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Everything stops.

His mouth is hot and demanding, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m frozen. Then his hand slides up the back of my neck, fingers knotting in my hair, and I’m melting against him automatically. He’s not gentle. It’s rough, possessive, and hungry, like he’s daring me to pull away. When his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, a startled gasp comes out of me. I feel the pressure of his thumb nudging my lips further apart, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into my mouth like he owns it.

I should hate every second, but all I can focus on is the way my body comes alive, every nerve sparking, the cold receding until there’s nothing left but him.

Gods, I can’t think. I don’t know how to do this, and he knows. I can feel it in the way he slows down, in the smug way he tastes every corner of my mouth until I kiss back, desperate and clumsy. He just takes and takes, swallowing every sound I make, dragging me over him until I’m straddling his lap and my frozen feet are tangling with his calves under the covers.

His hands move. He palms my thighs, sliding up under my dress, the heat of his skin nearly burning compared to the cold that clung to me minutes ago. I arch against him, barely realizing what I’m doing, only that I want him closer, want something I can’t name.

He nips at my lip hard enough to sting, and my breath hitches as a noise I don’t recognize escapes my throat. He soothes the bite with his tongue and then kisses me again, slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world.

I don’t even realize my hands are gripping his shoulders until my fingers dig into his skin. My whole body is pressed to him, chest tight, heart trying to hammer its way through my ribs. His body feels like a furnace, and the terrifying part is that I can’t get enough. I want to crawl inside his skin, take his warmth and make it mine.

He pulls away, turning his face from mine. Did I do something wrong? Unsure of myself, I move to climb off him, but his iron grip stops me. It’s then I notice his breathing is harsher, and his face is twisted into that of a monster as he struggles with whatever urge has just come over him.

After a few moments, his fingers loosen, allowing me to slide off him. “We should sleep, little mortal. You’ve tempted me enough for one night,” he murmurs, tucking me closer. He presses his lips to my forehead. “Sleep my little mage,” he whispers so low I’m sure I imagined it.

Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under like a stone sinking through dark water. My body, warm at last, grows heavy against him. My muscles surrender one by one to the sweet promise of rest. My mind follows more slowly, thoughts fragmenting into disconnected images. Arlo’s gentle hands, the quiet strength in his eyes, the safe warmth of his arms.

Then the brutal image of him strung to a tree, shirtless, heaving, telling Mr. Crawly he did what he had to do.

Guilt sears me. I shouldn’t be thinking of him, not now, not tangled in the embrace of the man who’s stolen me away. But I can’t help it. Arlo’s words from on the pier replay in my head. “And I’ll keep loving you, even if you never say it back. Even if it costs me everything.”

Loving me did cost him everything. He lost his family and any chance of happiness we could have found in this world. I remember the way he looked at me that last night on the farm, his eyes promising love. I almost let myself believe in the possibility of it all, but now, all I have is the ache in my chest and the memory of a dream that never came true.

I press my face into the pillow, heart twisting with shame. What would Arlo think if he could see me now? Would he understand, or would hate flicker in those hazel eyes? I want to believe he would forgive me, but even that wish feels like a betrayal of everything he is. I want to believe he would understand that I am in no position to deny Kylian, yet that also isn’t true. Kylian hasn’t forced me. He’s given me choices, and even though they come with conditions, I still chose them. That is what kills me the most, knowing how much I have cost Arlo over the years, how many times he has chosen me over himself, and I still betrayed him by climbing into a monster’s bed, allowing him the one thing I always denied Arlo.

Kylian’s arms hold me close, but it’s Arlo’s memory that cradles my heart as sleep drags me under. Is he safe? Is he thinking of me? Is there any version of this life where I get to choose a love that doesn’t hurt?

CHAPTER 23

• Alessia •

I WAKE TO the sound of persistent knocking.

As I move to sit up, an arm catches me, heavy and unyielding across my waist. He drags me closer and envelopes me in his warmth, holding me in place. His chest is pressed to my back, solid and immovable. I squirm, trying to break away, but it just makes him tighten his hold. My hips are trapped against his. His warm breath feathers over my ear and the side of my neck.

“King Kylian?” My voice comes out shaky.

He doesn’t answer, not really. Just a low rumble right against my skin, more animal than man. The knocking comes again, sharper this time, and someone on the other side of the door moves about.

Typical. Of course he wouldn’t just let me go. The door handle scrapes as it turns. My heart freezes, not wanting to be seen in this mortifying position.

“Wait,” I squeak, thrashing against Kylian’s hold. “Someone’s coming in, stop . . . please . . . Someone will see—”

He growls, a real, guttural, threatening sound and rolls, hauling me beneath him so I am caged under his body. My dress twists up around my thighs, as his leg wedges between mine, pinning me. My wrists are caught above my head in one of his hands, his other is hard at my hip, squeezing.

I can’t even move. I can barely breathe with the heaviness of him pressing down.

The door swings open. Kylian’s face drops to my neck, lips cold and parted, tongue flickering against the skin just under my jaw. He does not look up to acknowledge whoever entered. Nor does he stop.

He doesn’t care that we aren’t alone.

Oh gods. Shame and panic tangle together in my gut. I arch my back and try to shove him away, but it does nothing. Kylian just rumbles, and there is a sudden rigid heat pressed hard against my belly. I realize in horror that it is his erection grinding into me.

The servant in the doorway freezes, his gaze meeting mine. He is my age, maybe younger, dark-haired and thin, holding a breakfast tray. His face goes dead blank, which makes it even more humiliating.

My cheeks feel like they might combust.