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I grab the next book from the pile, a small worn volume that fits neatly in the palm of my hand.

There’s something about this book, between the soft, faded leather cover and its humble size that makes me think this one will be different.

As soon as I open it, I can tell I’m right.

Chapter 1: Desmond Flynn, the Forgotten Child of Night

The next line I come across, I have to read twice.

Like most fae kings, Desmond Flynn was born from the royal harem.

Harem?

That one little word makes me go hot and cold all over. Kings haveharems?

Des never told me this. I find I care less that Des came from one and more that this is a normal practice in the Otherworld.

It’s unnaturally hard to concentrate after that, and my eyes drift over most of the text.

At some point, the atmosphere of the library changes. Where it was quiet before, now the place is deathly still. It’s like silence itself becomes muted. The hairs along my forearms rise.

And then, from the silence, the sound of heavy footfalls.

I glance up in time to see Des striding into the room, his body sinuous as it moves. He has eyes only for me, and it’s here in this grand setting that I realize just how much Des commands the space around him. I’m used to him moving among the shadows. Seeing him stride through this huge, cavernous room like he owns it (technically, he does) is sort of hot.

And by sort of hot, I mean really fricking hot.

Harem.

The word slides into my mind, souring my sexy thoughts.

Des disappears a moment later before reappearing at my table. He perches himself on the edge, tilting his head to read the spines of the books next to me.

“Doing some light reading, cherub?”

“Some.”

Harem, my mind whispers.Harem. Harem.Harem.

He lifts the cover of the top book and raises his eyebrows. “You want to know about the history of my kingdom?” His eyes go soft when he glances back at me.

He’s making my intentions seemwaytoo noble. He should know better—hemustknow better. But he looks sincere, and that’s enough to throw me off.

“Do you have a harem?” The question just slips out, my voice hoarse with emotion.

Des’s expression freezes in place. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you have a harem?” I repeat.

A crease forms between his brows. “Why do you ask?”

That’s not a no.

My heart is in my throat, my pulse thundering in my ears. “One of the books mentions you were born into one.”

His eyes flick to the open book. “I wasn’t,” he says smoothly. He lifts the small volume. “Desmond Flynn, the Forgotten Child of Night,” he reads. His gaze moves to me. “So my inquisitive siren hasn’tjustbeen reading about my kingdom after all.”

“Do you have a harem?” I press.