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McColl takes off her shoes, too, and we wade into the lake together, the cool water lapping at our waists. McColl’s dress floats around her like a golden cloud, and I have to focus very hard on not thinking about what she would look like underneath it.

I need to get my head out of my ass, or I might kill someone.

“It’s chilly but not unpleasant,” McColl says, looking down into the water. Her eyes lift and lock with mine. “Now, try again. Much smaller this time. Think of a tiny flame, not a bonfire. Try to use just a fraction of your power. Think of that trickle.”

I attempt to meter the magic, to use only the smallest portion of what I can feel surging inside me. This time, the fire is smaller but still far larger than intended. It hits the surface of the water, going out with a sizzle.

I take a deep breath, calming somewhat. It is safer out here. I can do this.

“That’s much better,” McColl says, her eyes bright. “Once you get a handle on your power, I will teach you a few basic spells. I want you to do that again, smaller this time.”

She guides me through the motions again. “Picture the flame and the trickle inside your mind’s eye.” She closes her eyes, but I’m too busy looking at her to do as she says, so I close my eyes, too.

I try again, and the flame is the same size as before.

We do it over and over and over. Just when I think I’ll never get it right, the flame shrinks in size, going in the direction I was aiming for.

It still isn’t a tiny flame, not by a long shot, but it’s so much better than my first attempt that I shout out, grinning like an idiot.

McColl grins back. “Perhaps we can make something out of you, after all.”

“Oh, really now?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I must be honest; at the start of our lesson, I wasn’t sure. You’re like a bull in a henhouse.” She grins, and the expression transforms her whole face.

“I think the saying is a fox in a henhouse.”

“I’m sticking with bull.” She giggles.

“I’ll show you a bull in a henhouse,” I say, laughing.

“Oh, will you now?” she teases.

I splash her with a sweep of my arm, sending a wave of cold lake water all over her.

McColl shrieks, lifting her arms. I’m laughing like a crazy person. I can’t believe how soaked she is. I never meant to make such a big splash.

Her dark hair is plastered to her skull, and her dress clings to every curve of her body like a second skin.

I freeze, the laughter dying on my lips.

The wet fabric is nearly transparent, outlining the swell of her breasts, the indent of her waist, the flare of her hips. Her nipples are hard from the cold water, pressing against the thin material in ways that make my mouth go dry and my body respond.

She’s slender but curved in all the right places, and I can’t stop staring, even though I have to, and right now. By the gods, but she’s beautiful.

I pull my eyes up to meet hers and see my own desire reflected back at me. Her lips part slightly, her breathing quickening, and the space between us seems to crackle with more than just magic.

I swallow thickly.

She moves first, closing the distance between us with two quick steps, her wet hands coming up to frame my face. When her lips touch mine, it’s like lightning striking. It’s electric, inevitable, and all-consuming.

I kiss her back with everything I have.

My arms come around her waist, pulling her flush against me, and she melts into my embrace like she was made to fit there.

She tastes like the sun, the moon, and all of the stars, like honey fresh from the comb, like possibility, and when she makes a soft sound against my mouth, it nearly undoes me completely.

I deepen the kiss, which turns hungry. Her body presses against mine, soft where I’m hard, yielding where I’m rigid. I can feel every curve, every breath, every tremor that runs through her. One of her hands tangles in my hair while the other pulls me closer.

I forget everything for a few blissful moments, and then reality comes crashing down. I can’t do this, even if I want to.

My friends.

My throne.

My people.

We’re oil and water. We can’t be together. I can’t do this.

The thoughts hit me like a bucket of ice, and I tear myself away from her so abruptly that she almost falls into the water.

I reach out an arm, grabbing her in the nick of time but letting her go just as quickly.

“We shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry, McColl. I shouldn’t have done that,” I say, my voice rough and unsteady. “I…um… I have to go.”

The hurt that flashes across her face is like a physical blow, but she quickly schools her emotions.

“We shouldn’t have. You’re right. Let’s forget it ever happened.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, too.”

“We’re better as friends.”

“I know.”

Then I turn and wade from the water. I grab my tunic from the grass and pull it on with jerky movements, not caring that I am still soaking wet. I can feel McColl’s eyes on me as I stride back toward the cabin, but I don’t turn around.

I feel terrible. Firstly, because kissing her had felt so right, so perfect, like coming home after a long journey. And secondly, because it should never have happened in the first place. She hid it well in the end, but I hurt her, and I hate that.

It can’t happen again.

No matter how much I want it to.