Perhaps it was a warning.
A warning that I must be careful not to allow myself to feel anything for King Theron. I must ignore the pulsing heat that pangs between my thighs whenever he comes near. I must forget the euphoric sensation of his hands in my hair. He’s a cruel fae king and I shouldn’t like anything about him. I shouldn’t allow myself to feel even an ounce of temptation or warmth in his presence.
Yet the vision had felt so real,too real, as though it were more than a warning. As though it had already happened. I open my eyes and peer across the city of Braemar.
From my little room above the bakery, I used to spend the evenings gazing out at the city as it settled into night, listening to the distant laughter and voices coming from the nearby taverns. Even on cold nights, I frequently left my window cracked just so I could hear the voices and smell the chimney smoke from neighboring houses, a comforting reminder that life was still going on.
A promise that one day I might emerge from the darkness of my own personal tragedies and start living again.
Just when I’d begun to believe things were getting better—I had wonderful friends in the Sinclairs, a safe place to live, and a job—the Winter Court army attacked Braemar.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. As I’m about to turn and go back inside, I glimpse movement in the star-encrusted sky, and I pause to stare at the large form that’s suddenly blocking out the stars and the moon.
A highborn fae. My heart skips a beat.
And he’s coming closer, flying straight for the balcony where I’m standing.
Oh, gods.
I break into a tremble and take two steps back, but my legs soon become weak with fear, and I find myself unable to move. I remain frozen in place, watching as the huge, winged form comes closer.
Maybe I’m about to die. Maybe this highborn fae, whoever he might be, was out for an evening of bloodsport when he spotted me standing here like a fool in the wide open.
I know the door to King Theron’s bedchamber is locked, warded with magic, but I’d never given any thought to how unprotected the balcony might be.
I curse my stupidity and try to take another step back, but my legs simply won’t move.
The thunderous sound of flapping wings reaches me, and then the huge male lands on the balcony in front of me. He stands there, staring at me with his massive, black-feathered wings spread wide, as I gasp for air and try to calm my racing heart.
Familiar blue eyes pierce straight to my soul.
The corner of his mouth quirks, and he takes a step closer. There’s a flash of brilliant white light, and then his wings are just… gone. Vanished. Because he’s a powerful, highborn fae, and like all highborn fae, the king can summon and vanish hiswings at will. I already knew that about him, but it’s the first time I’ve glimpsed his wings, the first time I’ve witnessed that formidable side of him outside of the vision.
Gods, the vision.
Somehow, I’d known just what his wings would look like even before I glimpsed them in real life.
“Hello, darling human.” He approaches me with slow, calculated steps.
His gaze is focused, heated, and brimming with desire. Despite my earlier resolve not to feel any attraction to him, waves of heat undulate in my core, causing my breath to catch in my throat and my heart to skip a beat. Longing courses through me, and somehow, it feels like an echo. A memory. It’s as though I’ve felt this way before about this specific male.
Considering the vision I had yesterday, it’s unsettling. Deeply so.
I think about Prince Alaric’s assertion that I look like someone King Theron knows. This entire situation is starting to feel like a puzzle that I can’t quite assemble. Too many pieces are still missing. Or perhaps the clues are there, but I’m just not ready to reach for them. Sometimes, I feel like I’m hiding from the truth, a truth that draws breath, ready to whisper in my mind, only to fall silent at the last moment.
King Theron strides up to me and places his hands on my shoulders. His touch isn’t as cold as I expected, and I find myself wanting to step into his embrace, to wrap my arms around his waist and lean my head against his chest.
How preposterous. I don’t want to hug the Winter King. I don’t. I don’t even want him to touch me.
And yet… I cannot stop the yearning that’s unfurling inside me. The persistent ache that’s both physical and emotional. I’m eager for his touch, but also for his company. When he’s withme, even when we’re sparring, I no longer feel like the lonely widow who’s starved for companionship.
I feel as brave and carefree as the wind.
I feel more like myselfandlike another person entirely all at once.
As I gaze into King Theron’s ice-blue eyes, I experience another wave of familiarity, as though I’ve met him before. And yet I have no memory of such a meeting. Until the Winter Court army stormed past the walls of Braemar, I’d never seen a fae with my own eyes. I’d only heard the stories, the stories that warned me of the fae’s coldness, cruelty, and violent tendencies.
“Did you miss me?” The king’s voice is a deep, seductive vibration in my ear. He’s leaning close, so close I detect pine, peppermint, smoky wood, and the faint sweetness of fresh-fallen snow.
