Even if she wished — so desperately wished — she could let it all go.
Her heart and mind at war, Kiva glanced up and caught Jaren’s content gaze. Seeing that she was now alone, he held out a hand, beckoning her over.
And so, with a tight smile, she pocketed the jar and strode toward him, beaming genuinely at the children who squealed with renewed delight at having another visitor to play with.
“What do you say we have some fun?” Jaren asked her.
Looking at him, Kiva’s smile grew even as her heart broke, and she answered, “Let’s do it.”
Kiva and Jaren spent almost the entire day at Silverthorn, moving from ward to ward and bringing joy to children and adults alike. It didn’t matter that she had no elemental magic, because Jaren was more than eager to follow any requests she made. With a wave of his hand, he had entire rooms filling with bubbles that refused to pop, fire animals frolicking around water fountains, and tropical forests springing up out of nothing.
Over the course of the day, so many healers spoke with Kiva, sharing how much Jaren’s generosity meant to the children and their families, claiming it was the highlight of their weeks.
The people’s prince, Healer Tura had called him.
She wasn’t wrong.
With each new child’s laugh and each new thrill of Jaren’s magic, Kiva was forced to acknowledge that she was in more trouble than she’d thought.
Because every time Jaren looked at her, smiled at her, touched her, she knew deep down what she would do if they ever had another night like last night, another morning like that morning.
She wouldn’t push him away.
She would hold on to him, for as long as she could, for as long as he’d let her.
Because she was in —
“You’re very quiet,” Jaren said, bringing her thoughts to a screeching halt.
Her dangerous, dangerous thoughts.
“Hmm?” Kiva replied, praying her face didn’t betray her and wishing they hadn’t removed their masks upon leaving the academy grounds.
“I didn’t mean to tire you out,” he continued as they walked slowly along the River Road back toward the palace, the sun setting in the distance. “I just wanted to show you that my life isn’t always filled with council meetings and dreary politics. And I thought —” He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the amulet that was once more around her neck. “I guess I wanted to share something with you that I’ve never shared with anyone else. I thought you might appreciate it. Enjoy it, even.”
Kiva saw every expression shifting across his features, the doubt, the self-consciousness, the uncertainty. All there because of how much he felt for her, and how much her opinion meant to him.
Her voice was rough with emotion when she replied, “I did appreciate it. And I did enjoy it. More than I can say.”
He sent her a relieved grin, but it faded quickly at whatever he saw on her face.
Tugging her to the side and halting them next to the railing, he asked, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? All day, it’s like there’s been a . . . sadness about you.” He eyed her carefully. “Is it because of the children? I thought you’d be all right with it, as a healer.” Quickly, he added, “Not that you’d be fine with them being sick, I just meant —”
“I know what you meant,” Kiva said, cutting him off. She’d thought she’d hid her misery well, but as always, he was able to read her better than most.
Use it, came a voice that sounded suspiciously like Zuleeka. Use this opportunity. He’s giving you the perfect opening.
“I —” Kiva started, and then stopped. The amulet shifted, as if it were begging her not to do this. Or perhaps that was merely her own heart.
There are things he doesn’t even share with the Royal Council, with his family . . . But you have his ear.
That was definitely Zuleeka’s voice — and it kept coming.
Find us a legitimate way to take the throne, something that will make Evalon accept us as their new rulers without contention.
Feeling sick to her stomach, Kiva turned to lean on the rail, unable to look at Jaren as she said, “It was hard, seeing you with them today. How much you love them. How much they love you.”
Jaren leaned beside her, his arm resting against hers. “Why was that hard?”
“Because —”
Do it, sister.
“Because —”
It’s him or us. Them or us. You can’t have it both ways.
Kiva closed her eyes at the memory. She had made her choice then. And she had to stick with it.