Page 110 of Their Wicked Cage

With Miriya’s kind eyes and natural beauty and Riven’s… well, everything.

I meant what I said last night. Miriya is sweet.

She’d make a brilliant queen. A lovely wife.

So why does my chest feel like it’s caving in?

Why is there a vicious, unrelenting part of me that wants to throw myself between them and declare Riven Thaelon as mine and mine alone?

When… he isn’t.

That much is clear the moment he leans in and says something that makes her laugh.

Again, I’m forced to look away, biting the inside of my cheek until it hurts more than the pain unfurling in my heart.

“Do you like to dance, Gwyn?” a male whispers in my ear.

I startle and whip toward the voice.

“Black hell, Arkyn!” I swat his arm. “You can’t just sneak up on someone like that.”

He laughs. “Well… do you?”

“I do,” I say, willing my heart rate to return to normal. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I like to dance too.” He smiles and tips his head toward the dance floor. “Should we?”

“Don’t you have to… guard Riven or something?”

“What better place to catch swords than on the dance floor beside my king?”

I mull this over.

“I don’t know,” I say at last. “Would Riven…?”

Approve? Hate the sight of me with another male?

I don’t even know how to finish that question, but thankfully, I don’t have to because Arkyn says, “Lose his mind if we danced together?” He lifts a shoulder. “Probably. He’s not big on sharing.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t. If it’ll upset him⁠—”

He extends his hand to me. “Just one dance has never killed anybody.”

“I’m almost positive that isn’t true.”

Still, I take his hand and let him lead me onto the dance floor, weaving us in between an elderly couple drenched in jewels and Riven and Miriya. I ignore them, ignore my own racing mind, and let the melody settle into my bones. This particular music has a lovely way of stripping me bare of any unwanted thoughts, leaving me lighter. Any weight I carried in my chest at the sight of Riven and Miriya evaporates, and I’m spinning, wild and free, like I’m back at my cottage, beneath a full moon, circling a bonfire.

Arkyn keeps his hands where a gentleman would—high on my waist, proper enough that even a goddess wouldn’t disapprove. And when I meet his gaze, I don’t find anything lingering there beyond brotherly concern.

“You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?” he murmurs.

My steps falter, breath catching, but I quickly recover, forcing myself back into the rhythm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“With all the lying you’ve been doing since the brides arrived,” he says dryly, “I thought you’d be better at it by now.”

“I’m not⁠—”

“Cut the act, Gwyn.” His voice heats. “I just want to have an honest conversation with you because I think… I think he’s fallen for you too.”