Page 3 of How To Please A Princely Fae (Wild Oak Woods #3)

WILLOW

M y eyes squeeze shut, and I burrow deeper under my heavy blanket. Every cell in my body resists the fact that it’s morning.

My head still hurts from crying, and I know when I look in the mirror later, my eyes will be disgustingly swollen. I’ll have to slap some salve on them and hope that my skin underneath isn’t peeling.

Ah, the endless joys of sensitive skin. Fairest of them all? More like the fucking itchiest of them all.

I’m in a horrible mood.

I want to pretend daylight isn't streaming through the stained-glass window.

At least it’s pretty when it sends color all through my room. Still, I don’t open my eyes.

I installed it when I made this room my own seven years ago. It was quite an undertaking. The stained-glass window’s in the image of the summer rose in full bloom, one of my favorite flowers and one of the hardest to grow, captured in a state of eternal perfection.

I know if I look, the deep crimson of the petals will have turned a lighter shade of pink, the way they always do in the morning. The green glow of the leaves and stem will be reflected all over my pale cream-colored bedding.

It's a welcome splash of my favorite colors.

And yet.

I don't want to get up.

I don't want to open my swollen, sore eyes.

And I don't want to accept any of the things that have happened over the past few weeks are real.

My hands fist in the bedsheets and I point my feet, unable to stop my teensy morning stretch.

I only want to live my little life in quiet and in peace the way I have for as long as I can remember.

I wish to remain untroubled and unbothered by a certain lavender-skinned fae prince who has occupied too much of my mind, too much of my heart, and too much of my attention.

I roll to the side, knowing I’m putting off the inevitable, and then stop.

My bed is warmer than it should be.

Why is my bed… hot?

I finally force my eyes open when I hear my owl familiar hoot gently from his perch on the inside of the door.

Sure enough, Chirp’s great brown eyes are fixed squarely on my face, and he hoots again, a soft sound. A soft sound that, though I might be used to it, I am extremely alarmed by because Chirp knows better than to make any sound at all when I'm still in bed.

The reason for the warmth and the hoots suddenly becomes absurdly and overwhelmingly obvious.

I suck in a shocked breath, my heart hammering in my chest.

A certain lavender-skinned fae lies next to me.

Kieran is in my bed. The tinted light from the window makes him look even more ethereal, even more handsome than even I could have thought possible. It caresses the delicious slope of his cheekbones, greens and pinks playing across his angular jaw and soaking into his silvery hair.

What a way to wake up.

I can’t seem to stop staring at him. What am I supposed to do now?

The sheet slips down his shoulder, exposing the lean muscle of his biceps. They are much larger than I would've imagined under his clothes… and I have imagined them quite often.

Wait. Wait . My eyes, even in their swollen state, somehow to manage to widen even more.

Where… where is his shirt?

Why is Kieran in my bed?

Why is Kieran naked in my bed?

What is happening?!

Still as a statue, I replay last night's events in my head, confused and at a complete loss.

There are a few facts to consider here.

One, Kieran has made it immensely clear that he dislikes me intensely. He hardly responds to anything I say. All of my attempts at idle chitchat and overtures of friendship have been completely rebuffed.

Two, that behavior is the complete opposite of how we spent our first few days together. My throat tightens at the painful juxtaposition.

When he began working with me, he was easy to talk to. Warm. A good listener, in addition to his good looks.

Someone easy to like, someone even easier to pine after.

But since then?

Kieran’s been anything but pleasant. I thought I could draw him out with smiles and small talk. But every attempt has been met with stony silence and a cold shoulder.

Shoulders I've stared at much too long, pining over them, which are now naked next to me in my bed for reasons that are completely beyond my comprehension.

I'm afraid to move, because what if it's not just his shoulders and arms that are naked? What if there's more nakedness under the sheets?

What if he is completely naked?

Then the worst thought yet…

What if this is all some great prank?

Fresh tears prick behind my eyes, and my lip begins to wobble as I stare at the beautiful male in my bed.

I wouldn’t put it past Caelan. Caelan, a well-known trickster, easily could have put him up to this. Wren, my coven sister and his mate, wouldn’t be so cruel, though, to allow this… would she?

