He gritted his teeth, but didn’t reply. Score number two for the Duskoff. That was the second time he’d escaped them.

“He told me he struck some kind of deal with Boyle,” she continued.

Thomas rubbed his palm up and down her arm and murmured, “Considering we witnessed Boyle’s beheading, I’d say all negotiations he made are probably void.”

She snuggled against him, her body soft and warm against his, but her voice was hard. “Let’s hope we never get an Atrika on this side of the doorway again.”

But they would. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but one day the Duskoff would pull another through.

“Let’s forget about all that for now. The future will take care of itself. Let’s live in the present. Or, better yet, let’s talk about our personal future…together.”

She frowned up into his face. “You’re not going to do something dumb and ask me to marry you, are you?”

“I want you to stay, Isabelle. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Thomas, and the only place I want to be in this world is with you. I would’ve said yes, you know.”

Pleasure warmed him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. “In that case, will you—”

“Yes.” She kissed him. “Yes, I will. Thank the Lady you finally got around to asking. I’ve always wanted to be a queen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for all intents and purposes, you’re the king of witchdom.”

He smiled. “And you’re definitely my queen.”