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I expect her to stifle a grin, but her silence implies the opposite. She’s still frowning, still remote. “Hey, luv?”

At my low murmur, her fingers stall. “What?”

“They’ll heal.”

Behind me, Juniper absorbs those words and then keeps going, sweeping down to the base of my spine. Lightly, she massages the salve into my muscles, the cold tingling and careful pressure making me hum in satisfaction.

Her touch is warm and intent. It’s also detached like she’s fixing a glitch instead of nursing a lover.

I try again. “You never finished the Fable.”

“The Fable?” she repeats. “Which one?”

“From when you broke into the cage. Why’d you go with that one?”

“You know why.”

“Maybe I want to hear you say it.”

Her ministrations lag, thumbs rolling into skin and sinew. “Well. Some pairings have a song. I like to think we have a Fable.”

My head twists halfway over my shoulder, so she can see my mouth slanting. “Indulge an injured Fae.”

Her voice comes out faint, as if it might float away.“Once in the dark forest, a Stag hunted a Doe. So she hunted him back.”

She narrates the rest while brushing cream into my joints and the gashes made by the iron trap. Her voice and fingers leach away the pain, to the point where I feel tipsy from both.

At some point, Juniper guides me onto the grass and continues the Fable. The surrounding pines dissolve. All that’s left is her voice reaching through the darkness.

What feels like seconds later, my eyes drift open. I’m lying on my side with a small form curled like a snail behind me, a pair of limbs tucked under mine and a set of booted feet tangled with my hooves. Juniper’s heat radiates down my body as her fingers sketch my wounds, tracing the slashes. Based on the lines she draws, there are lots of them.

Despite that, the iron lashes don’t burn anymore. And my skin’s not raw to the touch, either. Also, my limbs feel lighter, stronger than they did hours ago. Although I’m not completely there yet, sparks of power filter through my veins.

But that’s not what snaps me fully awake. It’s the trembling set of fingers running across my back—and the subdued tears clogging Juniper’s throat. Unlike before, she’s touching me unsteadily, with less composure but more familiarity…like she’s been studying the flog markings, memorizing their shapes.

As though she hasn’t been sleeping at all. As though she’s been awake all this time.

Juniper’s voice shatters against my back. “I wasn’t there,” she utters, pressing her lips to one of the markings. “I wasn’t there.”

That fractured tone cuts me in half. I flip around and clasp her wet face in my hands. “No,” I warn, my own voice gruff. “Don’t fucking do that to yourself.”

“I wasn’t there to save you,” she hiccups, her face leaking with tears. “I wasn’t there to keep it from happening.”

“Stop it,” I rasp.

“I didn’t know what happened to you. I could only imagine.” Her voice collapses into sobs, everything she’d been holding back falling from her mouth. “I didn’t know if you were alive. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. And I just…what they did to you…I wasn’tthere.”

“Shush.” My lips swoop down and catch hers, planting an urgent kiss there and then dragging back to speak against them. “Shush, luv. It’s over.”

“I wasn’t there, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Puck.”

I shake my head and take her lips again.

And again. And again.

With a whimper, Juniper kisses me back. Her mouth surges against mine, harsh and hard, and over, and over, and over.

I groan and fuse my arms around her waist, crushing her to my chest. We suck in air between each kiss, the pace hectic, the pressure furious, and the need primitive.