Page 22 of Heart of the Summer Queen

Because, despite the heat pounding through my body, nothing can change what has happened between us. Maybe he didn’t kill my sister, but he still took her, and I refuse to fall for her captor.

This is lust, and lust should extinguish if left alone for long enough. Eventually it will fade, as the flames of that night scatter into forgotten embers.

Perhaps what I feel isn’t of my own making. Maybe the reason my body reacts so violently to him is because I’m his destined Summer Queen.

I cover my face with my palms. Why must everything be so damn complicated?

And yet in all this, I can’t help but wonder how Elaric also feels.

The king finally moves. I keep my focus on the gardens, but I feel his presence shift as he steps forward, casting long shadows through the room. There’s a whisper of fabric, more steps, and then silence.

At long last, he says from somewhere behind me, “Surely it cannot be comfortable sitting on the floor?”

“Are . . . ” I begin, but then break off.

Though I fail to voice the question, he seems to know exactly what I wanted to ask.

“I am dressed,” he murmurs.

Digging my nails into my palms to sober myself, I stand and turn.

True to his word, he’s wrapped in dark blue silken robes and sits on one of the two armchairs near the far door. He gestures to the chair opposite him, and my mind is momentarily consumed by the memory of draping my wedding dress over it, burying my dagger deep between the heavy layers of silk.

I concentrate on my steps, keeping them steady. The king’s eyes stay on me, tracking my every movement, but no matter how I try to steel myself against the barrage of emotion waging upon my heart, I fear I must be swaying with every step.

It takes too long to reach the chair, and when I finally do, I perch tentatively on the edge. The king continues to watch me, as if he wishes to say something but does not know how.

I scan across the room, searching for a distraction. My eyes stop on the copper tub now abandoned in the middle of the room. Given that the water is already frozen inside, it won’t be long before the copper exterior matches the rest of the décor here.

“Shouldn’t you empty the water out of the tub?” I say. “Before the rest of it freezes?”

The king leans back in his chair. “Most of it is already frozen.”

“Then you might have well as shattered your way out of it.”

“Doing so would have caused it to be broken beyond repair,” he says. I’m not sure why we’re having such a serious debate about the state of his bathtub, but it’s a welcome respite from the insurmountable tension. “I’ll keep it stowed away until it is no longer frozen.”

“Is the bathtub important?”

“It has been in my family for a long time.”

I try to identify the note of emotion in his voice but am unable to distinguish it.

“I find I have too few items of the past nowadays,” he says.

I know I should avoid prying into his past—unless it involves his curse—since it risks him becoming human in my eyes.

Before I can decide whether to press him any further, he says, “You should go back to bed and try to sleep for the rest of the morning. I imagine you slept very little last night with how busy you’ve been in the library.”

How can I sleep when I’m so close to finding a way to save my sister?

“I was wondering something,” I say, not bothering to acknowledge his suggestion. “Do you remember the night my father tried to break me out of the palace?”

“I do,” he says softly.

“He brought guards with him. They fought you, and you froze them.”

His expression is grim, as if he dreads what I will next ask him.

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