Instead, he reaches out and snaps a single bloom from a thorned branch. When he returns, he doesn’t hand it to me. He sets it on the tray beside the cakes and jars of jam, then nudges the whole thing closer.
The gesture is simple. Careful.
“Some things aren’t meant to endure untouched,” he says quietly. “They’re meant to be tended to while they can be. Remembered when they’re gone.” His gaze lingers on the flower. “You didn’t fail her garden. You stayed with it longer than most people would have.”
Something in my chest tightens.
The silence between us no longer feels like tension, just stillness. Not quite peace—but something close.
And yet, a thought creeps in all the same. Maybe this, too, is a tactic. Another way to soften me. I push it down, but it still simmers beneath my skin.
“So,” I ask quietly, “what now?”
The king—Keiren—only gazes at me with a hint of confusion.
“Is this the plan?” I press. “Invite me to your garden, wait for nightfall, we watch the moonflowers bloom, then invite me to your chambers, demand the kiss you’re owed, and—”
His eyes lift to mine. There’s no arrogance in his gaze, no hunger.
“No,” he says candidly. “I do not make it a practice to force myself on unwilling women.”
“That’s rich,” I snap, “coming from the man who sends a dragon to the corners of the earth to collect them.”
His jaw tightens. “I do not send the dragon. I have no control over who he chooses.” He flicks his gaze downward, staring into his teacup so intently I wouldn’t be surprised if it started boiling.
“Then what do you want from me?” I ask incredulously.
“Today,” he says softly. “I hope you stay. That we watch the moonbeams open together.”
I don’t know what to say, but he doesn’t fill the silence. He just waits.
My throat tightens. “And if I don’t? If I want to leave right now?”
His smile flickers, rueful. “Then I’ll let you go.”
The truth settles heavy in my chest: If he demanded anything, I could hate him for it. I could harden myself and survive.
But he isn’t demanding.
And that makes staying far more dangerous.
I glance at the moonbeam in its planter, its buds tight and waiting, then back at Keiren. Something in my chest fractures as I realize I want nothing more than to stay and watch it open with him.
“Fire, I—” He reaches as if to touch my hand but stops himself.
“I should go,” I say too quickly. “Thank you for the tea.”
I stand, give him a shallow bow, and turn to leave.
I don’t look back.
Chapter 21
Hoofprints
Thursday passes in a blur of quiet observation. Mariel leaves after breakfast with a book tucked beneath her arm and returns at dinner with a second one, older, thicker, cradled gently to her chest like something sacred. She doesn’t ask what happened between me and the king, and I’m grateful. Nor do I press her for the details regarding her day. Instead, we fall into companionable silence as we take turns reading the books the library offers us.
Friday brings Vivian’s turn, and the following day, she arrives at breakfast in a deep crimson gown and a little smirk. Her hair gleams and her laughter rings too loudly, but it’s real. Her lightand strength fully returned. When we ask if her day with the king went well, she shares that it was pleasant yet uneventful.
