“Your Majesty,” Meera says calmly. “What an unexpected but delightful visit from you. Welcome back to Eless Estate. How can we assist you today?”

“Thank you, Meera,” I tell her with a reassuring smile. “I’m showing His Royal Highness, Prince Hawthorne of Velmara, some of my family’s favorite places.” Hawthorne bows deeply in respect of the humans, and it warms that place in my chest I’m learning is reserved just for him. The expressions of the humans are split equally between fear and awe.

“We’ve heard of the ambassador from Velmara even all the way down here,” Meera says with the smile of a courtier. “I’m happy to see the Prince has been a trustworthy emissary.” I inwardly applaud her careful navigation of a situation that must feel extremely uncomfortable for the humans here.

I smile. “Yes, he’s proven to be a true ally of Thayaria. Please, don’t fret over our presence. You can prepare my suite and the guest room down the hallway for the Prince. Other than troubling you for dinner, which we’ll take in my suite, you may continue your usual routine. We’ll be on the terrace.” Meera nods in acknowledgement, then quickly sends various servants off to complete preparation tasks.

Thorne follows closely on my heels as I lead him up the stairs and out a set of double doors to the second-floor terrace. It faces away from the sea but overlooks the misty rolling hills of the southern part of Thayaria. One side has a pergola covered in fragrant wisteria, the other side lined with padded outdoor furniture. I flop down onto a chair. Sprawled across the chaise lounge, the sun beams down from low in the sky, and I feel that first warmth of spring begin to unthaw my bones. Thorne pulls a chair up close so that he can hold my hand.

“Do we care if the servants see us being affectionate?” he asks with a teasing tone that doesn’t meet his searching eyes. It’s a fair question, one that I’m not sure how to answer. I think for a moment.

“The servants here are from families who have served the Elestrens for centuries. I believe they’re trustworthy. And their eyes are very sharp. They’ll likely suspect either way. So no, we don’t care.” The admission is exhilarating.

“In that case,” he says with a sparkle in his eyes. “Scoot up.” I lift my back, and Thorne steps his long legs over the back of the chaise so that he’s seated behind me, my back nestled against his chest between his legs. I instantly clench my thighs, need coursing through me. When he runs his hand down my braid and loosens the weave, I think I might light on fire.