The Island of Vows was, largely, a disappointment.
From the shore, it had looked like a mystical emerald gem set in the sapphire water of the Royal Lake. Up close, it was mostly mud, aggressive waterfowl, and a gazebo that looked like it had been constructed by a depressed carpenter.
"Behold!" The Empress cried, stepping off the Royal Barge with the enthusiasm of a conqueror claiming new land. "The sanctuary of love!"
Kaia stepped out of the rowboat, her lemon-yellow shoes sinking immediately into the damp earth. Beckett offered her a hand to steady her, his palm sweating slightly.
"It is... rustic," Beckett observed, eyeing a goose that was hissing at the Royal Guard.
"It is a swamp," Aeron corrected flatly.
He had already disembarked, pulling his boat onto the shore with a savage heave that suggested he wished it were a person's neck. He stood on the bank, his white shirt damp with exertion, his hair windblown into a halo of disarray that made him look less like a Saint and more like a fallen angel contemplating arson.
He offered a gloved hand to Victoria. She took it, stepping onto the mud with a grimace that threatened to crack her porcelain foundation.
"Nature," Victoria declared, adjusting her parasol, "is best appreciated from a balcony. Preferably behind glass."
"Nonsense!" The Empress clapped her hands. "Nature is the cradle of romance! And now that we have braved the waters, we must nourish the soul. And the body!"
She gestured to Caspian and a team of beleaguered footmen who were frantically setting up a low picnic table on the only patch of dry grass. It was laden with silver platters of exotic fruits—figs, pomegranates, and massive, dark purple grapes.
"The Feeding Ceremony!" The Empress announced.
Kaia felt her stomach drop. "The what?"
"To feed one's beloved is the ultimate act of service," the Empress explained, her eyes misty. "It symbolizes provision. Care. Intimacy. Gentlemen, you shall feed your ladies!"
Aeron stared at the grapes as if they were poisonous grenades.
"Is that strictly necessary, Mother?" he asked, his voice tight. "We have cutlery."
"Silverware is for acquaintances!" The Empress waved a hand. "Fingers are for lovers! Go on! Sit! Bond!"
They sat.
The arrangement was torture. The couples were seated on opposite sides of the low table, close enough that their knees almost touched. Kaia was acutely aware of Aeron's leg, encased in tight breeches, resting just inches from her own.
"Prince Beckett," the Empress commanded. "You first."
Beckett looked at the bowl of grapes. He looked at Kaia. He looked like a man being asked to defuse a bomb with a spoon.
"Right," Beckett whispered. "Provision. Care."
He picked up a grape. It was comically large.
He leaned toward Kaia. His hand shook.
"Open... please?" he asked politely.
Kaia opened her mouth. This was ridiculous. This was humiliating.
Beckett tried to place the grape gently on her tongue. Instead, his finger poked her lip, and the grape fumbled, rolling down her chin.
"Oh! Sorry!" Beckett panicked, reaching out to catch it.
Across the table, Aeron made a sound. It wasn't a cough. It was a growl.
His eyes were fixed on Beckett's fingers hovering near Kaia's mouth. The silver in his irises had turned to molten lead. He wasn't blinking. He looked like he was calculating the exact velocity required to throw a pomegranate through his brother's skull.
"You are crowding her," Aeron said. His voice was low, but it cut through the garden chatter like a whip.
Beckett froze. "I... am I?"
"You have no dexterity," Aeron critiqued, his tone icy. "You are treating her face like a target range. It is painful to watch."
"Aeron!" Victoria hissed, pinching his arm. "Be nice."
"I am being helpful," Aeron lied smoothly. He turned his gaze to Kaia. "Perhaps he requires a demonstration."
He picked up a fig.
He didn't look at Victoria. He didn't offer it to his own fiancée. He held the fruit between his thumb and forefinger, the white silk of his glove stark against the dark skin of the fig.
He leaned forward. Not toward Victoria. Toward the center of the table.
His eyes locked onto Kaia's.
"The key," Aeron murmured, "is anticipation."
He squeezed the fig gently. The skin split. A single drop of honey-like syrup welled up.
Kaia stopped breathing. The air between them crackled with a sudden, violent heat. He wasn't feeding her, but he was showing her. He was showing her exactly what he wanted to do. What he had already done in the library.
"You must wait for her to want it," Aeron whispered, his gaze dropping to Kaia's lips. "You must make her reach for it."
He brought the fig to his own mouth.
Slowly, maintaining devastating eye contact with Kaia, he licked the drop of syrup from the fruit. His tongue was deliberate. Skilled.
It was obscene.
Caspian, standing behind the table with a pitcher of lemonade, dropped a silver goblet. It hit a rock with a loud CLANG.
"ANTS!" Caspian shouted, pointing wildly at nothing. "THE ANTS ARE ATTACKING THE LEMONADE! RETREAT! RETREAT!"
The spell broke.
"Oh, good heavens!" The Empress shrieked, lifting her skirts. "Not the sugar!"
"Aeron," Victoria said sharply, her voice cutting through the chaos. "You have ruined your glove. There is fig juice on the silk."
Aeron looked down at his hand. There was indeed a dark stain on the pristine white finger.
He looked at Kaia. He smiled—a small, private, terrifying thing.
"So there is," he said softly. "A tragedy. I suppose I shall have to take them off."
He raised his hand to his teeth.
Kaia's thighs clenched so hard her muscles cramped.
He bit the tip of the stained glove finger and pulled. The silk slid off slowly, revealing the bare, tanned skin of his hand. The hand that had been inside her mouth. The hand that had pinned her to the library shelves.
"There," Aeron said, dropping the glove onto the table next to the grapes. "Much better. Now I can really feel what I'm doing."
He picked up another grape. He turned to Victoria, his face a mask of bored perfection.
"Open, My Lady," he commanded dully.
Victoria opened her mouth, looking smug. Aeron fed her the grape with mechanical efficiency, not even looking at her as he did it.
He was looking at Kaia.
And as Kaia watched him wipe a stray drop of juice from his thumb onto his bare lip, she realized two things:
First, the "Chaste Law" was going to kill her.
And second, she needed a drink. Immediately.
"Caspian," she whispered, leaning back as the Empress swatted at imaginary ants. "Is there any whiskey in that lemonade?"
Caspian looked at her, his face pale and sweaty. "My Lady," he whispered back, "at this rate, I'm about to start drinking the lantern oil."