Page 31 of Their Wicked Cage

“Stop the horse!” I shout, excitement burning away the pain in my muscles.

Riven startles and jerks us to a halt. He’s gaping after me, wide-eyed, as I peel myself off the beast and slide to the ground. My legs are like jelly, trembling from the hours spent riding, but I somehow manage to hold myself upright.

Achlys and I haven’t been swimming in centuries, and I cannot pass this opportunity up.

I look at Riven. “Well, are you coming?”

“Coming where?” He glances around us. “We’re still a few hours out from the worst of the blight.” I gesture to the cliffside pool. “You want to go swimming?” His eyebrows lift so far up his forehead, I nearly giggle. “In there?”

“Obviously,” I say, striding toward the edge. I crouch and touch the water—a soft moan escapes me before I can stop it. “It’s warm.”

“We don’t have any swimming clothes.”

I reach for my corset’s front laces. “Who said anything about swimming clothes?”

“You can’t be serious.”

I unlace the ribbon and let the corset fall to the grass at my feet. “Oh, I’m incredibly serious.”

Achlys dips low to the ground and shifts into his favored form, landing lightly on four paws before launching himself into the water, tail wagging as he paddles around.

I laugh as I kick off my boots.

Riven watches me from atop the horse, regal and distant, his gilded laurel leaf crown glinting in the waning sunlight. His finely sewn clothes are rumpled, stretched over the body that was braced against mine for hours. My cheeks heat. It’s been ages since I’ve been touched by a male, and it’s becoming increasingly clear I’ve missed it.

It being physical touch, that is.

By the gods. I might even be starved for it.

That’s the only explanation for why I didn’t hate the safety of his arms around me as he held the reins, or how his warm breath ruffled the hair on the back of my neck, sending goosebumps skittering up and down my skin.

No, I didn’t mind that at all.

That worries me a little.

“The selkies who reside in these waters will not take kindly to intrusion,” Riven warns, jolting those thoughts away. “They’re quite territorial.”

“You’re their king, aren’t you?” I say, grateful for the interruption. “Will they really mind if we soak for a little while?”

“Oh, they’ll mind.” He glances between me and the water, seemingly choosing his next words wisely. “But we likely won’t know of their displeasure until weeks from now, when they’ve collected enough weeds and debris to leave throughout the river circling the palace.”

I press my lips together. “So they’re a mischievous bunch.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Do they hold grudges for long?” I ask.

“Often.”

That complicates things.

Though it doesn’t have to.

“Well,” I say, shucking my socks off, “I’ll just have to thank the selkies for their hospitality.”

In only my shirt and underthings, I crouch by the pool of water and grab a few smooth stones that aren’t afflicted by the blight. In a semi-clear area, I stack them one on top of the other to form a wobbly tower and then rise to my feet. Scattered across the forest floor are faerie flowers—bluebells—that many pixies have been known to use as hats or thimbles, or even to hide in during heavy rain since their blooms dip toward the ground. I grab a few that seem untouched by the tiny creatures and place them in a circle around the cairn like a crown of gratitude.

“Some fruit, please.” I expectantly hold a hand out to Riven. “Berries, if we packed any.”