Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
KIERAN
For one wild moment, the world forgot itself.
Her mouth was on mine, warm, defiant, and tasting like sunshine after a hundred years of winter.
I forgot who I was.
My advisors gasped. I heard the shuffle of shoes, the agitated swish of their clothing. But none of it pierced the heat that detonated behind my ribcage.
Her body fit against mine as if the space between us had been waiting for her all along.
The first brush of her lips stole the air from my lungs.
She was warm, demanding, and utterly alive.
The world fell away until there was only the slide of her mouth beneath mine and the dizzy rush of magic sparking between us.
She tasted of citrus and something bright enough to burn.
My control shattered. I pulled her close and deepened the kiss, feeling her tremble, feeling myself shake even harder.
Her hands latched onto my coat. I splayed my hands along the back of her waist, soaking in her heat through her gown.
When she tilted her head and met me with that soft, answering hunger, I groaned.
The taste of her, the press of her body, and the sweet surge of light spilling through every shadow I carried wasn’t enough.
I wanted to drown in it and in her until there was nothing left but the fire we made between us.
I lifted my head, staring down at her.
Cyrene’s magic flared like the dawn.
And there was the absurdity of it all. Just hours ago, I’d practically asked her to pretend to be in love with me. To convince my advisors our marriage was real. Now she was doing precisely that, and I was… What? Upset that she’d taken the initiative? That she’d succeeded too well?
My problem was that I couldn’t tell where the pretense ended and truth began.
Cyrene’s magic spiraled away from us, infusing her joy into the world. Light burst in the vicinity, gold and pink and riotous. Petals of every color rained down from above, spinning on a warm current that shouldn’t exist in this cold kingdom.
From where he sat on the ground nearby, Quandary hiccupped a flame that stretched, bent, and when it impacted with her magic, arched into a shimmering rainbow over the maze hedge.
The little creature tumbled backward, smoke rings puffing from his nostrils, looking as shocked by the display as everyone else. He scrambled to his feet, wings fluttering, and flew up. He tried to fan away the rainbow with his tail, which only made it shimmer more.
I kissed Cyrene again. Her fingers curled into the front of my coat, and every disciplined muscle in me betrayed the six years of restraint I’d imposed on myself.
The taste of her joy magic was impossible to describe. It was warmth and memory, summer wine and laughter I hadn’t earned. My cold, shadow-bound magic rose to meet it, snarling like a caged beast desperate to devour light.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like anything at all.
When I finally tore my mouth from hers again, it wasn’t out of a sense of propriety. I couldn’t breathe. The air between us shimmered, thick with the echo of magic.
Her eyes were wide, bright, and fierce in the late afternoon light. For half a heartbeat, I saw triumph in them that was quickly replaced by shock. And then I spied something like fear.
Lady Aragorn hissed, “She’s bewitched him.”
I lowered Cyrene to the ground and faced them.
“I beg your pardon?” My voice came out softer than a whisper, sharper than a blade.
Lady Aragorn stumbled backward. “Your Majesty, this display, this enchantment… Surely the witch has used her charms—”
“Be very careful what you say next,” I growled.
She went corpse-pale.
Quandary, apparently sensing the tension, flew up to perch on Cyrene’s shoulder.
He glared at Lady Aragorn, puffed his tiny chest, and let out what was clearly meant to be an intimidating growl but sounded more like a kettle boiling over.
Small wisps of smoke curled from his nostrils, forming the unmistakable shape of a rude gesture I was certain Cyrene had taught him.
My advisors gasped.
Cyrene bit her lip, fighting a smile.
“If I was enchanted,” I said coolly, “would I be aware of it enough to threaten you?”
“I—that is—” Lord Rathley sputtered.
Cyrene stood beside me, still half in my arms, still breathing too fast. I’d slipped an arm around her waist and was holding her like I’d forgotten how to let go. The realization struck hard, and I released her.
“Perhaps logic was never their strong suit,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.
I fought the twitch at the corner of my mouth. Now was not the time to smile, no matter how accurate her assessment.
“Your Majesty,” Lord Broadworthy said from somewhere to the right, his tone trembling between scandal and awe. “If your goal was to convince the court of your bond, this may be enough to convince them.”
The courtyard fell into an awkward silence.
Someone sniffed, clearly not believing.
