“I—” She frowned and studied his lazy, arrogant smile. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.” He kissed the bruise on her cheek. “But you can snarl at me. I like the sound of it.”

His mouth drifted to her neck, and his soft snarl as his teeth scraped over her skin made her float on a wave of desire.

“Lucivar,” she whispered, wrapping arms that felt liquid and heavy around his neck. “Lucivar.” She closed her eyes, unable to keep them open anymore.

She felt him shift her, felt him sheath himself inside her. Hard. Hot. Something more.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Lucivar whispered as he moved inside her. “That’s it. Take all of me. I want to give you all of me.”

I want . . . Nothing to do but ride the last crest that left her floating.

She was vaguely aware of being lifted out of the pool, of being dried off and tucked into bed, but she couldn’t rouse herself enough to shake the warm contentment that was pulling her down to a quiet, deep place.

“You put a sleep spell on me, didn’t you?” she grumbled.

“You’ll thank me for it later,” Lucivar replied, kissing her temple.

I love you.

“That’s good to hear, witchling, because I love you, too.”

She was dreaming. Of course she was dreaming. But she smiled and let the dream take her.

Lucivar made a pot of coffee, then rummaged through the cold box for something to eat. Ah. There was the rest of the country casserole Marian had made for dinner last night. After putting the dish in the oven to heat, he started to look around for something to go with it, but the garden caught his attention, drawing him to the kitchen window.

Still plenty of snow out there, but where the sun had melted the snow and warmed the earth, he could see the green shoots. She’d been so delighted when she’d seen that her spring bulbs had survived the winter.

Jaenelle had reacted the same way.

Was that why Marian pulled at him the way no other woman did? She and Jaenelle were so different in some ways and so similar in others. Hearth witch and Queen, but the same qualities that made them both exceptional women, each in her own way.

And she loved him.

Lucivar smiled.

Did Marian realize she’d said it out loud? Had she heard his reply?

He called in the jeweler’s box, opened it, and studied the two rings inside. When he’d bought Marian the amber necklace for Winsol, he’d also had Banard make these rings. Amber and jade set in a gold band for Marian. A plain gold band for him.

Marriage rings. He wanted to slide that ring on her finger, wanted to wear that gold band that was a symbol of commitment, partnership . . . and love.