By the time I reached my floor, the knot of tension in my chest had loosened, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. I opened the door, expecting to find her waiting, perhaps ready to demand details of what I’d said.
The sitting room was empty, lit only by a single lamp. The bedroom door stood partly open.
I approached, stopping at the threshold.
Cyrene lay curled on her side of the bed, her hair spilling across the pillow in dark waves. She’d tucked one hand beneath her cheek, and the other rested on an open book. She wore a simple nightdress that had ridden up, exposing her smooth legs and the lower part of her thighs.
I suspected she hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and the realization sent a pang through me.
Her face held such peace, the worry lines smoothed from her brow, her lips slightly parted. Her magic hummed in the air around her, a gentle golden current that made the shadows in the room retreat.
I moved silently to her side and carefully extracted the book from her grip, marking her place before setting it on the bedside table. I tugged up the blankets, draping them over her.
A strand of her hair had fallen across her face. I reached out and gently brushed it away. She mumbled in her sleep, turning toward my touch, and my chest tightened.
Six years of carefully constructed walls, and she could crumble them with just a sigh.
If I had any sense, I would rebuild my walls higher. Instead, I only wanted to hand her the bricks and beg her to stay inside with me.
My fingers lingered near her shoulder. In sleep, she looked unguarded. More like the Cyrene I’d met at the fair six years ago, before everything changed. BeforeI’dchanged.
I’d sent her a letter, but it appeared she hadn’t received it. She thought I had left her without explanation, that I’d abandoned her. And now I’d bound her to me again, for political gain. For the kingdom. For a treaty.
Yet when I’d kissed her…
Her magic brushed against mine, and I sucked in the wonderful feeling. I’d spent years commandingdarkness, yet one sleeping witch made me crave the light. Fates, she was going to ruin me, and I couldn’t even make myself care.
I sighed, pulling back. We were both trapped in this charade, but only one of us deserved to be.
Moving to the window, I gazed out at the night. The moon hung like a silver coin above the forest, casting long shadows across the grounds. Inside the maze, the last traces of her magic still glimmered. Light and dark were never meant to coexist, but fates, didn’t they make something beautiful when they tried?
I could still hear my aunt’s snide voice at dinner, the veiled insults, the implications about Cyrene bewitching me. The irony wasn’t lost on me. If I’d been bewitched, it was six years ago, by a girl with sunlight in her smile who’d believed I could be someone better than what I truly was.
I glanced back at Cyrene, watching the rise and fall of her chest.
Maybe we could find our way back to something real. Beneath the politics and resentment, there could still be?—
Those were dangerous thoughts.
Still, as I prepared for bed in the adjoining dressing room, I couldn’t stop hope from taking root. Perhaps we could build something genuine from this arrangement. That the kiss we’d shared might be the first step.
I eased beneath the blankets, wishing I could wrap my arms around her and tug her near.
I woke to sunlight streaming through curtains I’d forgotten to close and an empty bed. I sat up, listening. The castle was never truly silent. There were too many servants, too many guards, too much ancient magic humming within the walls. But I heard something else.
Humming came from the tower adjacent to our sitting room I’d renovated for my wife.
I got up, bathed, and dressed quickly, then made my way toward the kitchen, nodding to guards along the way.
Despite consuming blood most of the time, we did occasionally eat real food. I also kept a full staff because I hoped one day to entertain more than only vampires.
The kitchen staff bowed when I entered.
“Your Majesty,” the head cook stammered. “We weren’t expecting—that is—your beverage is prepared and will be sent?—”
“I’ll prepare the queen’s tray myself,” I said.
Silence fell, broken only by the clatter of a dropped spoon.
