Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Phillip cursed softly under his breath as he watched Mal disappear into the forest. Her horns gleamed in the fading light like crescent moons. A knot of frustration twisted in his chest, but beneath it burned relief, joy, and a fierce, aching gratitude.
She was alive. Mal, with her fire, her fury, her sharp edges and untamed heart, was alive.
His heart was a bouncing bean inside his chest. The vital organ was light and full for the first time in years. His blood rushed hot through his veins, his mind clear, his senses alive. It felt like spring after a long, frozen winter.
He was done standing still. Done waiting. She was here. They were here. And nothing—not curses, not misunderstandings—would keep him from her now.
Phillip sprinted after Mal. He wove through the forest as though it were an old friend.
The trees, familiar and towering, whispered their encouragement as he passed, their branches swaying with approval, recognizing him as someone who belonged here.
Vines unfurled, and the underbrush parted, creating a path as the flora urged him forward.
His hands pumped at his sides. His skin burned with a desire that was equal parts longing and urgency. The leaves above him rustled on the breeze, rooting him on to close the distance.
He reached her cabin, tucked snugly between two ancient oaks. Its ivy-covered walls were as wild and stubborn as the woman who lived inside. Phillip didn’t bother knocking. He never had before. Not even when her Guardian mother was alive.
Morwyn would simply smile and cock her head toward the back door. Phillip would race from the front door to the back, springing out to find his friend, his beloved, his soul mate.
He shoved the front door open and stepped inside.
Immediately, he missed the old Guardian's presence.
For a brief time, Morwyn had been like a mother to him.
Tending to his wounds when he fell from a tree.
Offering council as he began to take on his duties as Prince Regent.
Giving advice as she saw the young man falling desperately in love with her obstinate daughter.
The obstinate scent of Mal hit him first—a heady blend of oak sap, wood smoke, and wildflowers. It wrapped around him like a long-lost embrace, stirring memories of stolen moments beneath the stars, whispered promises made in the quiet dark. His chest tightened painfully at the familiarity of it.
Phillip's gaze swept the room. It was the same space he remembered, but changed. There were more plants now, growing along the walls and creeping across the floor like sentries. The hearth glowed with embers, casting soft golden light that flickered over the rough-hewn furniture. It was cozy, but there was a lingering sadness in the air, a weight that hadn’t been there before when he'd visited as a child and young man.
Mal stood in the center of the room, her back straight, her jaw tight, her green eyes flashing with fury. She looked like a storm given form—wild, beautiful, dangerous. Her magic thrummed in the air around her, alive and restless, like the wood of the cabin was feeding off her emotions.
Phillip couldn’t help it. He grinned. Gods, she was beautiful.
“You really didn’t waste any time, did you? Running after me like a fool."
Phillip stepped closer, undeterred by the fire in her voice. If anything, it delighted him. Mal in a fury was a sight to behold—fierce, untamed, irresistible. "Wouldn’t be the first time."
She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You're different. You used to believe in the forest. In its magic. In the idea that humans and fae could live side by side. Now your people are killing the land we both swore to protect."
Phillip’s grin faded. “I didn’t know. I was off fighting, trying to keep the kingdom safe. I thought everyone here was... safe.”
"You left," she accused.
"Because I thought you were dead. Now I’m back. It will stop. I will stop it.”
“Will you stop the wedding too?” Mal’s gaze didn’t soften. If anything, her green eyes burned brighter. “I saw the ring, Phillip. Your mother's engagement ring. Aurora’s still wearing it.”
“I didn't give her that ring. My mother did when Rory was a child. There has only ever been one woman in my heart.”
Mal’s breath hitched, but she held her ground, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. "You're still going to marry her?”
Phillip shook his head, closing the distance between them. “No, Mal. I told you both three years ago. I told Aurora I loved you. I told you both we were going to figure it all out together.”
“Then the curse... And you don’t find that suspicious? That the curse fell exactly when you told her you'd chosen me?”
Phillip exhaled slowly, brushing his thumb along her jaw, the familiar feel of her skin grounding him. “I don’t care about suspicion. Not right now. I’ve spent three years without you. Three years thinking I’d never see you again. I’ll be damned if I let another second go by without doing this.”
It wasn’t a tentative kiss. Nor a careful one. It was fierce, desperate, like a man drowning who had finally found air. His hands cradled her face, his fingers threaded into her dark hair, holding her to him as if afraid she might slip away again.
Mal resisted, her fists curling against his chest. Didn't matter to him. She could say no all she wanted, but he knew her. Knew her body. Knew what they both wanted.
As though on cue, with a soft, broken sound, Mal's body melted into his.
Her arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer.
Her magic flared between them, warm and wild, wrapping them both in a fire that started at the place where their chests met and ignited from their toes to their heads in one blast.
Phillip felt whole. Alive. Home.
Mal let out a shaky breath, her hands still clinging to him. “If you ever leave me again, I will kill you.”
“Gods, I’ve missed you.” Phillip smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her brow.