Rion du Lac,
The island of Tintagol
124 years ago

Everyone wants to fuck a high lord.

As I fasten my belt again, Mab drops the hem of her skirts, and she turns back to lean against the sycamore. Here, in the grove, it smells of rain and earth, and the sweet musk of Mab’s body.

Her hair is the color of orange hawk seed, brilliant apricot hues that turn burnt at the ends, like flames. When she reaches the tree, she turns back to look at me again, her eyes heavy-lidded.

Such a beautiful woman. So why do I feel only emptiness?

She crosses her arms, her cheeks still flushed. “It’s been too long since I last saw you.”

My eyebrows flick up as I sense danger. “Only a week.”

She pouts. “Too long for me. Don’t you miss me?”

Gods. “A High Lord doesn’t have time to miss anyone, Lady Mab.”

She lifts her chin. Moments ago, she was rasping my name in the throes of pleasure. Now, she looks furious with me. “Don’t you want to take a wife? It’s been centuries.”

I don’t have time for this conversation. I have a growing rebellion to put down—one that involves her own family members. “No, I don’t want a wife. I told you this as soon as we met. I will never marry.”

I’d been nearly married once before. It was enough to put me off the idea forever.

Mab’s eyes narrow. “If you’d never come to Tintagol…” She lets the words die on her tongue, nervous—clearly—that she’s dancing too close to treason.

What she’s trying to say is that if I’d never come to Tintagol, she’d be part of the ruling family, commanding everyone around instead of me.

Mab is from the Pendragon demi-Fey line—linked to the mortal King Arthur, they say. If she were a man, I’d probably have to execute her today along with her uncle.

I take a step closer to her, cupping her face. My eyes dip down to her full lips, and I wonder why I don’t feel more. “If I’d never come here, Lady Mab, then you wouldn’t have just had three orgasms in a sycamore grove. And I’d hate to deprive you of that.”.