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The protectiveness in his is voice sends shivers down my arms.

“I can work with that.”

“Whose children doesthe royal nursery take care of?” I ask as we make our way through the palace once more, on our way to that very nursery. It seems strange to me that thesepeculiarkids, as Gaelia put it, are right inside the castle, in the very heart of the kingdom.

Des clasps his hands behind his back. “The nursery takes care of children orphaned by warrior parents—our way of honoring their final sacrifice—children of nobility working in the palace, and of course, any children of the royal family—including mine.”

“Y-yours?” I echo.

Why had I never considered the possibility Des might have children?

A warrior king like him? He’d have no shortage of women … it’s possible.

Desmond peers over at me. “Does that bother you?”

I shake my head, not meeting his gaze, even as my stomach twists.

I can feel his eyes on me.

“Truth:” he says, “how would you feel if I told you I had children?”

The moment the question leaves his lips, his magic closes around my windpipe.

I clutch my throat, glaring at him. “Some warning would be nice,” I rasp out.

My windpipe constricts. Not the response it wants.

I feel the magic drag the words out, much like my magic dragged answers out of Gaelia.

“I would be jealous,” I say.

God am I glad we’re the only two people walking down this particular hallway. It’s embarrassing enough to admit this to Des without having any additional audience.

“Why?” he asks.

The magic doesn’t let up.

I grit my teeth together, but it doesn’t stop the answer from slipping out. “Because I’m a horrible person.”

The magic squeezes harder. Not truthful enough, apparently.

“B-because,” I try again, “I don’t want anyone else to share that experience with you.”

“Why?” he presses.

You’vegotto be kidding me. The magic’s a noose around my neck.

“Because that’s an experience I’d like to share with you,” I rush to say. Immediately, my cheeks flush.

The magic eases up, but just barely.

Des’s eyes soften. “You’d want to have my child?”

“Notanymore,” I wheeze.

But even now the magic senses I lie. It squeezes my windpipes, choking me.

“Yeeesss,” I hiss out.