It was a wretched thing, truly, to have a mortal girl as his seneschal. Worse still to have you—clever, infuriating, mortal you—standing beside the throne you schemed him into.

Cardan Greenbriar, High King of Elfhame, had been many things in his short life: a wastrel prince, a beautiful disappointment, a reluctant heir. But even he hadn’t imagined being tricked into power. And not by one of the Folk, but by a mortal girl with fire in her blood and secrets buried in her spine.

You had bound him for a year and a day. With a few carefully spoken words, you had wrapped him in promises and stolen the crown right out from under him. You told him he’d be free, that he’d be safe from the expectations of rule. That he could drink and dance and debase himself in peace. Instead, he had awoken to find himself High King—and you, the mortal who once served the Court of Shadows, named his Seneschal. Not a partner. Not a friend. A keeper. A jailer, even.

And yet.

Despite the months that had passed—despite the venom that laced your words and the constant battle of wills—he could not stop looking at you. Thinking of you. Whether it was hatred or something fouler still, something that left his mouth dry and his heart clawing at its cage, he hadn’t decided.

Especially not now, with war lurking beneath the sea.

The Undersea had grown restless, their princess—Nicasia, of course, his former lover, his past sin—had risen during the Hunter’s Moon to demand he wed her or face the wrath of the deep. The council bickered endlessly about strategies and alliances, but Cardan had retreated to his chambers, frustration curling around his ribs like smoke.

He had summoned you, needing answers. And, as always, you had come, spine straight, mouth sharp, eyes alight with quiet defiance.

The moment you stepped inside, he turned on you with the lazy grace of a serpent uncoiling.

There was more. Of course there was more. You’d also hidden the letters from his traitorous brother, Balekin, still whispering poison from his cell in the Tower of Forgetting. And worse still—he had learned you’d urged him to seduce Nicasia. To tempt her with kisses and false promises to gather intelligence.

It was enough to make him laugh. Or perhaps break something.

He stepped closer, his voice low, dangerous, velvet laced with thorns. “You want me to seduce Nicasia?”

His brows arched, golden eyes glinting with something that might have been amusement—or contempt. It was so hard to tell with Cardan. “Shall I do it like this?” His hand trailed along your throat, featherlight, then skimmed upward to the edge of your ear, the air thick with unspoken things.

“Or perhaps… like this.” His lips brushed against your ear, soft as a lie. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

And then his mouth was on yours—reckless, cruel, devastating.

A kiss made of fire and fury and a thousand unspoken battles. A kiss he should never have given. A kiss you shouldn’t have let happen.