“I almost lost you.” He draws a strand of hair away from my cheek and leaves his fingers resting against my skin. “After the guards caught me and brought me in, I was certain Omar would have my head before I ever saw your face again.” His playful smile fades as his eyes lower to my hands in my lap. “I never want to lose you.”
“Lose me?”
“I won’t lose you. You’re mine, and I’m yours. And if I have to take on the world to make it so, I’ll do it.”
His truth burns hot inside my chest, taking my breath away.
He inclines his head, his lips a whisper away from mine. “I love you.” The vibration of his words sends shivers to my toes. There’s no one else who has this sort of hold on me. Which makes me feel like everything in my world is finally right.
Before sunset, Cohen leaves to meet with Captain Omar to make a strategy to hunt down the mysterious Spiriter who was controlling King Aodren.
He isn’t gone long, though. No more than an hour has passed when I feel the tiny pull inside. The tingling awareness that Cohen is nearby. It’s odd how much stronger the sensation is, compared to the last few weeks, which makes me wonder if there’s something more to my hypersensitivity to Cohen than just the anticipation of seeing him.
I breathe out a sigh of relief knowing he’s returned, only to be surprised when he knocks at the door. Strange. Papa’s cottage has always been his second home, and Cohen always felt comfortable entering at will.
Gillian leaves my side to answer the door. When she pulls it open, I look up with a wide smile painted across my face.
Only, a crown set on rich golden hair seizes my attention. My expression vanishes. “King Aodren?”
“I heard you woke, and I couldn’t wait any longer to see you.” He ducks into the room, suddenly making my cottage feel small and filthy in comparison to his bold maroon cloak and polished boots. His face looks healthier and fuller than when last I saw him.
“I wanted to come sooner, but I knew you needed time to recover,” he says. “I had to meet the girl who risked her life for me.”
Every word he speaks makes perfect sense, and yet I cannot wipe away the puzzled expression on my face. His presence has me so arrested, I don’t notice Cohen enter until he’s taken a knee before the king. Which is also when I realize I didn’t sense Cohen’s return at all.
My wide-eyed stare catches King Aodren’s gaze. “Please accept my humble gratitude,” he says. “I want you to know that you are welcome at the castle whenever you’re feeling up to moving. I would enjoy sharing tea with you and talking.” He tips his chin in a regal nod and then leaves. I stare at the door, surprised that I can sense him move farther away. And baffled by my body’s reaction: Why do I want to follow?
“Britta?” Cohen says. “Are you all right?”
I snap out of my daze and take in Cohen. Why don’t I feel a pull to him anymore? The man I love is no longer the one I’m connected to. Though he’s here with me now, I cannot help but feel panicked.
“Dove?”
“Yes, I’m, uh, fine,” I say, fighting back my shock.
I suppose now I’m the one with the secrets.
TO BE CONTINUED
Acknowledgments
Writing a novel is a trek. Over craggy mountains. During a blizzard. In slippers and sweats. I would’ve never made it without the following people:
My gratitude to my mom, who told me I could be anything in life and, like Saul, taught me to press on; and to my dad, whose wanderlust inspired me to dream of other worlds.
Mark, my greatest champion and the most patient man I know, thank you for pushing me up the hill. To my children—?cyclones of laughter, curiosity, tears, joy—?may you know your potential is out of this world. To my siblings, who have put up with my wild notions and still claimed me as family.
Sarah Landis—?editing wizard and literary therapist—?my deepest gratitude goes to you and the team at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt for giving me a publishing home. Thank you for your buoying praise and your skillful eye.
Josh Adams—?agent extraordinaire and slayer of skepticism—?your guidance and unshakable faith have made all the difference. Kathryn Purdie, thank you for guiding me toward the agenting light, sitting on my couch, and cleaning my book mess. Elana Johnson, I’m honored to have you as my friend. This book wouldn’t be here without you. You gave me direction on my raw ideas and, when the time came, wrote my query.
Jessie Humphries, one of my best friends, thank you for reminding me to have positive thoughts, for cutting up magazines and handing me glue to make a vision board, and for endless laughs.