By that afternoon, Oro had her stuff moved into his chambers and his moved out.
The memories stopped after Isla moved into Oro’s room, and she was able to peacefully sleep through the night. It was as if the proximity to the king’s belongings, sleeping in his bed, was enough to smother all thoughts of Grim. She found a drawer that had been forgotten, filled with his clothes, and claimed one of his shirts. Then another. And another. They were massive and comfortable, and wearing them to bed helped her feel less alone.
At training, she was better able to focus. Every day, she grew stronger, her power inching forward, the blade within her sharpening.
What had started as a reaction to an attack, a desperation to open the vault and prepare against the next crisis, had started to become . . . fun.
They were sitting in a forest on the Wildling newland, Lynx watching them as they trained. She visited the leopard often, bringing gifts, all of which he rejected. She would wait at the edge of the forest surrounding the Wildling castle, offering in hand. Eventually, he would prowl out to meet her, sniff what she had brought, and walk back into the woods.
She was convinced the only reason Lynx had stuck around this long today was because Oro was here.
They were telling each other what to make, back and forth.
“A yellow rose,” Oro said, and she made it bloom in front of them.
“A sunflower,” she told him, barely containing a smile. He rolled his eyes and made it.
“A twenty-foot vine,” he said, and she made it hang from a tree, so long it wrapped in spirals on the ground.
Her lips twitched.
“What?” he asked, voice flat.
“A—a—” She couldn’t say the words before bursting into laughter. And it really wasn’t that funny. Truly, it wasn’t funny at all.
But she didn’t know how long it had been since she had truly laughed. A week had gone by without any memories. She felt lighter. Freer.
Oro seemed to like her laugh. He tried not to smile and failed, until his face was overcome with it. And she was no match for the brightness of that smile, like sunlight was filtering through his skin. His warmth grew, engulfing her like a blanket.
“What is it, Wildling?” he said, shaking his head as he watched her try to regain her composure.
She closed her eyes. Looking at his face would just make her laugh more; she was suddenly stuffed with joy. With happiness. With . . . love.
Sitting here, in front of him. Sharing a power between them. His patience, as he had helped her learn.
She breathed slowly, trying to stop herself from going into a fit again, and said, “A—” She laughed silently, shoulders shaking. “A golden blade of grass.”
She heard Oro sigh in his long-suffering way. She heard shuffling in front of her.
Her eyes were still closed when he lifted her hand, opened her fingers, and left something in her palm.
It was not a golden blade of grass. Or a golden apple.
It was a tiny rose, turned into solid gold. Petals frozen. Bulbous and beautiful. It was perfect.
Her lips parted as she looked up at him. He was smiling.
Isla had never seen him look so happy.
“Oro,” she said.
“Yes, Isla?”
Emotion made her throat go tight. Her voice was thick. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has betrayed me—”
His eyes gleamed with flames, the heat of his emotions burning the space between them.
“Except for you.”
She stood and walked in front of him. For the first time, she was towering over him from his place on the ground. He looked up at her, the sun illuminating the sharp panes of his face. He was beautiful. She’d known it from the first time she saw him—though she wouldn’t have admitted it to herself back then—but now she saw more. The set of his eyebrows, the way they were always straight, unless he was smiling. The way his frown seemed deep-rooted, his mouth nearly perpetually turned down. Except when he was with her.
“I want to burn all of them alive,” he said simply. “Everyone who ever hurt you. I want to watch them go up in flames.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s not very noble of you.”
“I don’t care.”
By the set of his jaw, she knew he was thinking about one person in particular.
“Ask me,” she said.
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me if I still love him.” During the Centennial, she had developed feelings for Grim. When it mattered, though, he couldn’t access her abilities. Still, Oro knew she was starting to remember their history. He must have wondered if it had changed anything.
Oro grimaced at the ground. “It isn’t a fair thing to ask.”
“Ask me anyway.”
He paused. “You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.”
“Do you love him?”
She didn’t hesitate. “No.”
Isla could see the little signs. She recognized them now. His shoulders settling. Jaw loosening. Relief.
She was telling the truth.
Isla didn’t love Grim. Perhaps she had, at one time. But that was in the past. Now she was completely focused on the future.
He was her future. He was her friend. The person she trusted. The person she was happiest with.
He finally stood, towering over her. She looked up at him and said, “Oro. Oro—I love you.”
He knew that. He had known for months, thanks to the thread between them. She had almost said the words before.
He went very still anyway.
Then he broke out in the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. “Say it again,” he said. “I missed it.”
“You did not,” she said, laughing. Then she took a step closer to him. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes, like he was taking every word in, committing this moment to his mind. “Again,” he said, like they were in training.
She took a step closer and whispered it right in front of him. “I love you . . .” she said. “Even though you’ve never taken me on a date . . . even though you’ve never so much as kissed me.”
Oro opened his eyes and peered down at her. “You want to be kissed, Wildling?” he said.
She shrugged. “Among other things.”
He shook his head at her, but then he raked his long fingers through her hair, cupped her by the back of the neck—
And kissed her.
His lips were hot as flames. Their first kiss was soft. Loving.
Their second was not. He pulled back to look at her for just a moment, then seemed to forget they were in front of Lynx, who made a sound of distaste. In a quick motion, he lifted her to his height by the waist, turned, pressed her against the closest tree, and kissed her desperately.
He parted her lips, and she could taste him—he was summer and heat and fire, and when he bit her bottom lip, she groaned into his mouth. She couldn’t get enough of this; her heart felt like it might burst inside her. Her chest tightened as she felt his warm, muscled body pressed against hers.
His grip kept her firmly against the tree, but his thumbs swept under her shirt, making circles against her lower stomach.
Fire flowed through her veins at his every touch. She lowered her head and brushed her lips against his neck and kissed against his pulse. It quickened—his hands suddenly curled beneath her, and she locked her legs behind his back.