“I hope I don’t regret it. This whole situation has been confusing. I think your father’s planning something massive, but I have no idea what it is,” she says ruefully. I turn her to face me and thread our fingers together.

“I know he’s planning something. Giving Nemesia those books, sending me here knowing that we’re mates… and if Nemesia is to be believed, working with the rebels—none of it makes sense, but we’re going to figure it out together. We haven’t even put Silene on the case yet. Give her a few days and she’ll have it all uncovered.”

Laurel smiles. “I feel guilty. I haven’t been spending as much alone time with Silene since we bonded. We need a girl’s day.”

“Silene understands.” I stroke her thumb with mine, the incessant desire to touch her, to soothe her, even stronger than before the mating bond clicked into place.

“To be honest, I think I’ve pulled away from Silene since we found that letter. I think—I think a part of me is afraid of being betrayed again.” I study her closely. Long auburn hair flowing freely, face free of makeup, vulnerable emotions raw and exposed—she’s never looked more beautiful to me. If I could have her just like this every day, I would. But that would mean we aren’t the people we are, and I also wouldn’t change one thing about my mate.

“It’s normal to feel that fear. You just have to recognize it and not let it control you. Spend some quality time with Silene tomorrow at the Spring Festival.” We’re attending the traditional Thayarian event that marks the beginning of Spring tomorrow, at my own insistence. I want to do things with Laurel that aren’t plotting and scheming and worrying. “She was made for dancing in fields of flowers with children running around her.” Laurel chuckles warmly, and it shoots pleasure through me.

“That’s an understatement,” she says, placing a delicate kiss on my lips before staring up at me with those bright green eyes from under dark lashes, snuggling her body closer to mine. Her pink lips pull into a shy smile, and the freckles that dot her cheeks stretch with the movement. I see the smallest lines of wrinkles at the edges of her eyes. There’s no sign of the Witch Queen here, or even the serious but caring Queen of Thayaria. In this moment, the only person with me is Laurel—my Laurel—my mate, the other half of my whole.