“That’s why I’m here,” Kirian replies. “My mother likes honeysuckle wine. We don’t have those flowers in the Night Realm.”

There are too many things wrong with his statement. “First of all, I don’t know what a night realm is. Is that like a Dungeons and Dragons thing? Because I’d totally be into that. Also, it’s too early in the year. The field is dried up and dead right now. And this is private property. You can’t just go stealing other people’s flowers.”

Kirian frowns, and the surly expression only makes him more handsome. “I would’ve gone there by myself, but the scent took me here.” Leaning forward, he sniffs me. “It’s you. You smell good.”

Did I think my pulse was crazy before? Now it’s so fast I’m afraid I might pass out. My knees go weak, and my jacket and hat fall from my fingers.

“Thanks.” My voice cracks. I clear my throat, because apparently, I have difficulty accepting a compliment. “Are you sure you don’t want to go warm up at my house?”

“There’s no need.”

Against my better judgment, I nod. “Okay. If you really wanna go to the field, I can take you.” I smile when an idea comes to me. “But I haven’t cleared the trail from winter. There’s a lot of sticks and stuff. You’ll have to hold my hand again.”

Without hesitation, Kirian reaches for me. “Onward, tour guide.”

The arrogant order makes me roll my eyes.

“It’s Quinn,” I correct. “So, Kirian, the bridge is about two hundred feet ahead—”

“Your Majesty.”

“Not calling you that.”

“But it’s my title. I realize you’re an earthling, and this is America, which is a democracy. However, I’m still a prince in my world.”

“The Night Realm,” I deadpan, not sure if I want to strangle him or kiss him.

“That’s right.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, I’m not.” He holds up our intertwined hands. “I’m not touching your leg.”

“Not literally,” I grumble, amused. “I mean, you’re kidding. Making things up.”

“Check out my ears as proof.”

We stop, and I face him. His shoulder-length hair covers the sides of his head, and my fingers itch to move the strands out of the way.

“Go ahead,” he says, as if reading my mind.

With my free hand, I reach up and lift his damp locks, and I see what looks like an elf ear.

“It’s pointy.” I rub my finger over the tip.

A sudden laugh bubbles up from him, and I’m so startled by it I jump back, severing all physical contact.

He shrugs. “Tickles.”