“I know, witchling. You were so overwhelmed by your attraction and feelings for me that you had to pretend I wasn’t available to prove to yourself you could still be the big, bad, scary Witch Queen.” He says the words light-hearted, like they’re a joke, but we both know he’s struck right at the heart of the issue.

Suddenly, I remember something he said before, my lips pulling into a wide grin. “Wait… if you’re sleeping in the green room, and Silene has the primary bedroom—that means, Fionn…” I burst out laughing.

Thorne looks confused. “What?”

“Fionn’s bedroom,” I say between pants. “It’s the one we prepared for Silene based on what we were told by the Velmaran palace she would like. They sent us specifications for all of your rooms, actually. The room Fionn chose is completely pink, like, everywhere. The bedspread is floral, but the walls and all the furniture are pink.” I cackle in laughter at the image of the massive male sleeping in that pink room.

Thorne grins from ear to ear, and he laughs next to me, the sound a beacon to my frayed heart. “I’m so glad you told me that, witchling. I’m going to tease him so relentlessly.”

“How have you not noticed? Have you never been in there?”

“He’s not exactly the most forthcoming person in the world. It took him decades to tell me about his parents. And he always keeps the door closed. Now I know why.” We laugh together for another few beats, the sound bolstering me to face everything I’ve learned today.

“So…” Thorne says, eyes boring into mine, the same color as the dark green moss that covers the walls of the cavern.

“So,” I say back, feeling slightly awkward and suddenly becoming very aware of the fact that I’m practically naked sitting next to him.

“What do we do now?” His lips quirk in a half smile, a genuine and open expression on his face. It’s the version of Thorne that makes my chest tug.

“Well, I think we should go back to the palace and speak with Admon. If anyone’s going to have information about mates, it’s him. Now that I know…” I trail off, not wanting to say the words aloud. I swallow, and his eyes steadily gaze into mine, patient and waiting for me to continue. “Now that I know Nemesia is the mole on my Council, we can trust Admon with this information,” I finish softly.

Thorne’s expression shutters with compassion and understanding but not pity. Thank the aether it’s not pity. “I’m so sorry, Laurel.” He takes my hand and squeezes. “Why didn’t you tell us you had a mole on your Council?” There’s no judgment in the question, just simple curiosity.