Page 115 of Their Wicked Cage

His honesty hangs in the air, a heavy force that makes me collapse onto the edge of his bed.

“You’re not ready to marry a beautiful female, break your curse, and save your kingdom?” I ask, forcing an airy laugh.

“You know that isn’t what I mean.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

Is he saying…

“I’m not ready to give this up.” He gestures between us. “I’m not ready to give you up.” He crosses the room to stand in front of me. My legs part for him, and he steps closer, shins meeting the bed frame as he cups my cheeks with both hands. “I just… I need you to let me be selfish. Let me get you out of my system, and then… I’ll do it. I’ll propose to whoever you decide. I’ll marry her the day after. I’ll save the kingdom, and our bargain will be through. You’ll be free. Of exile. Of your coven. Of me. Just one more week.”

It’s like I’ve floated outside of my skin, and I’m watching as Riven begs me to grant him another week. Another week of mind-blowing sex, of the raw baring of our bodies and souls. Another week where I can pretend he’s mine when we’re alone, and not Miriya’s or Lyrielle’s or whichever bride he marries.

I watch myself nod and smile.

I hear myself whisper against Riven’s lips, “Just one more week.”

And then I’ll be free.

Of exile.

Of my coven.

Of—

I can’t bring myself to think of the last one.

Chapter 29

GWYN

Riven is sound asleep when I slip from his bed.

It pains me more than it should to leave him, but it hurts worse to stay, knowing in a week some other female will be the one warming his bed, and I will be somewhere in the countryside.

Alone again, save for Achlys.

I fumble around in the dark, patting the floor and searching for the soft fabric of my nightgown, only to remember I came here directly from the ball and there’s no way I’m getting that dress back on without help.

The moment my fingers touch something silky, I grab it and slip it on. If I take the staff corridor in the hallway, I can make it back to my suite without anyone seeing me and then have Lettie return Riven’s shirt in the morning.

Or maybe I’ll just keep it.

A souvenir of our time together for when my lonely nights try to convince me I made a mistake.

I stub my toe as I make my way to the door by memory and sense alone. The painful jab has me cursing under my breath. Behind me, Riven mumbles something in his sleep. I draw still, listening intently, but I can only make out a single word.

Gwyn.

Is he dreaming of me?

When my hand wraps around the cold handle, I contemplate crawling back into bed beside him, snuggling up, and falling asleep against the slow rise and fall of his chest.

The temptation is so strong I have to force myself to leave. I shut the door quietly behind me and lean my forehead against it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

To him. To myself.