“Of course,” I say. “I’ll do anything to keep the isle free from war. That’s why I’m here. Why I’ve persevered this long.”
“But you hate it here, don’t you?”
“I don’thateit.” My stomach sinks when I say it, but it’s the truth. The fae may terrify me at times, and more than one has directly tried to kill me. But others—Lorelei, Foxglove, Cobalt, Gildmar, even Aspen—are showing me there’s more to Faerwyvae than I grew up believing. I may not love it yet, but I’d rather not see it destroyed by war.
“What about me?” Aspen’s voice comes out soft, hesitant. “Do you still hate me?”
My pulse quickens. “Not entirely.”
“Is there any part of you that wants to do the ritual for…us?”
My eyes widen and find his, but I say nothing.
His expression darkens, and he turns away, shaking his head. I watch as he stalks down the beach. For an unfathomable moment, I feel cold at the sight, at the distance growing between us. Without a second thought, I march after him. “Aspen, don’t you dare walk away from me.”
He pauses, then turns to face me. His expression flickers between cool stoicism and the vulnerability I’ve rarely gotten to see.
I close the distance between us. “I said I wanted the truth.”
“I never promised to give it.”
“Yet you did anyway,” I say. “Don’t walk away from me when there’s clearly more to say.”
He lets out a grumble. “You really want the truth?”
I nod.
“The truth is, I’ve wanted you from the start. From the day I met you at the wall. I wanted you when I first laid eyes on you in the dining room, when Foxglove crushed me with the news that you would be my brother’s bride. I wanted you later that night when I met you at the rail. I wanted to offer you a change of plans, to offer myself to you instead. I wanted you even after you burned me with your scorn, rejected every flirtation I threw your way. I wanted you every time we were together in a room, regardless of who else was there. I wanted you then and I want you now, and it infuriates me that you feel nothing in return.”
My breaths are quick, shallow, pulse racing. He gave me the truth; I could leave it at that. I could walk away. I could tell him he’s right, that I feel nothing in return. I could ignore all those times I felt drawn to him, like a fire was burning every part of me at once. For so long, I’d mistaken it for the fire of rage, and it was there. But there was another fire coexisting alongside it, something I’ve never given credit to. It’s that thing that makes me feel breathless, out of control, and completely unlike myself. It’s passion. There’s no logic about it, no textbook to tell me how to cut it apart or navigate it. It’s something I always swore I lacked, something only girls like Amelie have.
But if we’re talking about truth, let me admit mine. I am no stranger to passion. I simply choose to ignore it, lock it up, and keep it at bay. It’s something I’ve never let myself explore. Who would I be if I did?
I see Aspen beginning to grow tense again, his vulnerability fading behind his stony mask of pride. I could let this end here. Now. Let him walk away, allow the tension to grow between us until it solidifies into a wall.
“You’re wrong,” I finally say, the words flying from my throat before I can swallow them down. “I don’t feel nothing.”
His eyes widen, the mask slipping. “Whatdoyou feel?”
I can’t bring myself to use words, so I reach a tentative hand toward his cheek. He closes his eyes, trembling with restraint at my touch. I run my fingers along his jaw, his sculpted cheekbone, the lobe of his ear.
When he opens his eyes, I have but a moment to bask in their color, in the desire radiating from them. After that, his lips are on mine. My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, fingers tangling in his hair. His hands move down my back, and his lips trail my neck, my collarbone. I tilt my head back, gasping as he kisses behind my ear.
“I want to pick up where we left off.” His voice is a low rumble, sending a shiver up my spine.
“Yes,” is all I can manage to say.
“But not here.” He pulls away from me. Disappointment sinks my gut, but before it can take root, he links his fingers with mine. We run down the shore, back toward the palace. At the base of the rock wall just beneath the palace, there’s a cave that leads to a tunnel, a tunnel that leads to stairs, and stairs that lead to the lower levels of the palace. I’d come this way to meet Melusine.
At the mouth of the cave stand the guards I left behind. Aspen dismisses them, ordering them to wait farther down the tunnel. They obey, leaving us alone in the cool darkness of the cave, lit only by sparse orbs of light. When we can no longer hear the footsteps of the guards, Aspen turns to me, lips crushing against mine as he presses my back against the smooth, dark stone. Warmth spreads through me from head to toe, and I feel the flames of passion return. I run my hands up his chest, up the silk of his waistcoat, then to the collar of his shirt. From there, I touch his neck, his cheek, his brow. Slowly, my fingers crawl into his hair until I reach the base of an antler. Aspen inhales a sharp breath as I slide my fingers over the length of the branch.
He pulls away slightly, eyes closed. Worried I’ve done something wrong, I remove my hand. When he opens his eyes, his lips pull into a smirk. “You really are the most desirable being I’ve ever encountered,” he says. “I was willing to let you go time and time again, thinking that’s what you wanted. To marry my brother. To forfeit the ritual. To break the treaty.”
“And now?” I whisper.
He kisses me lightly on the lips. “I can still let you go, if that’s what you want. If you’re going to leave, do it now. Leave before my heart realizes what’s happened.”
The vulnerability has returned to his eyes, more transparent than ever before. There’s a sorrow in his voice that shatters me. I remember what Aspen’s mother had said, that her mercy had been a weakness. She regretted ending the war to save Aspen’s life. She left him when he was likely still a child in fae years. Abandoned him to raise his baby brother on his own in an enormous palace.
