31

Iwoke up at his touch, his arm pulling me in and his lips exploring my shoulder. The moon blazed through the expansive window to cast curious shadows on the hollows of the room, and I lay there for a few moments, feeling him feel me, until I was full of intimacy and I rolled over to face him. His hair was a mess, his mouth soft, his eyes a little sleepy. He looked more handsome and human than ever before. He looked mine.

An inkling of a smile curled his lips. "There she is."

"I don't even remember falling asleep," I admitted, rubbing a knuckle over an eye.

He slanted his face directly over mine and pressed a kiss on the tip of my nose. "Did I wear you off, darling?"

Indeed, I was a little sore. My muscles felt liquid, and my head was blissfully muddled, yet somehow, a stream of worry managed to overtake me as I gazed up at him now.

How could I not be worried when there were so many questions and so many things left unsaid?

Should I expect him to feel things for me that he wasn't equipped to feel? Would he only learn to imitate love for my sake, and would I grow to resent him for it? Did we even have a future beyond the cold edge of tonight?

There was nothing more frightening than uncertainty for lovers. Now all the things we hadn't talked about beforehand crept on me like phantoms, pale and grim, wavering out of the darkest corners of my mind. But I was not sober enough to confront them. I was still drunk on him. Still dizzy from his touch and still hoping for more. I wanted to stay in this blissful torpor forever, for our lives to become an endless continuation of this night and nothing more.

I summoned some heart and shot him a mischievous smile as I slid my hands over his naked chest. "I have plenty of energy, Zayra."

He raised a brow, curling a hand at the nape of my neck. "I'm fairly certain that's your I-have-questions face."

My thoughts stammered as his thumb traced my mouth with an indulgent back and forth before pressing down on the seam to nudge my lips apart. Without permission, my tongue darted out to taste him, and he groaned as I sucked him in.

"Nepheli, I'm trying to have a serious conversation here," he grunted, withdrawing his hand.

"But there is no need," I whined.

"I can practically see your brain overanalyzing something, Little Butterfly. Did I do something—"

"You didn't do anything," I blurted out, a sense of panic rising in my blood.

His head fell back on the pillow, and I watched as his eyes shadowed and the column of his throat constricted. His voice came out broken, "I want you to be happy."

Needing the reassurance of his skin on my skin, I leaned down on him completely. My hair draped like a curtain around his face, and my pendant dangled between us, just above his own neck, a flash of silver in the semidarkness. "But what about you?" I whispered, everything floundering inside me. "Can you feel happy?"

His eyes were moonlit and surprised staring up at me. And soft. Soft, like the next words he uttered, "Nepheli, I don't think you understand how much light and beauty and laughter you've brought into my life by simply existing a few days in it." He took my hand and brought it flush with his hard, unwavering chest, his lack of pulse stark in the moving moment. "I have nothing in here but you."

Nothing could rise to my throat in response. It was impossible to put into words the way he made me feel. So I put it into touch. I traced with my fingertips the familiar lines of his face—the arch of his brows, the slope of his nose, the irresistible shape of his mouth. Time seemed to stand still for us, but it was an imperfect stillness, all skipping breaths and stuttering heartbeats.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he whispered.

"You're so beautiful," I murmured, leaning in to kiss his brow.

"In Thaloria," he said, "we believe that if you kiss someone above the eyes, you won't see them again. Are you telling me goodbye, Nepheli?"

"No," I promised. "No. I meant what I said earlier."

He lifted his chin and crashed his lips on mine, his hand slipping over the back of my head. We kissed like this for a while, deeply, indolently, until our lips grew numb and raw and we had to pull apart.

"I can come to live with you in Elora if that's what you want," he said.

I chuckled, thinking he was joking. "Apollo, you're the heir to the throne. You cannot permanently move out of Thaloria."

He pulled back and raised himself up on his elbows, the blue sheet falling to his stomach. I searched for his eyes, alarmed by the sudden shift in his demeanor. "Nepheli," he said somberly. "I will never become king."

I frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"As long as I am without a heart, I am unfit to rule. Thaloria will not have a heartless ruler."

The proudest people, and I humiliated them, I remembered him saying at Isa's manor. This was what he meant. This was why he'd been searching without rest for all these years. He was trying to earn back the life he'd lost in more ways than one. And I knew he would say that he'd brought this upon himself, but it was still so unbelievably unfair—one heartbreak and one mistake to alter a life forever.

Apollo deserved a second chance. He was more than his mistakes and more than his past. No one should only be defined by the broken parts of themselves.

The more I thought about it, the more this sense of selfhood overwhelmed me. A sense of being me in a form that was new but not unfamiliar. A version of myself I had misplaced and Apollo, without meaning to, had helped me find, and now all I wanted to do was help him back.

I slipped on top of him, straddling him around the hips. "Then we'll start looking again," I said, determined. "Together. We won't stop until we find your heart and you're restored and able to claim your throne."

He gave me the barest incline of his head, a curl of a smile. "You're glowing again, darling."

I didn't have to look down at my body to confirm it. Silver light landed shadows on the hollows of his face. "I'm excited," I admitted. "It will be an adventure."

"You'll teach me about curiosities," he said.

"You'll teach me how to fight," I added.

"Sounds like a good plan, Little Butterfly."

