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688 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 18, 2022
5 stars★★★★★

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"You are mine, and I am yours, and whatever pleasure you seek, I will be there to watch you get it, and I will feed it to you tenfold afterward because you are mine, and I will see that you get what you need.”
My lips curve up, and I hold up the bottle in a toast. “No longer live the king.”
His mouth curves in a rare smile that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. “No longer live the fucking king. And may you kick anyone’s ass who ever tries to hurt you again.”
That’s the thing with trauma to the body—it shows up instantly. In breaks and bruises, in burns and in blood. But the trauma on the inside, that’s harder to see. It creeps around your mind, poisons you with disquiet. It can hit you out of nowhere, debilitating and ruinous. There are no marks visible for those. None, save the shadows in your eyes.
I won’t allow another storm to touch Auren. She has been flooded and wrung out, left to take the barrage without shelter. But so long as I’m here, I will be her shelter.
I shake my head. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re good. You’re—”
“No, Goldfinch,” he interrupts. “I’m good to you. But I am every bit the villain that I warned you I was.”
I level him with a look. “I think I’m starting to learn that you’re just as unhinged as some of the Orean rumors have claimed.”
His devilish smirk only grows. “Oh, love, I’m worse.”
I’ve always been treated like treasure, but with Slade, I’m simply treasured.
“You are the worst bad mistake I’m glad I never made,” she hisses. “And you’re still the best mistake I can’t wait to make,” I retort with a smirk.
Slade opens his mouth to tear into him, but Digby beats him to it.
“Don’t speak about my lady in that tone,” he grounds out.
“Can you hear it?” she whispers.
I pause, ears straining, but all I hear are faint sounds from the city below and the constant draw of the waterfall at the base of the mountain.
“Hear what?”
And she smiles, through the tears dried on her cheeks, through the glassiness of her eyes. The sight is so damn beautiful that it’s hard to breathe.
“The sun,” Auren answers quietly, tone filled with a tentative, innocent joy. One that you’re afraid of saying too loud in case it breaks. “She’s singing to me.”
Emotion clogs in my throat as I watch her tip her head back again. Watch her eyes close. I draw a knuckle down her soft cheek. “And what does she sing, Goldfinch?” I murmur.
Her smile breaks through like the sunlight above us. “The song of home,” she says. “The sun is singing the song of home.”
My chest swells, and when she reaches a hand up and tugs at my arm, I lie back with her, situating until we’re arm to arm, leg to leg.
“Listen,” she whispers.
So I do. I thread my fingers through her own, and I listen.
But my song of home doesn’t come from the sun. Mine comes from her.