Page 52 of The Witch Queen

“Thank you. The identity and name of their leader is more than Nemesia’s and Carex’s networks of spies have uncovered. And we have a stronghold. This is information we can work with.”

“What I don’t understand is why don’t you just aerstep to Oakton now and wipe them out? You could stop this rebellion before more attacks happen.”

It pains me to admit that I’ve thought about that very plan. “I considered it. But while the leaders of the rebellion may be corrupt, many of the people who have joined them are just scared citizens. The rebellion has offered them hope. If I kill the dozens or hundreds who are in Oakton, more will rise with even more hatred in their hearts. My actions would only make them more dangerous.” He nods, and I continue, words—deeply buried truths—leaving my mouth unbidden. “But even more deadly than an ignited and hateful rebellion is a version of me who has crossed that line. I’m in a constant state of fear of who I could become if I truly let myself enact retribution.” I wring my hands, unsure why I’m telling him this. “This much power… it weighs on you. I don’t want to become the villain your father has painted me to be, no matter how much I might lean into that persona at times.” What I don’t admit, not yet, is that I also don’t know how much magic is too much for me to yield without impacting Thayaria. If I slip and overdo it, the consequences could be catastrophic.

I lower my eyes, but Thorne puts his finger under my chin and pulls my gaze to his. I get lost in the verdant pools that stare back at me.

“Laurel, you are the most conscientious and caring monarch I’ve ever met. Granted, I’ve only met you and my father, but still.” He grins, and my stomach flips low in my gut. I chastise myself. Thorne releases me and steps back, a seriousness coming over him again. “If you insist on this plan to make yourself bait, at least let me keep training you. Light is a powerful magic the rebels won’t have. It can help you defend yourself without resorting to just… poofing the weapons and people around you.”

I snort. “Poofing?”

“Yes,poofing.”He draws out the word and flings his hand around in the air. “What you did yesterday and during the last attack. You make things disappear, which I still want to know about, by the way. And don’t pretend like you didn’t consider just poofing the rebels in that room when you first got there. You have brute force, but I can teach youfinesse.” His eyes sparkle with innuendo. I have so many retorts to his words, but I bury them, resolved to stop flirting and finally, truly, bury the connection between us.

“Fine,” I say instead. “We can keep training. Butyouhave to keep practicing using your two conduits in tandem.” He salutes me to show his agreement, and I laugh again. He stands and holds his hand out to me.

“Shall we return to Fionn and Silene, who almost certainly believe we’ve killed each other by now?”

I nod, taking his hand before remembering the resolution I made seconds ago. Once I’m standing, I pull away quickly. Then I aerstep us back to their apartments, where Silene and Fionn still sit in their chairs, worry clearly written across their features.

“I’ll fill them in,” Thorne says to me. “You’ve had a long day. I can take it from here.”

I feel dismissed, like I’m not part of their inner circle.Of course you aren’t.But it still stings. As I turn to go, Thorne grabs my hand again. I still. “Training tomorrow, after breakfast?” he asks. I nod.

“Then you might as well join us for the meal itself.” My heart skips a beat, and I aerstep back to my rooms before they can see my reaction to the simple invitation. For the first time in a very long time, my rooms feel empty.

As I lie awake in bed hours later, my thoughts drift to Hawthorne. When I returned to my rooms, I took a long bath, then curled up by the fire with Lunaria’s head in my lap while I read a book, hoping to distract myself from thinking of the Prince. Once I got in bed, Lunaria stalked off to the open patio doors, preferring to prowl the palace at night, leaving me alone with nothing but the darkness and the memory of Hawthorne’s eyes boring into me.

I can’t stop thinking about him. His nickname.Thorne.His eyes—identical to Mazus’s eyes and yetsodifferent. The feel of his hand stroking my palm. The dimple that appears when he smiles just right. The piece of black hair that can never stay put in place. The way he winks and jokes when he wants to lighten the mood. His jawline. The serious leader I met tonight.

Fuck. Youhaveto stop thinking about him.

