The thunder crack was felt deep in every bone within the Great Hall. It was as if the heavens tried to answer the Princess itself.

  Aleiya looked up at her husband, finding that same disquiet in his eyes—the one she hadn’t known how to name before. She glanced back to Magnus, his patient presence too horrible a threat.

  Not even the strings would whisper too close to him, curling away like paper drawn toward a flame—not burned, but too aware of what came next.

  With another flick back to Sullivan, she retreated into his warm, accepting embrace. A quiet sigh escaped him as her body pressed firmly into his—her newfound wall, her impenetrable fortress. Her hands clasped over her mouth, desperately trying to hide away.

  The mouse decided she preferred the snake over the spider.

  Magnus’s smile faltered.

  He stopped his fingers from crushing the stem in his hand outright. He had broken far stronger creatures with a glance. Commanded kings. Laid waste to gods in silk gloves. But this little thing?

  She scampered.

  She ignored him.

  She offered him a lily, then hid herself away.

  She denied him even a whisper of her breath.

  The sheer audacity?

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so insulted. Something so delicate should not survive defiance. It should wilt and wither for daring. And yet…

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  It was so utterly adorable.

  The mirth returned when he replayed her frightened scamper in his head—the smile curling just the edge of his lips. His gaze lingered—savored—his fingers gingerly rubbing at the stem in his hand. He traced every bend and every curve as his eyes followed their rhythm over her thinly dressed body.

  Even as she pressed herself deeper into that leech’s arms.

  It already felt like a lifetime ago, but that moment they shared was exquisite. She had bloomed, just for him. Briefly. And he had felt the universe bend to it. Call to it. Stop to revere it.

  The stem still trembled in his hand.

  Or perhaps he was the one trembling.

  His thoughts lingered on the bloom, on what it might become. All she needed was a proper guiding hand—and time itself would cease.

  Who better to guide her than the Eternal King?

  But before he could turn aspiration into action, Sullivan intruded, cutting the moment short.

  “You will have to forgive my wife,” Sullivan murmured.

  Magnus’s gaze was torn from her and brought to Sullivan—slower than it should have. His emphasis on my wife was a quiet unspoken warning that soured the mood.

  “Aleiya is quite shy.”

  Sullivan’s fingers traced the back of Aleiya’s head—not just protective, but possessive. He wasn’t sure why. Only that he had to ensure Magnus wouldn’t so much as brush a single strand of her hair.

  Magnus took a heartbeat to soak in Sullivan’s possessiveness.

  Territorial, yes—but not like a cat guarding its kill. Even the pools of shadow that waxed and waned at the leech’s call reached to wrap around the little bride—as if even the darkness knew to guard her. To hide her from him.

  He glanced at the girl trembling in her husband’s arms—such a sweet little thing. Almost too sweet to rip to pieces.

  And Aleiya could feel Magnus at her back—his presence, his hunger. The air itself was a noose tightening around her throat. His attention was too much. The expectations were too much.

  ‘Unsee me.’ She chanted to herself. ‘Unknow me.’

  Her hands clutched at Sullivan’s jacket, desperate for protection she wasn’t sure he could—or would—give.

  Magnus’s eyes returned to Sullivan’s—a clash of a bright, open sky and waters too deep for light to touch. He could hear the whispers of the other guests, murmurs of a love triangle taking root. Not even the Eternal King was immune to scrutiny. How vulgar.

  He bit his lip—light, thoughtful—and let it slip from between his teeth. He relented, but never without a goodbye.

  He turned to the crowd of guests with a flourishing wave.

  “Let’s give a big round of applause to the happy couple, everybody!”

  And like perfectly poised puppets, everyone in the room obeyed. His mirthful gaze never wavered from Sullivan’s. A single tiny twitch of annoyance. That was all Magnus needed. A win—just enough to soothe his wounded pride.

  His claim would simply have to wait.