What if everyone has somehow conspired against me and my ridiculous crush on the fae male who can't stand me?

A tear squeezes out of my eye, and I’m too scared of waking him to wipe it away.

Perhaps this is part of some coven plan to make sure I go to the Elder Gods and volunteer to be one of their demanded witch brides. Unhappiness crashes over me, a tempestuous wave, one I’m not strong enough to resist.

I'm afraid to breathe. I'm afraid to move.

I'm terrified to wake him up and find out the answers to the questions that rush through my head, a flood threatening to drown me.

Kieran, however, saves me from my own downward spiral.

Because he moves first.

His arm slides over my waist, warm and strong, as he snuggles closer, pulling me tight.

I freeze.

I don't dare breathe.

A shiver goes through me at his proximity— his touch —and the reality of having him in my bed, and I’m chilled to the bone despite the heat from his beautiful body. A body I have no business thinking about, a body that does not belong in my bed whatsoever, and yet, a body that is now wrapping itself around me, causing my heart to palpitate.

Maybe I should take something for that.

I’m sure I have something for heart palpitations in my stock of apothecary herbs.

I stare at the ceiling, frozen, pinned under his arm.

There is a slight water stain that resembles a Luna moth, likely due to some leak in the roof that I haven't had the time or inclination or know-how to fix. I wonder if it will take flight if I blink at it in shock enough.

Maybe there's a potion I can take to inoculate myself against the desire and longing and fear that ripple through me, more powerful than anything I have felt in my entire life.

A life I’m starting to think was lovely and safe without a gorgeous fae male in bed with me.

The sheet slides off the rest of him as he moves, and my curiosity is satisfied.

I shouldn’t look.

But there it is, the stark-naked proof that he is very much bare on bottom.

He drapes a heavy thigh over my legs possessively, another arm snaking under my head, and it's everything I can do to stay quiet and stay still as I try to figure out how to extricate myself from a predicament I’ve been wanting to happen for weeks.

Be careful what you wish for.

I grit my teeth together.

There must be a way to get out of this that won't embarrass us both.

I squeeze my eyes shut, stupefied by the turn of events and completely at a loss for how to navigate them.

If this is some trick by my sister witches, it is a cruel one. Maybe I should think harder on going to the Elder Gods if this is how they think of me.

Although, if Wren or anyone else in the coven is behind this, I'm not so sure I want to save them from whatever the Elder Gods consider coming.

It’s a mean thought, and I regret it immediately and decide I need to get over it and do something about this.

I inhale deeply, then hold my breath as I try to wriggle away from Kieran with the last bits of my dignity intact.

A feat which would truly be something, considering all of his very large and impressive intactness is pressing up against me.

All of my lackluster attempts to get away from the purple fae, however, prove fruitless as his face nuzzles against my shoulder, shocking me into stillness once more.

"Well, well, well," his purring voice says, tickling against my skin. The arm around my waist pulls me in even tighter than before, until I’m wedged into his perfectly sculpted and still very naked chest. "What do we have here?"

I suck in a breath and press my palm against his chest, wriggling to get free.

And immediately decide that his excited response to that effort is working against me.

"I've had enough.” I push against him again, scowling. “If this is a joke, it's a cruel one, and I'm not going to play nice any longer. What do you mean, what do we have here ?" I snarl, sounding nothing like myself. " You are the one who crawled into my bed naked and are now holding me tight, naked , in my own bed, and did I mention you’re naked ?"

"Well,” Kieran says, and there's a hint of reproach in his voice that takes me aback.

As if this situation is my fault!

"The only problem I see with any of this is that I'm the only one who’s naked," he continues.

There’s no hint of humor, no hint of anything but heat.

Something is wrong.

"What is going on with you?" I ask, startled out of my own self-loathing and self-pity by his completely unbothered demeanor.

Well, judging by the way his cock twitches against my thigh, that part is very much bothered, but not in the way it should be.

Unbothered is not a word I thought I would ever use to describe Kieran.

Kieran’s natural state is bothered.

Bothered is, in fact, the adjective that describes him best. I can't think of one time since he turned cold when he hasn't seemed bothered. Put out. Disdainful.

I try to form a coherent sentence. Try and fail.

