops me up. I yelp and smack his arms. “Put me down, you insolent—”
“Before you do something stupid with the vial, let me tell you why I’m laughing.”
I arch a brow, a silent command for him to continue.
“I’m laughing because no one has ever given me a gift.”
“That can’t possibly be true.”
“It is.” When I say nothing, he adds, “I’ve received plenty of gifts as the prince, and now king, of the Fae Isles, but never as Riven.”
“Not even from your parents?”
He shakes his head and sets me on my feet, steadying me with his hands on my shoulders. “My parents were a united front on little, but spoiling me was certainly at the top of their ‘no’ list.”
“What about Arkyn?” I ask.
The backs of my thighs bump into the edge of something plush.
His. Bed.
I should move away, but my body betrays my better judgment.
“Arkyn is repulsed by the idea of gift giving and receiving,” he tells me. “You should have seen him the day I gave him a dagger for Yule.”
“What happened?”
“He opened the box, withdrew the dagger, and flung it at me.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, forcing me to clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle it.
“Don’t do that.” He reaches forward and gently pries my hand away. “I want to hear your laughter even if it is at my expense.”
“It’s not at your expense,” I say, giggling.
“Then… why?”
“Arkyn… He’s truly the worst sword catcher.”