My uncle cleared his throat, fidgeting with his ceremonial collar. “Most…effective attempt, indeed.” He attempted a knowing smile that looked more like he’d bitten into something sour.
Aunt Madeline fanned herself. “Quite the passionate display of royal affection.” She emphasized the word passionate as if it was both scandalous and enviable.
Lord Rathley was still sputtering, his face cycling through various shades of red and purple. “But the protocol… The decorum…”
“I believe that the king and queen have just established new protocol.” Lord Broadworthy executed a formal bow that barely concealed his amusement. “One that the younger members of court will no doubt find most inspirational.”
I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Instead, I looked down at the reason my heart was pounding like a drum and spoke evenly. “I believe we’ve provided enough spectacle for one day,” I barked. “Clear the courtyard. All of you.”
When I raised my hand, shadow magic rippled outward, dousing the floating petals and silencing every murmured objection. Everyone scattered, their clothing whispering, their shoes crunching on the stone path. None of them dared look back at us.
Cyrene stepped away from me, her chin lifting. “You don’t need to defend me.”
But I did. In everything.
“You kissed me in front of my entire court,” I said.
“Is that a problem?”
“To them, yes.”
“We’re married. Isn’t it natural for a married couple to kiss?”
“They know we married to solidify a treaty.”
She folded her arms on her chest, tilting her head with infuriating calm.
“Oh, forgive me, then. I didn’t realize I should’ve sent a formal request before doing what I could to save this marriage.
” She gave me a look that could have melted the marble gargoyles perched below the castle towers.
“Your advisors were one snide comment away from calling our marriage a fraud. Now they may not. You’re welcome. ”
Fates, she was impossible. Brilliant. Brave. Terrifying. And the worst part of all was that she was right.
“They think I bewitched you,” she said. “Which we both know isn’t true.”
I found myself watching the pulse at her throat, the faint shimmer of magic that still clung to her skin like starlight. Her sweet honey scent filled the cold air.
I swallowed hard. “You’ve made your point. Next time, let’s try to find a less theatrical method of proving our marriage is real.”
Her smile shone with pure mischief. “And rob you of your most exciting council meeting in years?” She stepped closer. “Believe me, I’m just getting started.”
I wanted to kiss her again.
Instead, I turned on my heel and started toward the castle. “Walk.”
“Is that an order or a suggestion?” she called out to my back.
“Both.”
She laughed, and the sound scraped away at something raw inside me.
“You realize,” she said, catching up to stride with me, “that your advisors are going to spend the rest of the day drafting new policies on appropriate royal displays of affection.”
“There are no appropriate displays.”
“Oh? Then I suppose we’ve just invented the first one. Should we name it after me? The Royal Cyrene Anti-Kiss Protocol.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“One of us should.”
“And you look like you’re marching to your own execution.”
“My reputation may well be.” She rolled her eyes. “Your reputation needed the help. The Ice King isn’t exactly a term of endearment.”
I stopped walking, frowning down at her. “Where did you hear that?”
“The servants talk. I listen. It’s a valuable skill.”
“One you should employ less often.”
“Or one you should employ more.”
We continued along the stone path leading to the east wing. Guards bowed and looked anywhere but at us. I felt their stares anyway, their curiosity gnawing at my back. Rumors would spread before nightfall. No, before dinner. The king had been bewitched. The witch had claimed him.
Most kings would be furious. But every time I tried to summon the proper indignation, all I could think of was the feeling of her in my arms.
Quandary bobbed on Cyrene’s shoulder, glancing back at the guards and flicking his tail. He’d somehow acquired a fallen leaf, which he was wearing like a crown, tilted at an angle that mimicked my own. When he caught me watching, he straightened it with exaggerated dignity.
“Your shadow is developing a personality,” I said.
“That he is, to your advisors dismay.”
Inside the corridor, the darkness reclaimed me, and I let it. Torches flickered on the walls, dim light pooling at our feet. The castle itself seemed to hush around us, listening.
Cyrene’s skirts brushed across the marble floor. She was silent now. Too silent. The hum of her joy magic had retreated, leaving a faint ache in its wake.
When I glanced at her, she was studying me sideways.
“You’re angry,” she said.
“Not one bit.”
“Then why the scowl?”
“I’m considering whether to have you thrown in the dungeon or awarded a medal.”
Her lips twitched. “What’s the verdict?”
I stopped walking. “Undecided.”