His cock is very distracting in its earnest waggling, and I get the feeling he’s making it jump against my skin to see what I’ll do.

I wrinkle my nose, because what the actual hells is going on?

"You can't come into my bed naked and then make jokes about it like this is normal behavior,” I tell him.

"Well.” He draws the word out long. A bevy of tiny expressions flurries across his face: shock, hurt, surprise, and maybe even confusion.

I’ve never seen any of them before. No, the fae champion of disdain only does ice.

Never confusion.

Definitely not hurt.

"Now," I say, mustering courage I didn’t know I had. "Either you tell me exactly what is going on here, or you can't come back to work for me again."

I didn't expect to make the ultimatum.

The moment it flies past my lips, I feel that perhaps I've gone too far. For one, I do enjoy having the help, and secondly, Kieran looks so confused by the turn of events that alarms begin to blare in earnest in my head.

Well, clearly, something is amiss.

Something is very amiss indeed, considering Kieran is naked in my bed.

Things are not exactly what they seem.

An observation that helps not at all, thank you, witchy prescience.

"Well, I wish I could tell you what was going on," Kieran says slowly, the words stilted. Now this is the Kieran I recognize. These mannerisms are much closer to what I'm used to than the delighted, whimsical tone he used on waking.

I stammer out a garbled nonsense word as his statement lands in my brain.

He doesn’t know why he’s naked in my bed?

“Did you have too much to drink? Are you on some kind of mushroom?”

His eyebrows arch so high they nearly disappear into the beautiful silvery hair falling from his head again, another expression I haven't seen on his face before now.

"Answer me," I demand, feeling incredibly put upon and sorry for myself. Both feelings are unfamiliar, and I dislike them more intensely the deeper they take root.

He looses an exasperated sigh, and he blinks slowly at me, the cat-like pointed tips of his ears twitching slightly.

His expression changes lightning-fast as he considers me.

Goddess, I wish I’d done something about my swollen eyes. I’m sure I look awful. Not that it matters. Now is not the time to wish I looked good for him, goddess save me from myself.

A strange buzzing sound comes from behind him. Well, the sound isn’t strange, but it sure is awkward to hear in my bed.

I've heard it so often now that I know exactly what it is.

His wings are rustling behind him. It’s a sign of his high agitation. I've only heard them like that when he was completely confused or flustered by one of our shoppers, or if I've asked him something about his life before he came to Wild Oak Woods.

And now, the noise is a result of being asked why he is, in fact, naked with his cock pressed up against my body.

"I… I… don't know," he finally answers. His gaze dips away from mine before finding it again. "I don't know why I'm in your bed, and I don't even know who you are," he says, and this time there is a note of confused longing.

I swallow hard, deciding this is not some cruel joke. In fact, I don't think it is a joke at all.

If it is, he’s a victim of it as much as I am.

No, it is becoming increasingly clear that this is a new horrible problem for both of us.

I squint at him.

“You don’t know who I am?" I ask, even though he's just said that he doesn't, because what else am I supposed to say?

"Do you know where you are?" I tack it on, thinking as fast as I can. "Do you know your name?" I follow up, since he’s failed to answer any of my rapid-fire questions.

"Of course, I know my name," he says, scoffing. "And of course I know where I am." He says, although this time there's a definite uncertainty in the pronunciation.

"Then where are you?" The question is full of trepidation.

Frankly, I don't know what to do with the gorgeous male I’ve been lusting after for weeks, who doesn't know who he is, or who I am, or, for that matter, where we are.

Or why he’s naked in my bed.

In fact, I am one hundred percent sure that I would not know what to do with anyone in this situation.

My heart pounds under my ribs and I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Panic never got anyone anywhere. In fact, I grow multiple plants and brew several potions for just this exact feeling, precisely so I can avoid feeling it at all costs.

Me and my customers, of course.

Unfortunately, accessing any of those would require me somehow getting out of Kieran’s iron grip, which just keeps getting tighter.

"Right," I say, as he continues to not answer. "Can you tell me your name?"

"I am Kieran, prince of the Underhill," he says. His nose wrinkles, though, and that hangdog, forlorn expression returns to his face. "Though, I have to admit I'm not sure I know what either of those things mean."

