Tightness fisted Elm’s chest. “I’d be your King, but always your servant. Never your keeper.” He arched up, dragging his knuckles down her chin, making her lips part for him. “Think about it, Hawthorn.” When she spoke, her voice was full of air. “I don’t want to think right now, Elm.” He reached into her hair and pulled the pin out. Yellow-gold waves fell down her back. Elm wrapped it around his fist like a bandage. “Then don’t.”
