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“No, Mama,” the one with braids huffed. “They’re hungry. And they loved our performance!”

“I can pay,” Dulce offered, opening her bag.

The woman waved her off. “Certainly not. There’s plenty of food for everyone. It’ll only go bad if we don’t share it, am I right?”

Seeing—and smelling—the hot meal brought out, Dulce didn’t argue, and they each ate a bowl of ham and carrot oat porridge and delightedly accepted candy apples from the little girls, who were named Yunis and Thyme.

They watched the performers practice fire juggling until they could scarcely keep their eyes open, and, thanking everyone they passed for their hospitality, Dulce and Reed made their way toward the wagon to retire for the evening.

A thick knitted blanket lay folded in the middle of the wagon—Dulce knew one of the performers must’ve left it for them.

These strangers had been nothing but kind, and they didn’t know about the curse, what would become of their beautiful opera if La Bisou Morte got her way? Her heart ached at the notion.

Reed plucked up the blanket and held it out toward her. “You can use it.”

Dulce thought about their kiss, how close they’d been to one another throughout the journey. “I have a much better idea. We share it.”

“As you wish.” He smiled.

Dulce set her satchel on the floor beside Reed’s to use as a pillow, then they removed their boots before settling beneath the blanket. She stared up at the ceiling, where a sliver of the moonlight shone through a small rectangle.

Minute after minute ticked by, and when Reed adjusted himself beside her, she turned to face him .

“I can’t sleep,” he said, pushing up from the floor and resting his back against the wall.

“Me neither.” Dulce sat beside him and swept back a lock from his forehead. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m thinking about my brother.” Reed sighed. “I know he’s blaming himself for my disappearance…”

Dulce didn’t know what it was like to have siblings, but as she thought about it now, she could see that it would’ve been nice to have the company, someone close to share childhood with, someone with whom to grow and support each other. “You two seem to be very close.”

Reed nodded. “We were all each other had growing up.” He shrugged. “Even before my parents died, it was always Philip, looking after me, sharing everything, even when we had hardly enough food for one.”

“I can help you both find work outside the Glen,” Dulce promised.

“Your generosity is already too much, Highness.”

“Not when you’re risking your life to help the world. Not when you saved my life, Reed.”

He studied her a long moment before relenting, “Perhaps for my brother I will accept it, but not me. I’ll owe you though.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“I know you were close to your parents. When did you lose them?” Reed asked.

“Fourteen, my father, and sixteen, my mother. Both succumbed to illnesses. My father was the one who taught me piano, would make me laugh. My mother was outgoing, everyone loved her, and she was giving, creative. When she died, my world fell apart, and I pretended as though the witch in me didn’t exist because everything with magic reminded me of her, of what I’d lost. I only continued the poison tradition each day since I knew how important that was to her.

Thankfully I did, or I’d truly be dead.”

Reed wiped away a tear streaming down her cheek that she didn’t realize had fallen. “I’m glad I found you and not a real corpse.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, and he bit his lip, his eyes drifting toward her mouth.

Her pulse thrummed, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward and pressing her lips to his.

He instantly reacted, his mouth coasting deliciously across hers as his hand cradled her cheek, and the kiss deepened, his tongue slipping between her lips to savor hers.

This was a new kind of kiss, one that made her breath catch and her body yearn for more.

Here was the affection, the hunger for another that she’d read about in poems, that great songs sung of, that men died for.

Dulce arched into him, and Reed’s hands trailed down to her waist to lift her into his lap. With each kiss, each subtle shift of their bodies, she hoped for more. Her head dipped toward his ear, and she whispered, “Touch me, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“Where?” he rasped.

“Beneath my dress.” Her voice came out breathy, desperate.

In answer, he slowly pushed her dress up her legs, and he guided her undergarments aside while continuing to kiss her, to kindle every fiber within her.

His warm, callused hand touched her flower, and she gasped, whimpering in pleasure when he stroked her.

On instinct, she rolled her hips forward, riding his hand as he deftly brought out a ravenous part of herself that she didn’t know existed.

This was the sweetest poison she’d ever felt, because she knew she was starting to fall for him, that Vesta’s tea leaves had been accurate in their prediction—Reed Hawthorne was who she was meant to be with.

She feared confessing to him about the fortune, that such a thing might frighten him, make him feel powerless against his own fate.

So for now, she relished the feeling building up in her heart, something wonderfully new as a wave of euphoria washed over her and she moaned.

Her breath was ragged when she peered up at Reed beneath thick lashes. He kissed her forehead and tucked her against his chest before drawing the blanket over them both.

“Perhaps we can sleep now, Majesty,” he whispered.

“I do believe so.” Dulce blissfully sighed and closed her eyes. She would cherish this temporary haven for the remainder of the night.

In the morning, they would have to leave it.