I blow out a breath and slump against my pillow—or where my pillow ought to be, but is just his muscly arm.

There’s no doubt in my mind. He isn’t acting.

This isn't some cruel joke, and while I'm relieved my coven sisters have not decided to torment me into dedicating myself to or wedding or whatever an Elder God… I'm also terrified of what this means for Kieran.

No one deserves to have their memories taken.

Did the Elder Gods that showed up last night do this? Are they somehow to blame?

Have I somehow painted a target on my back? Have they decided that removing Kieran from my immediate sphere would allow them better access to me or one of the other witches right away?

While a little mean part of me finds that somewhat appealing, because for once it would mean that someone is taking an interest in me romantically… it's also incredibly unappealing. The last thing I want is to end up in some arranged marriage to whatever the hells the Elder Gods are. Logic tells me I don’t want to marry anyone who crashes an autumn festival to demand a stranger’s hand in marriage.

I sniff. Very uncouth behavior.

Kieran still stares at me, a puppy dog expression firmly in place. He's never looked quite so adorable as he does right now, naked in my bed. Which is a problem, of course it's a problem.

"You can't just get into people's beds naked, Kieran," I tell him.

"I'm not sure how I got here," he says quietly.

Guilt swims through me.

It seems being angry with him would make about as much sense as punishing a Venus fly trap for catching a fly, when it's just in the plant’s nature to make a meal of an insect.

"Well,” I say, breathing out slowly, trying to control my rampaging thoughts. "Can you start by moving away from me?"

"I'm comfortable," he says, and this time there's no mistaking his arrogance. It shouldn’t surprise me, not considering he’s an Unseelie fae prince, but it does.

It’s as new a behavior quirk as everything else he’s done this morning, and I’m realizing I might not know this naked man in my bed at all.

Which, honestly, should be more troubling a thought than it is.

"Get off me," I say, my voice strained.

If he doesn't get off of me soon, I'm fairly sure I will ask him to get off with me, which would be an even bigger problem. It cannot be ethical to ask an amnesiac to satisfy your need for cock.

Something in my tone makes him move. Kieran scoots to the edge of the bed, which only further exposes his perfectly muscled body.

I swallow hard, so loud I'm sure that he can hear it.

Based on the way he smiles down at me, I'm certain he did hear it.

This isn’t going well.

"I didn't have to get off of you," he says, "in fact, if you are more comfortable?—"

"No," I interrupt, putting my hand directly in his face, "you stay over there. You can't remember why you're here or who I am and," I say, forcing all the patience I have into my voice. "It wouldn't be right for me to take advantage of you."

A slow grin spreads across his face.

Great. I’ve just fed the cocky ego monster that I didn't know lurked beneath the prince’s surface. I didn’t know about the monster cock that lurked beneath his pants, either, but that’s neither here nor there.

"I think I find that I would like to be taken advantage of," he says.

I bite back a laugh. "There's no time for this," I tell him.

"Why not?" he asks.

"It's still early morning, well, for one," I stutter. I am fully annoyed by this presumptuousness, taken aback by the fact that he seems ready and willing to do everything I've ever dreamed of when it concerns him, and I stumble over my words trying to find a reason why we can't do exactly what we both clearly want to do.

"For one, we have to open the store and get ready to restock the potions for the day," I finally announced.

"Do I work with you?" he asks, looking perplexed.

"You do," I tell him.

"Why?" he asks. "I don't feel like I should be working."

I blow out a breath, both annoyed and somehow amused at our inane predicament. Now that he is further away from me and my brain is working again, I can be amused.

"Well, you do, and you are," I tell him.

"Are we lovers?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "Is that why you're worried about taking advantage of me in my current state of undress? You are my lover?"

"Excuse me," I say, unduly thrilled and ashamed all at once to hear those words come out of his mouth. "We are not lovers. You are the one that's undressed in my bed?—"

"And you're the one that's thinking of taking advantage of me," he interrupts, raising an eyebrow, that cocky half smile back on his face.

Once again, I have to stop myself from laughing. Encouraging this behavior is only going to get us both in a world of trouble.

"You need to put some clothes on," I say in a choked voice.

"What if I like being naked in bed with you?" he says.

