Page 91 of Their Wicked Cage

She isn’t mine.

That’s why I ended things before they really began.

Because she isn’t mine.

Even if there’s a part of me that claims she is.

If I ignore that part of me, there’s still a chance I won’t crumble when she walks away from this, from me. She doesn’t want to be queen. To confess how deep my feelings are beginning to run underscores her desire to keep this light between us.

And light… Light is what I agreed to, right? Just sex?

With more force than necessary, I release Zeryn.

Gwyn exhales a relieved sigh.

“K-King Riven,” she croaks, stumbling backward and stepping into a pool of shadows. Arkyn materializes from them and stares down at her menacingly. She whimpers. “Please, Your Majesty, forgive me for my⁠—”

“It’s not I who requires your forgiveness,” I growl, voice knife-sharp. Deadly. “Get her the fuck out of my sight, Arkyn.”

Silence descends upon the cookshop as Ark leads Zeryn away.

“Wait,” I blurt out. Arkyn draws up short and turns back to face me. The hope lighting the genie’s face is short-lived when my gaze meets Gwyn’s. Her eyes are wild, a storm dancing along the coast. With wine dappling her skin, she looks battle-hardened and beautiful. A goddess covered in the blood of her enemies. “How should I punish her, little witch?”

There’s a gasp from the opposite end of the table.

Lyrielle.

I spare her a single glance. She presses her lips into a tight line, averting her gaze.

Gwyn’s brow furrows, still wet with wine. Her quiet grace is palpable as she uses the cloth napkin that had been draped across her lap to dab the liquid from her skin. I once wished to be the apple she bit into, but now I wish I were that damn cloth.

A roaring rumbles in my chest.

Beside her, Daphne helps dab some of the liquid from Gwyn’s gown, ignoring the droplets that smear her honeyed skin.

“Gwyn?” I prompt.

“Thank her for her time,” Gwyn finally says. “Then send her home.”

I wish I could say I’m surprised by her response, but I’m not.

This is the female who threw together a gift to pre-emptively thank the selkies for letting her swim, the female who decorated Rosemarie’s tombstone, the female who brewed me a tonic just to grant me some semblance of choice when it comes to lovers.

And I chose her.

Godsdammit.

I have a table full of potential brides and one on the way out, and yet, all I want is her.

I shake myself, resigned never to ask her to give up her freedom, her happiness, for my own.

It’s a struggle, but I manage to tear my gaze away from her to fix Zeryn with a stern glare.

“Thank you for your time, Zeryn.” Tears stream down her face, smearing her cosmetics in streaks of onyx and gold. “Once you’re back at the palace, gather your things. A guard will escort you home.”

I turn back to Gwyn and reach for her hand. “You’re coming with me.”

Chapter 24