I wanted to kiss her again.
Instead, I turned on my heel and started toward the castle. “Walk.”
“Is that an order or a suggestion?” she called out to my back.
“Both.”
She laughed, and the sound scraped away at something raw inside me.
“You realize,” she said, catching up to stride with me, “that your advisors are going to spend the rest of the day drafting new policies on appropriate royal displays of affection.”
“There are no appropriate displays.”
“Oh? Then I suppose we’ve just invented the first one. Should we name it after me? The Royal Cyrene Anti-Kiss Protocol.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“One of us should.”
“And you look like you’re marching to your own execution.”
“My reputation may well be.” She rolled her eyes. “Your reputation needed the help. The Ice King isn’t exactly a term of endearment.”
I stopped walking, frowning down at her. “Where did you hear that?”
“The servants talk. I listen. It’s a valuable skill.”
“One you should employ less often.”
“Or one you should employ more.”
We continued along the stone path leading to the east wing. Guards bowed and looked anywhere but at us. I felt their stares anyway, their curiosity gnawingat my back. Rumors would spread before nightfall. No, before dinner. The king had been bewitched. The witch had claimed him.
Most kings would be furious. But every time I tried to summon the proper indignation, all I could think of was the feeling of her in my arms.
Quandary bobbed on Cyrene’s shoulder, glancing back at the guards and flicking his tail. He’d somehow acquired a fallen leaf, which he was wearing like a crown, tilted at an angle that mimicked my own. When he caught me watching, he straightened it with exaggerated dignity.
“Your shadow is developing a personality,” I said.
“That he is, to your advisors dismay.”
Inside the corridor, the darkness reclaimed me, and I let it. Torches flickered on the walls, dim light pooling at our feet. The castle itself seemed to hush around us, listening.
Cyrene’s skirts brushed across the marble floor. She was silent now. Too silent. The hum of her joy magic had retreated, leaving a faint ache in its wake.
When I glanced at her, she was studying me sideways.
“You’re angry,” she said.
“Not one bit.”
“Then why the scowl?”
“I’m considering whether to have you thrown in the dungeon or awarded a medal.”
Her lips twitched. “What’s the verdict?”
I stopped walking. “Undecided.”
