Behind us, moths gather, spilling a figure into the field. Dark hair thread with gold. White robes to contrast Castor’s black. Fury. Fury consuming amber eyes. “Castor,” the moth prince sneers, raising black-and-gold wings.
I clutch Castor as he whirls to face Cael. Snide, he greets the royal fae, “Fancy meeting you here. Au revoir.” When he steps back, the world changes again. Bright city lights blind me. A car nearly hits us. But then it’s gone. And craggy woods fill my vision.
My head is spinning by the time Castor slows to a stop at an overlook.
He sets me on a rock off a cliffside, and my heart lurches as I grip him.
His chuckle skates over my skin. “Worry not, dear heart. I won’t let you fall.” His arms frame my body, secure, as he nods toward the vast rolls of majestic mountains in the distance, at the sky cresting with warm shades above the peaks. “Sun,” he murmurs, letting his head rest against me.
A breeze teases the long strands of our hair together, making his glisten like white water against the amber in mine.
“You… Is this the human world?”
“It is.”
“You brought me to the other side of the world?”
“Yes. Russia, specifically. An…acquaintanceof mine has family out this way…family I prefer to keep tabs on.”
Russia.
I’m in Russia? On the side of acliff?
Choked, I say, “You brought me to Russia so I could see the sun?”
His arms squeeze me. “Yes.”
What Frelsi said about making him my slave is not at all seeming difficult, all of a sudden.
Dog people are absolutely, completely bonkers.
Clearly his anger earlier when I didn’t obey swiftly enough means I’m not in any kind of secure control, but…I can probably work with this. I can probably wrap him around my finger. Forge a new safety. Discover his boundaries and rules. Learn the words that get me out of trouble.
It won’t be easy.
But it is far easier than having let my mother force me to marry Rodrick.
Anything with this man seems easier than what I’ve already experienced with that one.
After all, I have now seen his anger, and I have not been harmed by it.
“Castor…” I hedge. His fingers dig into me, and I bite my tongue. Heart lunging, I stammer, “I’m so sorry. What should I call you?”
Breath taut, he buries his face against my side. “Anything. Any word from your lips to refer to me is a blessing.”
Dog. People. Need. To. Chill.
For reasons unknown, I find myself running my fingers through his hair, feeling him shudder and nuzzle closer. I begin again, slowly, “Castor…” He squeezes me. “…about earlier.”
“Earlier?” he whispers. “When was earlier? Has there not only ever been now?”
Oh-kay, sir drama…
“Earlier…with that moth prince.”
Castor growls, and his grip loosens, leaving me to grasp his hair by mistake as my precarious position sends a jolt of anxiety through me.
His head cocks back from the force of my grip, and he swears. “—love. You didn’t even ask first.”
