“Are you going to enter so we can talk?” he growls.
I can’t run. It’s not as if I can get far, and I owe him an apology, even if I don’t understand exactly what happened.
I timidly step inside. I’m wearing a robe over my satin nightgown, but the chill in his voice makes goose bumps erupt over my skin. Feylin’s gaze drags over every inch of me, and I feel naked even though I’m clearly not.
“I’m sorry,” I start.
He holds up a hand to stop me. Then he pours a glass of whatever he’s drinking for me and a small amount for himself.
I scan the room. There’s a desk, chairs, the fireplace. Ancient maps made of hide are pinned to the walls. Some are so old that their edges are crumbling.
This must be his office.
He points to a chair beside him and I sit. It occurs to me that the chairs should be facing the fireplace, but they’re not.
“I was waiting for you,” he mumbles as if reading my mind.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I don’t know what happened.”
A shadow jumps on his jaw, and for the love of all that’s good, somehow it makes him look even more handsome.
He leans back and circles his finger over the rim of theglass but doesn’t drink. His mood’s so dark that I feel the need to swallow some of mine.
The whiskey burns as it slips down my throat. The alcohol content is high—maybe 100 proof. All I know is that I won’t be needing any more of it.
“What happened,” he says replying to my statement, “is that you sabotaged the ceremony.”
“No.” Panic claws up my throat. “No, I swear that I didn’t.”
His eyes are hard as flint as he turns toward me. “Then what did occur?”
I can’t tell him the truth. Tell him that I don’t have magic and he’ll find a way to undo the joining sooner than I want, and I’ll be thrown back into the engagement season—balls and all.
My gaze drops to my hands. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe it’s a weird mix of fae and witch magic—or maybe the joining affected it.”
“Maybe.” He rises, picks up his chair and drops it in front of me so that we’re facing one another. He sits with a heavy sigh. “But I don’t think it’s a problem with the fae and witch magic.”
“What else could it be?”
He leans forward, stopping so close that I can see the firelight dancing in his eyes. He smells of whiskey and leather. I like the amber, but I’ll take the whiskey.
Our knees collide, shooting sparks up my legs. I shift to the side, but he shifts, too, pressing his knees against mine.
His gaze skims my face, stopping at my mouth. “You tell me why the tree burned to the ground.”
“I’ve told you—I don’t know what happened.”
It’s not exactly a lie. I actually don’t know the ins and outs of it, though clearly either my lack of magic or metryingto work it was the culprit.
He shifts forward and adjusts his legs outside of mine sothat his thighs are holding me prisoner. Even through our clothes, my skin screams.
“Do you know what’s riding on this relationship?”
I glare at him. “What?”
“The stability of my realm. Even though we won’t see this relationship to the end, we don’t need anyone to suspect our love isn’t real. And the omen we gave them”—he gestures toward the wall—“will have every one of my people thinking this relationship is cursed.”
“What’s it matter if it’s not real?”
