“Um, there’s this silly story about a fae prince who fell in love with a baker’s daughter.” My body buzzed from the heat of him, and I bit my lip. “She had no idea what he was. He’d show up every day, buy three honey cakes, and just…stare at her. Like she’d personally hung the stars in the sky. She thought he was some rich idiot with too much gold.”
He chuckled. “Fair.”
“She teased him relentlessly. Called him ‘syrup fingers’ because he always licked the glaze off first. One day, he got so flustered he forgot to glamour his ears.”
Kairos laughed hard.
“Instead of fleeing in terror, she made him earn her trust. She demanded something ridiculous in exchange for cake. A poem. A song. Once, he recited a recipe while hopping on one foot.”
“He actually did it?”
“Of course. And when he asked her to marry him, she said no.”
His brows lifted. “No?”
“She loved her bakery, so he stayed. Gave up his crown, enchanted her oven so it never burned a batch, and supposedly, if you eat one of her cakes, you’ll dream of your truest desire.”
“Only mortals would invent a royal who gives up power for pastries.”
“You don’t like it?”
He rubbed my cheek. “Didn’t say that. It’s very…you.”
My heart pounded. His hand had settled on my hip, and I inhaled a tight breath. All thistouching…had sucked the air from my lungs. A fire blazed in my chest, a wildness that was getting harder to ignore.
I turned around and brushed salt crystals from his jaw.
His smile transformed his face, making him almost boyish. “No one’s looked at me like you do in many years.”
“Like I’ve recently seen you shirtless?”
He squeezed my hip. “You’re beautiful, too.”
“I look like I drowned.”
“You did. Still beautiful.”
“That’s…really not fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“You. Touching me like this,” I whispered. “Saying things that make me forget who you are.”
His eyes darkened. “I could do worse.”
“Go on. Threaten me with a good time.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Everything about you is lovely. Your scent especially. It’s sweet, like the little flowers that bloom in summer. It lingers in places you’ve been.”
He smelled like firewood and sun-warmed steel, like a blade resting in its sheath, ready to be drawn. He smelled like sunlight and warmth, and when he spoke I wanted to close my eyes, let it ring in my head like the softest music.
I caressed his hair. Strands of white-gold, ivory, and silver slipped between my fingers. Then I stroked his temple, following his sharp angles.
He shut his eyes, sighing. “That’s nice.”
“You like that?”
“It’s not often that I’m…touched.”
