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“And a lovely game it’s turned out to be.” That look in his eyes…
I could melt and slide right off this sofa. I could drown in it. It’d be so easy. The whiskey almost has me brave enough.
Almost.
“Um…” I start.
He leans in, but the bird around my neck is suddenly cool on my skin.
I pull back ever so slightly, and the small action snaps the cord of tension between us.
“The Unseelie?” My voice is a hoarse whisper.
“Their king died long ago without an heir or close relations. So, their land has slowly died as well.”
My brows pinch. My whiskey brain can’t follow it. But one part catches like a loose nail and settles heavily in my chest. “Do you have an heir?”
A soft rumble echoes in his chest as his arm flexes around me. “No. But Hawke and Moria are close enough relations that the magic would pass to them. Not that either of them want to rule. Moria once claimed she’d seek out a way to curse me beyond death if I died without a direct heir and the magic settled on her.”
Without thinking, I trail a hand down his shirt, letting the soft material tease my skin. “Did you want to be king?”
He stiffens and looks away.
I press my hand against his chest, feeling the quick thump of his chest.
“No,” he replies at length. The soft smile that crosses his face pulls at my heart. It simmers with sincerity, possibly the first true smile I’ve seen. “What about you? Did you always wish to be a bartender?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “No. I wanted to travel. See the world. Maybe be a flight attendant or a travel writer.” I shrug. “Something.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Gran.” I sigh and nestle against his side. “She needed me.Needsme. I couldn’t leave her.” A heavy yawn escapes from nowhere.
“You gave up your dreams for her.”
“Not forever. Just…” I attempt a shrug and fail. “She cared for me for years. How could I leave her?”
“You’re so much like her and yet not at all.”
“Like Gran?” My brows scrunch. How would he know?
“No.” He cups my cheek, a sad look in his eyes. “Someone from long ago.” His sorrow settles over me like a blanket, tempting me to give in to the shadows closing in at the corners of my vision.
“What happened to your wings?” I ask, stifling another yawn.
“Ah. Would you like to see them again?”
“Yes.” My lids drift closed.
He pulls me closer, and I snuggle into his warmth. “Then you’ll have to fly with me, Wren.”
The way he says my name stirs up butterflies in my chest. It holds so much more than just a few letters. He makes it full, vibrant, wonderous—so different from the plain little bird I’m named for.
Long fingers slide through my hair, and it’s the best feeling in the world. So soothing. So calming. Tender. I sigh.
“Let me show you the world as you long for,” he says.
“That would be nice,” I whisper. Or I mean to. I’m not sure if the words make it out. Something soft brushes my forehead before the comforting darkness claims me.