"But we'll have to fix and sell the Shop first. It needs to go to a good family. People who will love and appreciate it."

He fitted his hands on my waist as he raised his hips, just enough to make me fall forward into his arms. My breasts grazed his chest, and even that simple skin-on-skin sensation made my body grow heavy with need again. "Anything you want," he said before threading his tongue between my lips.

I could already feel his hardness between my thighs, the tip grinding against that perfect spot. I moved my pelvis circularly to intensify the friction, and Apollo shut his eyes, groaning, "You'll be the end of me, Nepheli."

And just as he was about to slip inside me and release us both from this torment, the most unbecoming growl came from my stomach.

Apollo stopped moving and burst into laughter. "What do you say we get dressed and down to the kitchen? There must be enough leftover food from the ball to satiate whatever's growling in there." His hands drifted downward and squeezed my backside. "And then we'll come back to satiate other parts of your body."

Suddenly, I was ravenous indeed.

◆◆◆

The Palace was eerily quiet. Dawn crept in through the paneled windows of the corridor, and the soft light made everything look purple and lush, almost haunted. Every hour of the day was so distinctly colorful here that I still had trouble believing I wasn't only experiencing this place through some wild fever dream of mine.

"Come here," Apollo rasped as he caught my waist and maneuvered me around until my back was pressed up against the wall.

"Apollo, someone will see," I halfheartedly complained.

"Good," he said, his voice deliciously rough. "They should know you're mine."

For a little while, we kissed under the periwinkle glaze of the corridor until the only thought left in my head was that, for the first time in my life, I wasn't just comfortable and content. I was a thousand-pink-butterflies-in-my-stomach happy.

A sudden, loud thump, followed by a muffled curse, disturbed the velvet silence and we pulled apart at once. Apollo, on sheer instinct, flung his body before me. But it was only Isa at the end of the long, dreamy corridor, struggling to open the door of what I presumed was her bedchamber. "Why did I have to lock it, damn it?" she was muttering to herself as she unsteadily twisted the gilded knob.

"Isa!" Apollo called, on the verge of laughter.

Isa started with a squeal. Her face was flushed, and her gaze was disconcertingly bleary. "Oh, hello. How strange. I was actually looking for you," she mumbled, each of her vowels outstretched from insobriety. "I wanted a chance to talk to you two. I feel absolutely terrible about the way I behaved at the manor."

"Isa," Apollo cut in, his head cocked to the side in part amusement and part incredulity. "Are you just returning from the ball?"

The redness in her cheeks deepened. "Maybe," she said with a little hiccup.

Apollo chuckled under his breath as we rushed to her side. "I don't think I've ever seen you drunk."

Isa teetered in her heeled shoes, and I caught her around the waist to steady her while Apollo worked to unjam the door, twisting the gilded knob left and right. "I'm surprised there aren't any guards here to help you," he grunted, shoving the door with the side of his shoulder until the hinges finally gave in with a disapproving screech.

"They're probably on a break. And I'm not drunk," Isa grumbled, holding on to me for dear life. "Eloise's fruit punch was just extra fruity tonight."

A giggle rolled out of me as I fastened my arms around her waist.

"Okay," Apollo drawled. "Let's just put you to bed."

The room, lush and enormous, was already lit by tall, lavender-hued candles. Curiously enough, the decorative scheme held nothing of Isa's taste—at least not from what I'd seen in the manor, which had been full of quaint pieces, exuberant tapestries, and a plethora of curiosities. Apart from the rich wallpaper boasting swirls of thorny vines in deep shades of purple, the space was elegant and understated, with only the necessary furniture in dark mahogany.

I helped her to the four-poster bed while Apollo went to the little built-in bar across the room to fill a glass of water for her.

"This room was my mother's, you know," I heard her murmuring, sitting upright with her eyes already closed. "It still bears her magic. It's embedded in the walls. I can do almost anything in here."

She started leaning forward, her neat dark locks tumbling over her forehead. I grabbed her shoulders just in time and kept her straight, wondering if she could even lie down in her bouffant gown. "It's nice that you're still connected with her like that," I tried to soothe, looking over my shoulder at Apollo.

"You're out of water, Isa," Apollo said, holding up the empty carafe. "I'm going to go get some, okay?" He turned to me, a little worried now that Isa was looking so green and fragile. "Don't let her lie on her back."

I nodded. "Don't worry. I got her."

Sorry, he mouthed.

I smiled and mouthed back, It's okay.

He crossed the room in a hurry, but the door was acting stubborn again.

"Is it jammed?" I asked as I stacked two pillows one on top of the other, before guiding Isa to lay down on her side.

Apollo kicked and twisted and pushed. "I don't know," he grunted. "Isa, did you lock the door when we came in?"

When I faced Isa again, she didn't look green at all. Her skin was cool like rain. Her hazel eyes were lucid and wide open. Something wicked washed over her expression. A shadow. A darkness.

Slowly, horribly, she stood up. The flames around the room flickered with an off-putting swoosh. "You weren't wearing that when you came to the manor," she said, and the sudden clarity and depth in her voice drew goosebumps on my skin. "But something tells me you've had it for a very long time…Little Butterfly."

I stumbled back, gasping. "What are you talking about?"

Isa smiled a monstrous, knowing smile. She lunged for my neck and ripped. "His heart."