I sigh deeply from all the way down in my bones. Arguing with the naked, handsome Kieran who’s had a personality transplant along with amnesia overnight is not something I counted on or prepared for in any way, shape or form, especially not the delicious shape of his naked body now fully exposed and lying next to me. I have to avert my eyes. "Do whatever you want," I snap, annoyed. "We need to figure out what happened to you, why you lost your memory, and if the Elder Gods are at all to blame. Plus, we need to do it soon, because I fear the entire Wild Oak Woods is in danger."

"Wild Oak Woods?” he repeats. "Is that where I am?"

"Yes," I say, brightening slightly. "Do you remember it?"

He grins at me and relief rushes through me. If he is remembering already, that's a good sign.

"No," he says, lightly tapping his chin with a finger. "Can't say that I do, but I'm happy to be here."

I roll out of bed and storm over to my cabinet, pulling on clothes and getting dressed as fast as I can. Unfortunately, in my speed, I’ve forgotten that I have an audience. When I turn back around, lacing up my favorite mauve linen overdress, Kieran's eyes are fixed on me. Devouring me. An unexpected shiver goes up my back.

I’ve wanted him to look at me like that since the day he came to town and asked to work in my shop. Since the first few days when I thought he was looking at me like that, like I was something delicious to be savored. Like I was a treat he's wanted his whole life and never found his way to. Now he's looking at me like that again completely naked, with a lazy hand around his cock and I don't know what to think.

In fact, I think the sight of him like that has completely ruined my capacity for any thoughts whatsoever and I'm completely sure that there is no draught or magic that could ever wipe the image from my memory.

"I, I, I— You need to put clothes on," I tell him.

“Why?" he asks.

I give him a hard look, because getting used to sassy Kieran is a bad idea. "This isn't the real you,” I tell him. I run my hands across my skirt, trying to smooth it out and soothe my feelings at the same time. He would be mortified to know how he is behaving. He blinks, not understanding.

"Because you don't even like me," I tell him coldly, doing my best impression of, well, him. "You don't like me, and you've made that abundantly clear, and it hurts my feelings that you're acting like this now. I don't want to be around you when you,” I gesture wildly at him,“look like this." The last sentence is uttered slightly less fervently and a little bit more forlornly. It makes me ashamed when his expression shutters. We stare each other for a long, awkward moment.

"Well, where do you keep my clothes?" he asks.

"You don't sleep here," I say, completely consternated. "You work with me, this isn't your home—this is my home. I don't know where you put your clothes." I turn, walking towards the door, and then practically stumble over the aforementioned clothes. I grunt in annoyance.

"Well, you found them," he says brightly.

I glare, annoyed with him. Unreasonably so, because the poor man is clearly under some sort of spell, and annoyed with myself for being so affected by him. I'm also annoyed with the fact that Kieran is apparently the type of male to leave his clothes in a pile on the floor—truly, a black mark against him.

I begin to bend to pick up the clothes so my unruly houseguest can get them back on his lovely body, only to be beaten to the punch by Kieran himself.

Quick as a flash, he nudges in front of me, stooping to pick up the discarded items and leaving me with the impressive view of his naked rear end. From his perfectly formed derrière, thick with muscle, up to the broad shoulders that I never would have guessed lurked under the drab, loose clothes he prefers. Then, of course, his magnificent wings. They were the first things I noticed about him. They are the most impressive mix of iridescent greens and teals and blues, more beautiful than the stained-glass window I painstakingly chose and installed so many years ago.

Everything about Kieran is beautiful, and I find myself staring openly at him… Three scars across under his gorgeous wings, pale silvery lavender so startling in contrast with his perfection that I can't help myself and I blurt, "What's that?"

"What's what?" he responds. He cranes over one shoulder in an attempt to look at the scars that are now hidden behind the fluttering beauty of his wings.

"You just, you have some…" I stop. It seems unfair to tell a male who can't remember where he comes from that he has scars he can't remember. "Nothing," I say. "Never mind, I just—I'm going to just go get started for the day."

"There's no hurry," he says, that coy note returning to his voice. "You're obviously enjoying looking at me, there's no need to rush off."