I run through my to-do list for tomorrow, hoping that will distract me. It only makes me remember his request to train. The way his biceps flex when he spars with his light flashes across my mind. I play our first training session over in my mind, remembering the ropes of light that had pulled my hands above my head. My mouth goes dry when the same image that flashed through my mind that day reappears. Hands tied above my head with Thorne’s light, pinning me in place. Him prowling toward me with the lust I see so often in his eyes. Letting go of my control and seeing what happens when thatsparkfully ignites…

My hand glides slowly down my stomach. I pull my chemise up to expose my upper thighs and the place between them. My other hand squeezes my breast as I picture Thorne’s light wrapping around my body, restraining me while he touches me, licks me,kissesme. I imagine the firm and tentative pressure I apply to my clit are his fingers, his tongue.

I’m instantly slick, and I increase the pressure, rubbing circles around that sensitive spot, switching direction every few rotations. I pinch my nipple, and a soft moan escapes me as I see him biting down on that rosy peak. His eyes haunt my vision, and they ignite with desire in my imagination.

I slip one finger inside, pumping in and out several times before running my fingers up and over the bud of nerves. My body clenches in anticipation. Thorne slowly slips my chemise strap down, kissing the nape of my neck and down my arm. I run my hands through his hair, and he moans. I moan in return.

His words and the deep way he says my name replay in my mind.Let me be a real ally to you. Tell me you feel whatever this is between us. Witchling. Laurel.

The pressure builds. I’m tracing circles hard and fast now, picturing Thorne pumping his own cock next to me. In my head, he enters me, and I reach the edge. My body is warm everywhere, pleasure creeping slowly through my limbs. I don’t stop, circling harder. I pinch my nipple again, bringing a biting sting to the sensitive peak. My hips lift, and I cry out as the wave of pleasure crests and washes over me.

I’m panting, thoughts still on Thorne. I roll over in my bed, curling up, and fall asleep instantly.

Hawthorne

The Witch Queen soars across the world at night like a phantom, seeking the hearts of children to keep her blood magic powered. She can sense when a child is out of bed, for their blood pulses faster in their veins. She will smell them out, then swoop down from the sky and steal the child away in the night. She takes them back to her gothic castle, oozing with all the rotten blood that she has spilled, and they never see their families again.

Velmaran Book of Children’s Stories

When Laurel appears the next morning, I’m surprised. She usually makes up an excuse to avoid seeing me multiple days in a row. I instantly jump out of my seat to greet her, but my eagerness has her shying away. So I pull back, remembering her insistence that nothing can happen between us.

Her words had flayed me open. Standing there, hair flying wildly around her face, expression open and vulnerable—I finally saw the real Laurel, finally saw the female behind the Witch Queen persona she wears so easily. But just as quickly as that delicate window had opened, it slammed shut again, and I was left reeling. I’ve never—not evenonce—told someone I had feelings for them. And Laurel had me practically begging her to acknowledge the heat between us. Sure, I’ve had lovers, females and males who I’ve been interested in, though not in a long time. Once I needed to rely on my charm to get secrets out of others, my own ability to lust and desire had dimmed. Somehow, without ever really trying to seduce her and everything that’s happened between us since I arrived, we became allies. Tenuous allies, but allies nonetheless.

Conflicting emotions course through me as I consider the situation. On the one hand, I’m…proudof myself for gaining a true alliance without pretending to be interested in her. In fact, our alliance only formed once I finally opened up and showed her the vulnerable male beneath the flirty winks and smirks. At the same time, I care more deeply than I want to admit about her rejection, even if I know she’s right. I’ve achieved what I set out to do—we’ve become allies in the search to uncover my father’s secrets. It’s unimaginable, impossible, considering the history between our kingdoms, and yet we finally achieved some kind of truce. That should be enough for me. A relationship beyond allies and tenuous friends would complicate the situation too much.

Laurel takes a seat next to Silene on the sofa, and the two laugh at something. I can’t keep the genuine smile from my lips at the two of them forming a fast friendship, and I huff out a quiet laugh at the idea that Laurel thought Silene and I were really a couple, even though she had no reason to believe otherwise. They continue their conspiring, and I observe, happiness washing over me in warm waves. Even Fionn seems to warm to the Queen, his own expression light as he greets her. I clear my throat to interrupt their whispers.

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