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I should be mingling, getting to know every female as best as I can to uphold my end of the bargain, but I can’t seem to muster up the courage. Not because of what I did with Riven last night or because I’m shy, but because I haven’t been trapped in a room with this many creatures since I fled from my coven.

My chest feels tight as I try to breathe through the uneasiness.

It’s of no use.

Every voice, every slant of eye, is triggering more and more discomfort until I’m launching myself from my seat by the window and out of the room. The hallway is mostly empty, their combined voices a dull rumble behind the closed door.

I press my back against the wall and shut my eyes, breathing in and out to steady myself.

Those females are not my sister witches.

This is not the Wyldelands.

I am safe. Riven swore it.

He secured his kingdom himself with his own wards and sent five invitations requesting two potential brides from each supreme—excluding Eliphas, to ensure no other witch was invited. I voiced my concern about repercussions from leaving the warlock supreme’s candidates out of his marriage mart, but Riven assured me he had it handled.

My coven will not find me.

They—

“Gwyn?”

My eyes snap open, and I’m staring into a chest draped in fine black velvet. When my gaze drifts higher, I find Riven’s blue eyes searching my face with concern.

“Are you well?” he asks. When I don’t immediately respond, his gaze darkens. “Did someone⁠—”

“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, yes, I’m well. But no, no one… did anything.”

At least not intentionally.

“Your Majesty,” says a male from behind Riven.

“Leave us, Devlin.” He tilts his head toward the door. “We’ll follow in a second.”

Lord Devlin glides around us without speaking—his sneer saying more than enough—and slips into the parlor.

Once the door is firmly shut behind him, Riven leans in and steals a kiss. As brief as it is, it chases away all thoughts of my coven and leaves me wanting more.

He rears back, clasping his hand against his neck, and hisses. “Sorry, that was—” He shakes his head. “I-I don’t know why I did that.” He fists his hands at his sides. “How are you really?”

“Overwhelmed.” The word sounds small on my tongue, and I hate it. But I hate even more that my coven still holds power over me from thousands of miles away. I straighten my spine. I’m safe. “Turns out being crammed in a room with that many creatures isn’t for me.”

“Shit. If it’s too much⁠—”

“Stop.” I almost reach for him, then think better of it. He isn’t mine to touch as I please. The kiss moments ago was nothing more than an impulse led by his cock that left him hissing with pain. “It’s a non-issue. I just came out here to clear my head. I’ll be fine.”

He scans my face and frowns.

“You can’t go in there all grumpy,” I tease, hoping to lighten the mood. “Some of the females are already extremely skeptical of your invitation.”

His frown deepens. “Because of my reputation?”

“Yes.”

I don’t stop myself this time from reaching out to press on the corners of his lips until he’s smiling into my fingers. His eyelids flutter shut, and he exhales a long breath through his nose.

“It’s working,” he says quietly, eyes opening slowly as I drop my hands. “The blight receded from some areas last night. Ark suspects it’s because the land is aware of the brides and my intention to marry one of them.”