The morning after you make out with a king on a balcony, the castle really shouldn’t be allowed to have this many witnesses.
I woke up to bells and regret.
Well. Not regret, exactly.
More like: panic, arousal, and the faint memory of Evren’s mouth on mine playing on loop like a cursed highlight reel.
I lay there staring at the canopy, trying very hard not to think about how his hands had felt—one cupping my jaw, one on my back, holding me in like he’d finally given up on pretending he didn’t want to.
My body: We should do that again immediately.
My brain: Absolutely not. Red card. Foul. You are a widow. He is a king. Also there’s a sentient ice plague. Focus.
My heart: …but we liked it.
I flopped an arm over my face and groaned.
“Okay,” I told the ceiling. “New plan. We’re going t
