He shifted under the blanket. “You know, I … I felt it too … the Wyrdtwined Oath. I knew nothing of what had happened, except that it changed me irreversibly. It shook me to the core,” he said, voice low and vulnerable. Then, a mischievous smile bloomed on his lips. “But not as much as when you rejected me right after it. By the Radiant Lord, you really know how to crush a man’s heart, Semras.”
“Oh, really?” Semras raised an amused eyebrow. “I can’t have my Wyrdtwined feeling ‘crushed’ now, can I? Let me fix that,” she said, passing her hand through his dishevelled hair. She trailed it down his jaw, then grabbed his chin to bring him down for a kiss. He took another one from her after, and then another, and then many more—as many as he asked her for.
Pressing a hand on his chest, she regretfully stopped him from pursuing more than just kisses.
“You need to stop doing that, witch,” Estevan said, pouting. “There are only so many times you can deny me before I shall wither away from so much teasing.”
Semras rolled her eyes. “You’re being dramatic. When did I ever deny you so much?”
“All the time!” he replied, chuckling. “The least of which happened at the glade. I am still not over it. You looked so wild and fierce back then, you tempted me into breaking my vows right there and then. I wanted to keep you in my arms and never let go until I died, Radiant Lord be damned.”
Semras frowned. “Don’t speak of dying; I told you to never speak of dying again. I don’t want peace if it steals you from me, Estevan. I would gladly stitch my mouth and become a warwitch for you.”
“Do not,” he said, tilting her head to brush his lips against hers. “I love your lips just the way they are.”
Semras chuckled, cheeks reddening once more. “You certainly showed plenty of appreciation for them earlier. Be serious for a moment.”
“I do not want to.” Resting his forehead on her shoulder, Estevan muttered against her skin, “This is my dream, and I get to do what I want in it. I will not wake up.”
“Tell that to Cael.”
“Do you have to speak my brother’s name when I hold you in my arms?” he grumbled. “Fine. If we are to talk about other men while in bed, it should be about Maldoza. He will find two empty bedrolls if we do not hurry and return before dawn.”
“Old Crone take me,” she said, paling. “I forgot about him!”
Estevan grinned victoriously. “Finally!”
She slapped his shoulder, and he chuckled. Springing out of bed, Semras quickly gathered her clothes from the floor. “You don’t get it. He’ll think you killed me! We must go back now.”
“Well,” he said, musing out loud, “the Freran call it the ‘little death,’ so he would be right about—”
“Estevan!” Semras whined, face flushed. “Get dressed!”
The thought of Themas wasn’t the only thing driving her urgency. There were other things she had forgotten besides the knight—such as being under the roof of the illustrious WarwitchLeyevna. Semras could never look the matriarch in the eyes again if she was caught in bed with her son.
Behind her, Estevan took his time dressing himself, openly admiring her instead of hurrying. It slowed him down significantly, but Semras couldn’t find it in her to stop him—it delighted her too much.
Adjusting her dress down her hips with one hand, she combed her fingers through her hair with the other. “Listen, I have been thinking—”
“Have you?” Estevan asked, mischief lighting up his eyes. “This never happened to me before with other women … I will work harder next time.”
Her eyes rolled, but her lips smiled. “I said, ‘Be serious.’ You know very well this isn’t what I meant. I have been thinking about what we should do. No.” She hushed him with a finger. “Don’t you dare speak of dying again. I won’t allow it. We have other options. We now know that Callum stole your mother’s dosage instructions. It’s far-fetched, but maybe he still has her letter hidden in his home. We should search for it.”
Her plan was dangerous, but she wouldn’t back down in front of the half-fey. For Estevan, for her people, she’d even crawl back into the tumulus of Adastra and face down its nightmarish Seelie lord once more.
Between that fey and Cael Callum, she saw no difference.
Humming, Estevan rubbed his jaw. “It is worth a try, at least. It will not be easy, but Maraz’Miri might get past his vigilance if we provide an adequate distraction.” His gaze found hers. “Well done, love.”
Her heart bloomed. “W-We should go,” Semras said, moving a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear. “Am I presentable? What do I look like?”
Her Wyrdtwined slowly drew closer. Once standing in front of her, he looked her up and down, then caressed her neck with the fleeting tips of his fingers.
“Mine,” he breathed.
Her heart skipped a beat. His smooth tongue would be the death of her—in more ways than one. Turning away, Semras walked out of the room before she did something that would significantly delay them.
Making her way down the stairs, she found the parlour they’d sat in hours before. The tea tray was gone now, replaced with a glass vial sitting next to Estevan’s insignia and a small piece of paper on the table.
