Page 71 of The Queen's Box

She shot him a look.

“I’m not saying I can,” he admitted. “But I’d like to try.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tapped her bottle of Cheerwine and searched for how to explain. “He comes to me in my dreams—or he did. Lately not so much. And the thought of him—it’s like a toothache. A constant pull I can’t ignore.”

“And this is what you want? A toothache you can’t ignore?”

Willow chose her next words with particular care. “I care about you, Cole. And—I think you care about me.”

Cole’s eyes darkened. “You know I do. God knows I didn’t want to, but I do.”

Willow smiled weakly. “But Serrin...” A confusing resistance gathered in her chest. “Serrin needs me.”

“What if I need you, too?”

“You don’t.”

“And you get to decide that? You know what longings live in my soul?”

All at once, Willow felt teary and raw, as if some winged thing were fluttering just beneath her skin. She didn’t know anything, not for sure.

“This is my path,” she whispered. “I made a vow.”

Cole was silent for a moment. Then he gave a single quiet nod.

“I wish you’d chosen me,” he said. “But—here we are.”

Willow nodded, then reached across the table and laid her fingers over his.

~

The hour was near midnight when they left the little restaurant, walking in silence beneath a bruised sky. The moon rode high, casting long silver shadows on the path ahead. Willow didn’t speak. Neither did Cole.

They moved past the cabins and the houses and reached a lonelier land. No owls called from the trees, no cicadas sang their mournful song. Even the night birds held their tongues.

The path took on an upward slope, rising over low, soft hills. Willow’s heart beat a strange rhythm, drawn forward not only by her feet but by the night itself.

Cole’s hand brushed hers once, lightly, as if by accident. But he didn’t link his fingers with hers.

They crested the final hill just as the moon reached its highest point. Below them, the forest spread out like a tapestry—twisting limbs, silvered leaves, the ground beneath dappled in light and shadow.

In front of them? The Box.

The wood shimmered, dark and rich, etched with those savage carvings that once again seemed to shift as Willowapproached—crouching rabbits, birds with broken wings, an overripe plum cleaved in two and dripping juice.

Willow brushed her fingertips along the ridged spine of a serpent winding up the trunk of the pomegranate tree. A hum filled the grove. The sound vibrated in Willow’s bones.

The Box knew she was here. It was waiting. It was eager.

She placed her second hand on the Box, and something opened within her, a wave of longing that bound her to the Box. She felt drunk with it, flooded by a pull she had no desire to resist.

“Are you sure?” Cole asked.

“I’m sure,” she said breathlessly. “You know I am.”

“Because of Serrin,” Cole said flatly. He flung out a hand toward the Box. “And you’re sure that climbing inside is the only way?”

“What other way is there? It’s my birthright. It wants me.”

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