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She knows Juniper wants privacy after detonating in front of everyone. She knows her sister had plotted this announcement, right down to the speech Juniper wrote and rehearsed in front of Puck and her sisters.

My empathetic lady knows her sister does not like when things don’t go as planned. Cove also knows Juniper scorns being the center of attention, unlike the satyr beside her.

Cove wants to support her sister’s wishes. But she also doesn’t want to disobey her father.

Puck’s scooting closer to Juniper, his body surrounding her like a fortress. He’s guiding his arm around her middle and staring at Thorne over her shoulder, prepared to weather the man’s judgement.

Juniper is tightening her fingers with his. “During the game, Puck and I…we made someone.”

Affection slides off Puck’s tongue. “To be more specific, we made a half-bookish-human, half-naughty-Fae.”

I listen as Juniper swerves her head to gaze at him. “How do you know for certain what their traits will be?”

“I don’t. But then again, I do.”

Such a Fae answer. Doubtless, Cerulean’s mouth is slanting with appreciation, whereas I grunt under my breath.

“Educated guess,” Puck amends.

I think Juniper is trying to contain a beam. “Well. Half of each would be nice.”

“Pregnant,” Thorne repeats, drawing her back to him. “My Juniper is pregnant.” The lack of reply means she’s nodding.

And then her father sighs. “Oh, hon.”

It is not weariness or worry. It is awe.

He is proud of her. He may not fully trust the Faeries who took his family, but this isn’t about him. It is about his daughters. He is willing to understand more, and he yearns to see them happy.

Thorne is opening his arms for Juniper. She’s crawling over to him and relaxing into his embrace. And while he’s holding her, Thorne is exchanging nods with Puck, open and willing.

It is a good start.

My lips tip sideways. After planting a kiss to Cove’s temple, I rise along with Cerulean and Puck. Together, we leave our ladies with their father.

As I stride from the enclave, the man speaks to them in a hushed tone, his voice drifting from between the cascades. “Tell me everything, my girls.”

26

The Lily Pond surrounds me with noise. Water slices down rocky mantles into the pool. The surface agitates, solicited by the cascades. I stand at the ledge of the walkway leading from our hut to the pond.

This is where I first tasted Cove’s skin, first filled her body with mine. This is where we have built a home.

From behind me, a draft nudges the front door. Its hinges reverberate like a snake’s tail.

Usually, this is my haven. Tonight, every disturbance scrapes my flesh with tension. I cannot seem to escape it. Come tomorrow or the day after that, what we’ve newly erected might be dismantled to ruins.

I brace my fists on my hips. My head bows, long curtains of hair draping around my face. I’m scowling, seething. Once, it had been easy to find an outlet for rage, to target the nearest object and smash it to pieces.

Now I don’t know where to throw this anger. And beneath that, foreboding crawls up my vertebrae like an insect.

The wood planks tremble under my bare feet. My ears click toward the sound, and my senses draw in the sweet scent of jasmine.

Her arms slip around my waist from behind, anchoring me to her. That warm body presses against me, her respirations steady.

I do not turn but align one arm with hers across my stomach. My eyes clench shut as I let myself be taken by those arms, which have never failed to haunt me, heal me, and hearten me.

The moment Cove tucks me against her, the noises from the pond soften. The cascade ebbs to a gentle spill. Instead of churning, the pool and its floating lily pads quiver.