I ground myself, caught between annoyance and amusement once again. A playful Kieran is a Kieran I am not equipped to deal with whatsoever. It's much easier to ignore this childish infatuation when the object of my desire would prefer to pretend that I don't exist.

An object of my desire standing naked in my bedroom making cute jokes is a lot harder to ignore.

Chirp the owl hoots softly, winging silently to my shoulder as I cross into the hallway. I suck in a breath and square my shoulders as his claws dig in for balance. I make my way down the hallway of my home to the storefront. I am completely out of sorts. I've never felt this way in my own home. It's always been my sanctuary, the one place where I felt safe. And I'm inordinately and unexpectedly irritated with Kieran for making it a place where I no longer feel that way. It's not fair to him, something has clearly happened to take his memory away.

Whether it's the strange presence from the Elder Forest that made itself known last night, or some other magic… it's best not to get too attached to this version of the fae prince.

I settle in behind the cash wrap, looking over my to-do list that seems to grow longer every day. Chirp wings off into the shop, probably to roost in his favorite sleeping spot amongst the potted asphodel, where he can still look over us as we go about our day. My familiar doesn't like to be too far from the action.

I smile at his soft feathers fondly, grateful for Chirp’s steadying presence in such an unsteady time.

I blow out a breath, pushing some of my wayward curls from my face. An unwashed face to go with the uncombed tangle of hair. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I just know I’ve flushed an entirely unbecoming shade of fuchsia.

I'm so caught up in how unhinged I must look thanks to Kieran’s new predicament that I fail to hear him approach.

I stifle my startle, making an awkward noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeak.

Or, perhaps, I simply didn’t hear him. As far as I know, he can move like any other fae: soundless, silent, and deadly—something else that he's never shown me he knew how to do until he forgot who he was.

That cocky, handsome grin is in full effect, and I try not to whimper at the sight.

That would be a truly embarrassing sound.

“So, this is where you work?” he asks, looking around with raised brows. “What is it you do?”

“I run an apothecary. This apothecary,” I explain gently, waving a hand around the shop. It's hard not to smile at his genuine interest, something I haven't seen from him since the first day he walked through my door.

“You’re a healer?” he asks, picking up one of the crystal potion bottles that lines a small display on the counter.

He puts it down carefully, studying the collection of shelves that rise from the solid oak floors.

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head and hoping my blush has subsided. “I'm a green witch.” I shrug one shoulder. “I'm good with plants. I grow ingredients for healers and sometimes concoct potions for them… but I don't have an affinity for it. All I have an affinity for is growing things.”

“A green witch,” he repeats, genuine interest all over his face. “I've never met anyone that could do that.”

“It’s not a common Unseelie talent, from what I know,” I tell him. I don’t bother to add that he very well may have met another green witch, but he just doesn’t remember it. I’m not in the business of casual meanness, and even though Kieran has unwittingly hurt me more times than I can count over the last few weeks, I can’t find it in me to return the favor.

“That is very impressive,” he says, leaning over to inspect one of the twilight hostas growing in a large planter beside the counter.

“The plant? It’s an old?—”

“No, you. You’re impressive. To be able to grow things and grow them well…” He pauses, now squinting at the rows of cork-topped glass vials and dried ingredients.

I try to see the shop through his eyes, to get a glimpse of whatever has him so entranced, but all I see are shelves that could use a dusting (again), plants that need charmed watering (again) and the fact we’re low on lacewing eggs and dragonflies.

“And you do all of this by yourself?” he asks.

The new note of respect in the question nearly makes me preen.

He runs his long purple fingers over the leaves of seedlings I keep on hand to sell as basic spell ingredients.

“You help me, now,” I say, biting my lower lip.

He laughs at that, glancing back at me in a way that makes me blush all the way to my scalp. “I have a feeling I have never been much help, and am even less of it now.”

There’s a self-deprecating sense to his words that I recognize all too well.

Kieran wanders over to where I house the more expensive ingredients, along a much less packed set of cabinets. I can’t drag my gaze away from him, though I really should get back to my to-do list.

I scrawl the words “find out what’s wrong with Kieran” across the top of my list and glance back up.

