I’d then vanished entirely with his chilling exit.

Neither of us had ever crossed the Night Sea to visit Nodoya.

I’d found my destination weeks prior to his betrayal out of sheer curiosity while thumbing through an old tome of known fae cities of the world in the library. Recalling the story my father had shared of Nodoya’s first war, I’d taken the book with me to my parlor.

The images of a river-edged diamond city I’d painted from the description and the map of a land that rose toward the sky as though it were a chest of jewels unearthed by the sea had been tucked within a pile of other paintings.

So unless Rorn discovered them and took a wild guess, he would never know where I was.

He wouldn’t find me.

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep, shaken breath. When I opened them, I was turned into a damp chest.

Scythe gently lifted my chin, his intense scrutiny of my features nearly comical. “Aster, if you truly wish to leave, then I’ll take you wherever you damned well need to go. I’ll take you straight home.” His teeth scraped his bottom lip. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s not you,” I said in a rush. “It’s not this. I swear.”

His brows lowered, the harsh rise and fall of his chest slowly calming. He cupped my cheek, brushing a rogue tear with his thumb. “Then what the fuck just happened?”

I slid my hand over his, leaning into his hard body. “Memories.” He scowled, seeming to know what I would say next. “It’s fine.” Taking his hand, I kissed his palm.

His gaze softened marginally. Our nakedness became apparent then, his nostrils flaring, and I squeaked as I was swept off my feet and taken to the bed. In the center, he curled my body into his and pressed his lips to my forehead. “What in the stars are you running from, wildflower?”

“Everything,” I admitted, my head settling upon his rock-hard bicep.

“Sounds promising,” he grumbled, evidently annoyed at my failure to share with him.

Laughing, I tilted my head back to see him, and his glower fell away beneath the pads of my searching fingers. I traced his brow, the bridge of his strong nose and its tiny bump, then his plush lips. He was both wild yet refined, a contradiction that shouldn’t work. But oh, how it did. “You’re beautiful.”

“Not something I’ve been called before, but thank you.” He huffed. “I think.”

“I mean it,” I insisted, already imagining revisiting all that he was on parchment. Impossible, I knew, to capture the entirety of him. When I reached his scarred eyelid, he stilled. “Even this.”

“Liar,” he hissed, taking my hand and nipping at the tip of my finger.

I stole my hand back to return my fingers to his face, and he laughed silently.