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Oh, sweet Goddess.

My knees actually squeeze together. Grimm notices. His smile becomes downright wicked.

“Don't do that.”

“Don't do what, Princess?”

“That.”

“Princess.”

“Grimm.”

He pulls me even closer—and it’s a wonder I’m not suffocating.

“Get used to it.”

Yeah, I'm in trouble.

Big, furry, crown-owning trouble.

But for the first time in weeks, I don't mind.

Because somehow I've landed in a completely insane, curse-filled, chocolate-fueled fairy tale with a Wolf who turns into a prince, a prince who apparently owns a crown but refuses to admit he has a castle, and a mate who says he loves me like it's the easiest truth in the world.

Honestly?

I've had worse dates.

Epilogue

Three Months Later

I know Grimm is up to something. This is not mate intuition.

It is not Witch magic. It is not even my highly developed ability to recognize when the man I love is being a sneaky bastard.

Okay, maybe it's a little bit of that last one.

Mostly, it's the blindfold.

“Grimm.”

“Yes, my Enchantress?”

“If I fall and break my neck, I'm haunting you.”

His hand tightens around mine.

“You aren't going to fall.”

“You say that with a lot of confidence for a man who blindfolded a woman and then took her walking through the woods in December.”

“We aren't in the woods.”

I stop.

“What?”