Page 61 of Three Scorched Kingdoms

My chest loosens where fear had tightened it. There are no guarantees, of course, but seeing her become so adept at her magic is a comfort. It’s also another weapon in our arsenal.

“How does it work?” I ask.

Her forehead scrunches. “I’m not sure exactly, but I think I’m just borrowing from the past.”

“The past?” My brows lift. “Do you time travel now?”

She laughs. “No, but I think my magic sort of does.” At my look of confusion, she explains, “When Constantine pulled me into that memory and I saw myself restore my home world after he destroyed it, it was obvious what I created was a past version of that world. The homes and structures were outdated, clearly from a time long ago. Then, in the garden that day, I reduced your birdhouse to the wood splinters it came from.”

I smile ruefully but then remember the birdhouse wasn’t the only casualty. “And the tree?”

“Trying to recreate a life—any life—won’t work,” she says quietly. “That sort of energy isn’t mine to manipulate. When I tried… it only became distorted.”

“So, only objects with no life force then.”

“I’m sure there’s a crossover somewhere,” she says, frowning as if in thought. “The wood used to restore the houses and farms was once a living tree…but yes. More or less. Anyway, after the birdhouse and the tree, I realized I wasn’t creating something from nothing. I wasre-creating. Once I understood that, it became easier to wield my magic. And because of that, I think I know a way to render their siege weapons useless.”

Hope surges inside me. “How?”

She shrugs. “That metal was raw and unformed once. So it can be again.”

“Paige, that’s brilliant. And the portal?”

“I think it’s sort of the same principle,” she says. “Recreating portals that have been made in the past. It feels like… everything that’s ever been created before now exists somewhere in the unseen. And my magic is simply pulling it off some invisible shelf for re-use.”

“You are a miracle,” I tell her, awed by what and who she is.

She presses her palms to my chest, her gaze full of the determination I feel. “We’re going to win. Not just tomorrow’s fight but the war. And then we’re going to get your crown back.”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away,” I say, grabbing her waist and pulling her close. “I was afraid of losing you. I can’t do this without you.”

“I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers.

Our gazes hold, and the tension between us shifts, crackling with an undercurrent of need. We both know what’s at stake, but right now, the weight of tomorrow only fuels the urgency between us.

I close the distance, seizing her lips in a hungry kiss. There’s nothing tender about it—just raw desire, the kind that’s been building for days, intensified by the thought of what’s to come. My hands move to her waist, pulling her against me with a force that makes her gasp into my mouth.

The sound elicits a growl from deep within me.

Paige responds in kind, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she presses herself against me, meeting my urgency with her own. There’s no hesitation, no holding back. The need to feel her, to taste her, drowns out everything else.

I back her up against the table, our bodies colliding with a mix of desperation and devotion. The map crumples beneath her as I lift her onto the table’s edge, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer. I can feel the heat of her through our clothes, the friction driving me wild as I grind against her.

She tugs at my shirt, her breath coming in short, heated bursts as she works to get it off. I help her, yanking the tunic over my head and tossing it aside. Her hands are on me immediately, exploring the planes of my chest, her nails scraping lightly over my skin.

“Fuck,” I growl against her lips, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my cock.

I tear at her clothes, pulling her shirt off and tossing it aside, revealing the smooth, bare skin beneath. My mouth is on her neck in an instant, teeth grazing her pulse before I suck hard, marking her as mine. Her moan only spurs me on, the sound low and throaty—a plea for more.

Her hands are frantic as they move down to the waistband of my pants, her fingers brushing against the hard length straining against the fabric. I groan, the sound primal, as she strokes me through the material, her touch driving me to the edge of control.

“Aries,” she whispers. Commanding me. Begging me.

I don’t need to be told twice. I unbuckle my pants and shove them down, freeing myself as I lean back to take in the sight of her—flushed, panting, her eyes dark with desire.

My control snaps.

I yank her pants off, pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside in one swift motion.

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