He touches a sparkling cut-crystal vase that houses powdered unicorn’s horn. Next to it, a glowing phoenix feather rests on a navy velvet pillow, and beside the feather, a brass box full of glittering dragon scales.

“This is really something,” he says. “You have quite a collection.”

“Ah, thank you,” I tell him, feeling pleased despite myself.

I know that he's not in his right mind… but it's nice to be seen.

My throat closes up, and he turns back to the shelves of ingredients and plants and potions.

It's nice to hear someone appreciate the work that I do, and the little shop and little life that I've built for myself. It’s not much, and I know it.

An odd emotion sweeps through me, and I cross my arms over my chest, careful not to stain my overdress with the ink quill in my hand.

Being a green witch isn’t nearly as flashy or impressive as Nerissa’s prognosticating and spell work… or as lucrative as Wren’s jewelry-making business. I don't have the incredible people skills that Piper does—in addition to creating some of the best food I’ve ever eaten, she has an uncanny knack for suggesting exactly the right thing to make someone's day a little brighter.

All I do is grow plants well and make things from them. I’m not particularly good with people, and I certainly won’t win any awards for showmanship.

Kieran’s clear admiration for my work makes me feel seen in a way I don’t think I have felt before. The other witches have never made me feel less than, have never made me feel like anything but one of them. Like a friend. It’s not that I need admiration, but it is nice to see my hard work acknowledged.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “That means… That means a lot to me,” I admit. He glances back at me, his wings rustling again, the iridescence catching the light streaming through the round window that helps the plants in this room grow.

His expression is open in a way I don’t think I’ve seen before. It’s almost as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, the way he moves around the shop looking at everything with the fresh eyes of someone who’s never been inside of it before and can’t quite believe what they’re seeing.

It’s strange, the way it makes me choke up a little. I wonder when the last time it was that I looked at anything with the type of wonder that’s so clear in Kieran’s face in this moment. When did I last look at the world with childlike appreciation?

The thought makes my heart hurt, and the pain surprises me.

When did the magic of doing magic disappear?

“Do you usually work before eating?” he asks, frowning.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, genuinely curious. “There are some edible plants in the greenhouse if you can’t wait.”

“Can’t wait for what?” he asks. “Do you want me to make you a feast, my sweet green witch?”

My palms fly to my cheeks and, sure enough, they are hot to the touch. I wish that I could tell my body to stop reacting to his out-of-character comments. He doesn’t mean them, how could he? He doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t even know who he is.

So why is my body acting like this means something?

I don’t think I’ve been this flustered in the better part of a decade, not since I was a young witch.

“There are some berries,” I tell him, my voice slightly strangled. “The raspberries are in the final fall flush in the greenhouse. Help yourself.”

“You don’t want me to make us a feast, green witch?” he asks. Kieran quickly closes the distance between us, a predatory light in his eyes that leaves me near quaking. My boots aren’t even laced up. At this rate I’m going to fall out of them before I have a chance to tie them into little bows. He tilts his head, his eyes raking across my body with obvious pleasure.

Everything tightens inside of me and I stare up at him, confused and at a total loss for how to react.

His smile widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grins down at me. “Or, if you prefer,” he purrs, “we could make a feast of you, little green witch.”

I sputter. I am unequipped to deal with him right now. “Go eat some raspberries,” I blurt.

“Hm. I don’t think that will have quite the same effect as what I am craving,” he says.

My eyes are open so wide in pure shock that it’s a wonder they aren’t drying out immediately from the effort.

Kieran laughs, a musical, deep sound that resonates within my very bones.

“Are you calling me green witch because you don’t remember my name?” I finally ask, leaning on the counter.

“Oh no,” he answers, smirking. “I looked through your diary on your nightstand before I joined you out here, I’m well aware that your name is Willow. And I’m well aware that you’ve been harboring certain thoughts about me for a long time now.”

My jaw drops open. “You, you—you didn’t.”

Amusement dances across the Unseelie prince’s face. “No,” he drawls. “I didn’t read it. All I did was look at the cover for your name. But the fact that you haven’t argued with my outlandish comment means I’m not far from the mark, am I?”

I make a noise somewhere between a shrill owl screech and a fox scream. Kieran just laughs some more and swaggers through the greenhouse door, leaving me staring after him in confusion.