What also didn’t feel entirely innocent was where my hand rested. It was shamefully low on Casteel’s stomach. I knew this because I could feel the imprint of the buttons against my palm. If I moved my fingers more than an inch lower, I doubted he would remain asleep. The knowledge of that filled my head with all kinds of things I really shouldn’t be thinking about at the moment, like what we’d done in the carriage…in the bedchamber, the cavern.
I mentally throat punched myself as I moved my hand away from that really fascinating part of Casteel, trying not to focus on the tautness of his lower stomach or the way his skin seemed to burn through his clothing—
Casteel’s arm curled, tightening around my shoulder, drawing me closer. My breath snagged as his movement triggered Kieran. He shifted behind me, and my pulse felt like a trapped bird. A sleek, muscled thigh slid between mine, pressing in. I had no idea if it was Casteel’s or Kieran’s.
A hundred different thoughts and emotions exploded through me, so many, so fast, I couldn’t make sense of them.
But neither of them woke, so I lay there, and my mind wandered again, not to places that would make this sleeping arrangement even more awkward or to sad ones.
I pretended.
Not like before with Casteel. I pretended that my brother was still a mortal, as was Tawny. That Casteel’s brother was free, and that the Ascended weren’t a reality. I pretended that tomorrow I would be arriving in a kingdom that welcomed me, to a King and Queen who would greet me with open arms. I pretended that Casteel and I were at the start of a life together, one that would be long and happy instead of one that felt like it could end at any minute. I pretended that we both aged, and that I was always reckless enough, brave enough to just let myself feel, to experience, to live without the past shadowing every choice I made, or the future looming over every decision.
That we always existed in the now and…lived.
Eventually, the warmth that both of them radiated, the steady, deep rise and fall of their chests, lulled me back to sleep. Sometime later, I drifted on the fringes of sleep once more, brought there by a whisper. A calling. A name.
“Poppy…”
Chapter 43
My entire being seized in recognition of that voice—one I couldn’t pull from the depths of my imagination no matter how hard I tried.
But it was him—that was my father’s voice calling my name.
My eyes opened to misty darkness and…and golden lamplight, and I realized I wasn’t awake.
I was there once more, thrust back into the night that ended in blood-soaked screams.
“Poppy-flower, I know you’re down there. Come out,” he called. “I need you to come to me, Poppy-flower.”
Chest twisting, I followed the sound of his voice, my lips moving but the voice coming out of me sounding so much younger. “Papa? I was looking for you.”
“You found me, like you always do.” The shadows pulsed and thickened in front of me, taking shape. He was tall—the tallest person I knew. “You shouldn’t be down here, my baby girl.”
I stared up at him, wishing I could see his face clearly. “I wanted to go with you, Papa. I’m not scared.” But I was. I was trembling, and my tummy hurt.
“You’re such a brave one, but you shouldn’t be down here.” He knelt, and eyes that matched mine took up my whole world. “Where is your brother?”
“With that woman who had cookies, but I want to be with you and—”
“You can’t go with me.” Cold hands landed on my shoulders, and his face seemed to piece together. Square jaw covered with several days’ worth of hair. Momma called it a beard and often complained about it, but I saw her rubbing her fingers over it when she thought Ian and I weren’t looking. Straight nose. Dark brows. Eyes like pine. “You need to stay here and keep your mother and brother safe.”
“This is her?” another voice asked from the darkness. A stranger’s voice that wasn’t completely unfamiliar.
“This is my daughter,” Papa answered as he looked over his shoulder before smiling at me, but the smile was all wrong. Too tight. “She doesn’t know.”
“Understood,” the voice came again, still familiar.
I didn’t understand what he meant. All I knew was that he was going to leave, and I didn’t want that.
“What a pretty little flower.” The cold hands touched my cheeks. “What a pretty poppy.” Papa leaned in, pressing his lips to the crown of my head. “I love you more than all the stars in the sky.”