Page 112 of The Queen's Box

Afterward, Willow lay nestled against Cole, her head on his chest.

Cole’s fingers traced gentle circles along her back. “So,” he murmured. “Eryth is real.”

Willow sighed, wishing they didn’t have to talk about it. But they did. “Yes,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head. “And here I thought Lost Souls held all the magic.”

She laughed. “Lost Souls has its own enchantments.”

Willow wished they could stay like this—warm, tangled, unbothered. But her mind flicked, unwillingly, to the duskwyrm. It was still here, still real, curled in its ceramic prison. Contained but not forgotten.

“I missed you,” Cole said.

“I missed you, too,” she replied.

The look he gave her was surprised, then as bright as sunlight. He kissed the tip of her nose and shifted beneath her, easing an arm free and slipping out from under the weight of her body with practiced care. Willow rolled to her side, cheek brushing the warm spot he left behind, and propped herself on an elbow to watch him move.

“Will you tell me what happened?” he asked, slipping into a pair of boxers without turning around.

Willow sat up, pulling the blanket to her chest. “Oh, Cole. Lots of things. So many things.”

“Such as?”

Willow filled her cheeks with air, then blew it out. She shook her head.

He grabbed a T-shirt from his dresser and slipped it on. Across it was the logo for John Deere tractors. “Okay, well, tell me this. You met Serrin, I suppose?”

“I did,” she said, tearing her gaze from his. Thinking of Serrin meant thinking of the ceremony, meant thinking of Jace.

“Did you fall madly in love?”

Willow’s heart squeezed. She was here with him, wasn’t she?

“Never mind,” Cole said, acting as if none of this meant anything when they both knew it meant everything.

“Cole . . .”

“It’s okay. We can talk later.”

Willow’s ribs tightened. “Sure, but—”

She was interrupted by a brisk rap at the door.

“Breakfast is ready!” called Brooxie. “So come on out, you two.”

Willow’s eyes flew to Cole’s, round and surprised. Cole grinned and tossed her a pair of sweats from the bottom drawer of his dresser. She slid them on and wiggled back into his T-shirt from last night.

“The sisters know everything,” he said. “You know that.”

The table was laden with Southern delicacies: warm biscuits, scrambled eggs, and thick-cut bacon.

“Yum,” Willow said, sliding into a chair. “I am famished.”

Brooxie, already seated and buttering a biscuit, gave her a wink. “Well, of course you are. Exercise’ll do that to you.”

Cole made a strangled sound behind his juice glass.

Willow froze, a piece of bacon halfway to her mouth. “I—what? I mean, yes, but—”

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