Des kisses my forehead, then his eyes drift up. He touches the crown I’m still wearing. “And here I thought you didn’t want to be a queen,” he says, eyeing the thing.

I reach for it possessively. “It’s my war prize.” … Even if it looks like something a blind man made while drunk.

“I must admit, you are delightfully cruel when you want to be.”

It was beautiful nightmare before, and now it’s delightfully cruel. I should be mortified by these compliments, and maybe the socially acceptable part of me is, but the part of me that wants to feast on men’s hearts and bathe in their dying breaths is covetously collecting them, one by one.

Des’s gaze is heavy and hungry when it drops to me. “Do you take war prizes from all your victims?”

I shiver a little. “They’re not my victims.”

“Hmm.”

“They’re not.”

“Are you going to answer the question?”

I take the crown off my head and study it. It truly is ugly.

“Only the really bad ones,” I say. “The ones who like to break people.” They are the ones I enjoy twisting to my every whim. “I take mementos from them.”

Back at my house I have a box full of these mementos I’ve lifted over the years. On particularly bad days, days when not even Johnnie or Jack or Jose could numb my pain away, I’d steal away to my guest room, where I kept that box, and I’d sit there for hours, taking out item after item, holding each in my palm. And I would remember how I broke a few of the great villains of the world.

If my confession freaks Des out, he doesn’t show it. In fact, his expression has gotten hungrier. The fae side of him is positively delighted to hear this perversion of mine.

“I … learned about that box one of the times I visited your house,” Des admits.

My brow wrinkles. He knew? I think I’m alarmed.

“Then why did you ask?” I say.

Des begins to back me up, directing me with his body to his chamber’s balcony. “I wanted to hear you say it.”

Behind me, the cool evening breeze stirs my hair. I turn and step outside, my skin pebbling.

Unlike the Banished Lands, Somnia is awash in magic. It radiates from every night blooming flower, every pixie that zips around like gusts of wind. It laces each decadent cloud plume, and it drips down like rain from the heavens. And now I’m a part of it, from my fae magic to the bond that connects me to this white-haired king.

I stare at Des as I take a seat on the stone floor of the balcony.

He has no idea just how in love with him I am. It would be impossible for him to understand.

I must be making a strange face because he says, “What is it, cherub?”

This is the point in the conversation where we barter for secrets. He gives me something I want, and I confess some coveted truth. You know, our typical give and take.

I remember Des’s sad eyes. Callie, you don’t owe me. Not for something like this.

He doesn’t owe me for something like this, either.

I shake my head. “I love you so much. You’ll never really know.”

His features sharpen and the look in his eyes intensifies. “The way fairies love … it’s the same way we live. It’s immortal, violent, irrational and unbendable.

“I understand your words, cherub, because there are aspects of my love for you that are, simply put, unfathomable.”

My heart begins to gallop as we stare at each other, our connection singing to me. I can feel Des beneath my sternum, even as I stare at him. He’s always in me, always a part of me. It’s the most uncanny sensation.

Never breaking eye contact, Des lifts a hand. From deep in his chambers, a bottle of something pink and bubbly floats into his open palm. A few seconds later two elaborate flutes slip into his other hand.

The Bargainer settles himself next to me, his back leaning against the wall. He sets the items down, and a moment later the bottle uncorks itself and begins pouring.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask, watching the rosy liquid foam as it fills the flutes.

“My soulmate survived a day in the Banished Lands—and managed to walk away with the kingdom’s crown. I’d say that’s an occasion worth celebrating.”

Something warm blooms low in my stomach. Something that feels a lot like happy, stupid love—and maybe a little pride too. I helped chip away at the mystery of Galleghar’s awakening.

When the champagne flutes are filled, one floats over to me.

I take it and peer into the drink. “This is safe to drink, right?” I ask. “It isn’t like the rosé version of lilac wine?”

“You caught me, love. I’m hoping to grow you a set of pointy ears,” Des says, taking his own glass.

I stare down at my drink, swirl it, wonder if I should drink it after having a migraine, then a magical pill with who knows what side effects.

Des doesn’t look over at me when he says, “I wouldn’t let you drink that if I thought I was putting you at risk.”

I glance sharply at him. “H—”

“Please tell me you’re not asking how I knew that. I’m not entirely sure my ego would recover from that sort of slight.”

Heaven forbid I wonder how Des knows an unknowable thing.

“Your ego could probably use being knocked down a peg or two,” I say.

He presses a finger to my mouth. “Sssh, cherub. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I nip at his finger. In response, Des’s eyes become like sultry little sluts.

“Fae wine doesn’t interact quite the same way human wine does,” he says distractedly. “Now do that again.”

If I do that again, I’ll be in serious threat of turning this into a bangfest (which is always fun). Right now, though, I kinda sorta just want to savor this thing between us. It’s our friendship aged eight years—with a little bit of sex thrown in.

I draw his finger away and bring the wine to my mouth. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, his gaze trained to my lips.

He’s excruciating to look at, with his pale eyes and even paler hair. I’m going to cave and let him carry me inside so I can have my way with him if I keep drinking him in.

I gather my legs up to me and look out over his kingdom, desperate to hold on to this moment.

“I never thought I’d be here,” I say, taking a steadying breath as my gaze sweeps over Somnia. “All those years ago. I mean, I had always hoped you’d take me, but I never really thought I’d be here one day.”

Des’s gaze falls heavy on me. I did, it seems to say.

After several moments, he turns his attention to the night. “I never imagined it would be under these circumstances.”

My wing roots prick at his words, drawing my attention away from the ominous note in his voice to the fact that I am a part of this world, with all its horror and injustice, and I fit in here as I never have on earth. I have scales and wings and claws and fae power running through my veins. I feel … suitably magical for this place.

“Think Typhus is still alive?” I ask, changing the subject.

The Bargainer huffs out a laugh. “Unlikely.”

Is that a pang of guilt I feel?

“Callie, don’t feel bad for the man.”

I make a face into my wine (the shit is super good). “Ugh, you’re like a mind reader tonight.”

“I’m serious.”