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“You’ve seen it before?”

He pursed his lips, met her eyes, and nodded once. “They like to traipse around with humans and lead them to the sea. Those lucky enough not to be lured to a watery grave are those who find another human to love. Sea fae are infamous for their jealousy. They end up casting spells on the invading lover, repelling them from the ocean in hopes of luring their love back. Seldom does it ever happen. It’s something the king—”

Alistair choked on his words, smacking a hand to his mouth. How on Earth didthatslip through?

Niera’s eyes narrowed, her head tipping to the side. She didn’t say a word, not while she watched him, dissected his soul, and came to her own conclusion.

“Your father’s boss is a king. A monarch.That’swhy you keep the position a secret.”

Well, he certainly let the cat out of the bag. Hah.

“And you’re next in line to be his advisor.”

“You sum it up so graciously.”

“Hmm.”

Alistair reached for her hands, expecting her to pull away, surprised when she let him interlock a few of their fingers. “I fear there’s something you’re not telling me. What can I do to help you make your one-hundredth match?”

Her eyes warmed, her pupils growing by the second. Her face softened, but the sharp fae angles he was quickly coming to adore didn’t disappear behind her glamour. That strange tingle she evoked started in his fingertips and coasted through his hands, up his arms, heat following steadily on its heels. The kitchen began to fade at the outer edges of his vision, that grayness spreading until all he saw was Niera. All he knew was Niera. All he wanted was Niera.

“Break your curse. Prevent mine from coming to pass,” she whispered. “You’re my hundredth.”

He jerked, startled by her revelation. There was no way she meant to set him up with another woman. Not when this…this…spark grew between them.

“I don’t understand. You know my mate?”

Slowly, she nodded, never once blinking. Never once breaking eye contact.

“Who,” he whispered.

Silence stretched. Seconds ticked by. She stared at him, leaving him to itch in his skin, begging to ask again.

When he thought he’d go mad, he opened his mouth to repeat his question.

She cut him off. Stopped him in his tracks. Froze him where he sat.

All with a quiet, “Me.”