Page 78 of The Prisoner's Throne
She clearly wants to object.
“Whereupon you sentmeaway,” he concludes, and watches her expression change to one of exasperation.
“You think I did that because I didn’t like you?”
He gives her a steady look.
“I did it to help you! If you stayed in the forest with me, the best thing that could ever have happened was that your family came and dragged you back to Elfhame. I’d lose you again, and you’d gain nothing.”
“So you thought—” he starts, but she cuts him off.
“And the worst thing, the more likely thing, was that one of the enemies you were telling me about would find you. And then you’d be dead.”
Her logic is alarmingly sound, although he doesn’t like to admit it. He must have seemed very dramatic, showing up in her woods like that. Very dramatic and very, very,veryfoolish. The typical spoiled, naive royal. “And you couldn’t tell me that?”
“What if you didn’t listen?” she shouts. There’s a desperation in her voice that’s out of step with the conversation they’re having.
“I’m listening,” he says, puzzled.
“It’s not safe,” she says. “Not then and not now.”
“I know that,” he tells her.
“I’mnot safe,” she says. “You can’t trust me. I—”
“I don’t need safe,” he says, and leans down, putting his hands in her hair. She doesn’t move, looking up at him with lips that are slightly parted, as though she can’t quite believe what he’s doing.
Then he kisses her. Kisses her like he’s wanted to for days and weeks and what feels like forever.
It isn’t a careful kiss. He can feel her teeth against his tongue, her dry lips. He can feel the sharp edges of her nails as they dig into his neck. He shivers with sensation. He doesn’t want careful any more than he wants safe.
He wantsher.
Wren pulls him down, lower, until they are kneeling in the gardens. Oak feels dizzy with desire. All around them, the petals of night-blooming flowers have opened, and their thick perfume scents the air.
“Do you want—?” he starts, but she is already pushing up her dress.
“I want,” she says. “That’s my problem. I want and I want and I want.”
“What do you want?” he asks, voice soft.
“Everything.Charm me. Rip me open. Ruin me. Go too far.”
He shudders at her words, shaking his head against them.
She goes on, whispering against his skin. “You cannot understand. I am a chasm that will never be full. I am hunger. I am need. I cannot be sated. If you try, I will swallow you up. I will take all of you and want more. I will use you. I will drain you until you are nothing more than a husk.”
“Use me, then,” he whispers, mouth on her throat.
Then her lips are against his, and there is no more talking for a long time.
Wren is lying against him, her head pillowed against his shoulder, when the shifting branches alert him.
“Someone’s coming,” Oak says, grabbing for his trousers and also his knife.
Wren springs to her feet, pulling on her gown, trying to make herself look less like she’s been rolling around in the dirt.
For a moment, their gazes meet, and they both grin helplessly. There’s something so silly about this moment, scrambling to get dressed before they’re caught. Neither of them can pretend to anything but merriment.
