Page 275 of Kingdoms of Night

His grin was a thing of beauty. Brighter than a daisy. More vibrant than a dahlia.

“I want to give you everything you ever wanted, Enid. You only need to ask.”

She did hesitate now. The words came out of her, regardless. “I want... I want a child.”

Geraint’s nostrils flared. He still had hold of her foot with one hand. Her sex pulsed as his gaze slipped lower and landed on her core.

Admitting she wanted a friend was one thing. But a child? She had not meant to say that. She had not known she wanted that.

Did she?

Searching her heart, Enid realized that she did, though she had never thought it wise, not with the instability her roots had suffered as a child. She had never thought it possible, not with a marriage to one that was not her kind.

“I want a child with you. I want a life with you.”

Her husband’s face was open and eager as the hand that had been on his chest reached for her. When his hand slipped away, Enid saw a pulsing red emanating from the spot, like the beating of a heart.

She reached for the talisman and pulled. Once her hand was on the Takrut amulet, the spell was broken. Her head cleared, but her heart didn’t close. It was too late. All of her desires had been revealed.

Geraint closed his eyes, shame evident on his face. “I’m sorry. I had to know.”

“Had to know what?”

“If you had any feelings for me.” He didn’t reach for the talisman to reclaim it. He simply looked at it in her hands. “Deceit is not my way. But I lose my bearings when I’m around you. I forget my honor.”

He set her foot down gently, then stood and paced away from her. The Takrut ceased its pulsing. It clearly felt no need to pull at Geraint’s heart strings. He offered up his truth without the need of any charming.

“Your father was right,” he said. “Chivalry died the moment I laid eyes on you. I will lie, cheat, steal, and break my oaths if it means I get a moment of your favor.”

“You haven’t done any of those things.”

“Haven’t I?” Geraint reached into his loose tunic and brought out her flower.

The pod looked healthier than Enid had ever seen it out of her care. She hadn’t touched the seedling in many revolutions of the sun. It pulsed at her now, a happy and content oscillation, much like she’d seen baby birds do when trying to emulate their mother’s song.

Geraint walked to her with slow and careful steps. Both his hands cradled her seed in his palms. “Here.”

For so long, this was the one thing Enid had desired. The one part of herself that she had never been allowed to hold while under her father’s roots. Instead of snatching it from her husband, she reared back from it.

“Are you turning me over?” she asked, not bothering to hide the dread in her voice.

“What?”

“Do you no longer want me as your wife?”

“I want you more than anything,” Geraint said, coming to kneel before her once more. “I don’t need a love charm to know that I want to build a life with you. I don’t want to hold a part of you hostage to bring that desire into fruition.”

He placed her flower pod in her lap, though he didn’t take his eyes off the seedling. There was longing in his gaze, just as sure as there was determination.

“If it takes a lifetime, I will prove to you that I’m worthy and—”

Geraint broke off abruptly when Enid moved both the charm and the pod to a small table at the side of the chair. Then she reached up her hands to his neck and pulled him down for a searing kiss.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Being a bad boy was surprisingly rewarding. Geraint had trespassed into a world where he was unwelcome and stolen away with its greatest treasure. He’d stolen that treasure’s most cherished asset and was being rewarded with a kiss. If things continued to go down this path, he might never return to the light.

He turned his palm up, cupping the back of Enid’s head to draw her closer to him. She was like honey wine in his mouth. Geraint always drank in moderation—one glass of spirits, no more. And he rarely emptied the contents. He turned his nose up at those who overindulged and couldn’t handle their drink. He’d shake his head at the sods who lost coordination and fell from barstools. The ones who oozed poor judgment after one shot too many and agreed to, or more often than not, suggested some harebrained feat only to awaken the next day with no memory of it. Geraint would always sit in the back of public houses, sipping moderately from his glass and never losing control.

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