“Of course it’s not,” I said, nuzzling her nose. “Why would it ever be?”

“Because it has been before.”

I drew back a little, enough to see the liquid glimmer of her eyes in the dark. “What do you mean?” I said, more carefully. “And I’m really not teasing now, I swear. I just want to know—if you want to tell me.”

She hesitated, tucking a hand under her cheek like a little girl. “I really don’t want to fuck this up by talking about exes.”

“You’re not going to,” I assured her. “I don’t get jealous of people who came before me, if that’s what you’re worried about. That’s not one of my things.”

“Okay, then. If you’re sure.” She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “Her name was Jess—but you already know that. She was a theater student, in Chicago, actually. That’s where she was from.”

“Oh,” I said, a little surprised. “I don’t know why I assumed she was a local.”

“No, she was just passing through. Taking some time off from her master’s in drama to make money—working at Camelot, of all the dumb things. Apparently they can afford to pay their professional cosplay performers really well over there, and she’d signed on for a season of playing Nimue in one of their cornball dinner musicals at the Avalon.”

The Avalon was an upscaleish restaurant, marooned on an artificial island in the middle of the manmade lake that adjoined Castle Camelot’s moat—yet another ridiculous outgrowth of the Blackmoore empire. Her participation in it seemed like a terrible reason to hate Jessica right off the bat, yet here we were. I’d already decided I basically couldn’t stand her.

“So, girl meets witch, tale as old as time,” I said instead. “With you so far. And then?”

“And then things got serious, fast. I broke the witchy news to her, she met my whole family, even joined in for a few Sabbats. And she took it all in stride, for someone who hadn’t grown up with any of it.” She smiled a little, shifting against the pillow. “That part . . . that part was really nice.”

Despite my assurances, the lingering echo of fondness in her voice needled under my skin a little. Shit, I was only human, and I didn’t really want to hear just how intensely super rad Jessica had been.

“But then it started getting to her,” she went on. “What it really meant, being committed to me, rooted to this place the way I am—and I’d made it clear I only wanted it to be serious with her. Jess was big on traveling, exploring . . . you know, globetrotting adventures, lots of perky sun salutes on mountain peaks. That type of #wanderingsoul #traveljunkie shit.”

“And you didn’t want to go with her,” I said, quiet.

“Not so much didn’t want to, as couldn’t,” she replied, a little defensively. “I’m the Avramov scion, a Thistle Grove witch. I can’t just leave like that. And you know how I feel about being far from here.”