I looked at Mav. “You must hide,” I whispered.
He looked aggrieved on a moral level. “You can’t be serious.”
“Tragically, I am.”
Another knock. “Quinnie? I—I’m coming in.”
Mav scanned the room, cursed softly, and vanished into the armoire.
Edric entered bearing my travel-worn satchel and the parcelof new clothing I had purchased in Pinehelm. “I thought you might want these.”
“Since when does a king deliver luggage?” I asked.
His smile aimed at charm. “Since he has centuries of apologies to begin.” He crossed the room. “Shall I set them in the armoire?”
“No,” I exclaimed, too quickly. “The bed will do. I shall arrange them presently.”
Edric tilted his head, studying me. “You look well,” he said at last. “I had the servants draw a bath. Lavender and honey, if memory serves.”
Memory did serve. The remembrance should have felt caring, but from his lips it was a snare. I offered a stiff nod in confirmation.
He softened. “I’ll help you with your dress.”
Thump.
A muffled protest from the armoire.
Edric turned.
I caught his chin lightly, redirecting his gaze. “No, thank you,” I said with finality dressed as grace. “I can manage.”
He stilled beneath my hand, breath catching.
“After all this time, you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he crooned. “I can’t believe fate has brought you back to me.”
Edric leaned in. I curtsied, evading his affection. His kiss landed upon my brow. It burned nonetheless.
“Good night, Your Majesty.”
He retreated with the air of a man mildly wounded. “Good night, Quinnie,” he murmured as he crossed to the door and left.
I waited for Edric’s retreating footsteps to fade and flew to the armoire. Mav was a storm, barely leashed—chest heaving, hands balled into fists.
“Are you all right?” I asked, even though I could see clearly he was not.
“He offered to unlace you.” Mav’s voice came rough. “To help you into the bath.”
“He did not say the latter.”
“I’m sure he was about to,” he grumbled through gritted teeth. “I should cut his hands off for believing he has any right to touch you. I’m your?—”
My heart pattered an unsteady rhythm. “You are my what?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. He placed one hand on my shoulder and one on my waist, and turned me so my back was against his chest. His fingers went to the laces again, deft, quicker now.
“I’m the man who will make you forget any other existed,” he said against the shell of my ear, full of wanting and promise.
With each pull, the corset loosened. Heat rose beneath my skin. He sealed the final tug with a kiss at the nape of my neck. Then another. A line of kisses followed the path the laces had kept shut. A sound escaped me; half sigh, half need. He smiled against my skin. I faced him, easing the gown’s straps from my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Only the chemise remained—thin as breath. His eyes tracked every curve and hollow with an awe-edged hunger.
