Page 60 of The Reaping Rose

“Well, now you have.”

With his lips pressed to my skin, he smirks. “Shall we?”

I nod once, not daring to speak past the tightness in my throat. We walk hand in hand with an unbearable canyon of space between us. One I’m desperate to close as his magic roams my skin, teasing me.

The great hall is busy when we arrive, packed with Fae. But it’s the humans who catch me by surprise. Wilder didn’t just invite his court; he invited my people to this gathering.

In Malachi’s court, it was clear where I stood. Humans are a novelty more than anything. We’re beneath the Fae, to be used and discarded.

I’m beginning to see that’s not the case in Vaelier. But between the grieving pillars that mark a human custom in a Fae realm and the villagers eating alongside them at dinner, I get a glimpse of a more accepting court.

Glancing up at Wilder, I find his eyes already on me. There aren’t words to capture how much I appreciate this small gesture, but he nods as if he senses it anyway.

We weave through the room, and I spot Thomas fawning over Letia near the far wall. Greer is at her side, and although Letia laughs at what Thomas says, she shifts closer to Greer as she does it. Letia’s dress is made entirely of strands of gold gems strung so tightly they slink around her curves with each step. The golden hue draws out the warmth in her rosy-beige skin. Her cheeks are no longer bright red and wind chapped. They’re pink and warm.

Seren sips her wine at Thomas’s other side, angled as if she’s engaging with the group around her but distracted when her gaze lingers on Perame. They share a look through the crowd, and Perame is the first to look away.

I glance around the room at the beautiful gowns. There’s more variety than in the Ley Court. The finery of the Quietus Court has varied textures and styles. Lace, feathers, silk. Everything is intricately woven, as if the clothes are individually crafted to accentuate the body they decorate.

Rior and Atlas hover at a large tabletop, dressed nicely in varying shades of dark grays and greens. Atlas’s red hair is tied back, showing off his purple eyes.

“Who knew this group could be so formal?”

Wilder leans closer. “That’s what they’d like you to think.”

The tickle of Wilder’s breath on my neck makes me shiver. A soothing rumble hums down the thread as he must notice my reaction. His hand slides down along my lower back, stirring the need I’ve been denying.

Let him love you.

Letia’s words from earlier swim through me. I’ve held onto my anger to keep my guard up because once I give in, I won’t be able to deny the bond thrumming between us. But why do I continue drawing this line?

Why is being vulnerable so incredibly terrifying?

So undeniably thrilling.

I glance up at Wilder. Greedy desire burns hot in his eyes.

“Would you like to leave?” he offers.

“Of course not.” I shrug. “It’s only fair we make an appearance. Go, find your friends. Have fun.”

It’s tinged with a challenge as I peel away from him, and when I glance back, he’s frozen at the entrance to the room watching me. With a final smile over my shoulder, his growl is felt through the thread.

Let him love you.

Let yourself love him.

Wilder strokes my senses. A soothing calm that pacifies my nerves. Reminding me he’s more than my mate; he’s the male who comforted me in my darkest moments. Who cared for me in a court where everyone was looking out for themselves. Who doesn’t try to temper my fire—he stokes it.

He hands me daggers to fight alongside him.

He values my strength.

He’s my mate.

My mirror.

Wilder once told me love pales in comparison to the mating bond. I didn’t understand that until our bond pulled taut. Until he looked into my eyes and everything simply made sense. He isn’t just a part of me; he accepts who I am. Even when I continue to struggle with the duplicity myself.