“If that’s true, then I’m sad to hear it. Nemesia is my friend,” Admon says, though the words don’t quite reach his eyes. Maybe he doesn’t believe it. “Well, we’ll have to proceed with my basic understanding. It may take me some time to find the right passages and translate them.” I deflate. I hadn’t realized how much hope I’d placed in Admon knowing the answers, in him being able to tell me what to do. He seems to sense my distress. “I will translate as quickly as I can, Laurel.” I only nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Thorne says confidently, like he senses my distress and wants to get me out of there as quickly as possible. He takes my hand and leads me out of the room. Admon bows, but I barely register it. We walk hand in hand back to my rooms.

When we’re safely tucked away into my sitting room, Thorne hesitates, then says, “Laurel, I think we should talk about what’s next.”

“What do you mean, what’s next?”

“We’re mates. We want to jump each other’s bones, but you want to wait to do that, which I completely respect. I understand why you need more information—you’re not completely impulsive, like me.” He nudges me with a half-smile. “But I’d like to get to know you better while we wait.” Vulnerability, hope, and longing shine in his eyes, no trace of the confident Shining Prince in sight.

I swallow, palms sweating. “And how do you propose we do that?” My voice is tentative, uncertain.

He smiles, the mischievous look that makes my skin prickle back in his eyes. “We do what any two people do when they’re exploring a romantic relationship. We talk, we go out on the town, we have meals together. We just already know we have a soul-deep connection.”

His sureness about the mating bond scares me, so I tease him. “Are you asking if you can court me?” My smirk is plastered on my face, a shield against my feelings.

But Thorne responds seriously, eyes locked on mine in a look I can’t pull away from. “Yes, Laurel, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”

“Okay,” is all I can say, breathless, and he grins.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Wait, what? Tomorrow night? What are we going to do?” I ask, incredulous.

“For once in your centuries-long life, Laurel, you’re going to have to let someone else make the plan. Be ready just before the dinner hour.” Then he takes my hand in his and lifts it to his lips slowly, pressing the gentlest of kisses into my palm. He gives me a wink before walking out the door.

Nemesia