Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)

by Rachel Gillig

But his soul carried on, buried deep in Elspeth Spindle, the only woman Ravyn had ever loved.

“What Prince Renelm means,” Ione said, her voice easy, “is that, while he merely warms Prince Hauth’s seat, that seat,” she said, gesturing to the chair under Beech’s narrow bottom, “belongs to me, your future Queen.” She threw her gaze over her shoulder at Elm. “Unless you’d like to see me take my seat atop the Prince’s lap.”

Once laid bare to Ione Hawthorn, he would forever be laid bare, just as Ravyn had laid himself bare to Elspeth.

“Tell me, Hawthorn—does it make you feel something, toying with me like this?” Her breath came in sharp, quick inhales. Her lips parted, and Elm’s thumb slipped over her wet inner lip. When she looked up at him, there was enough honesty in her eyes to render a Chalice useless. “Yes.” “Then do it,” he whispered, gliding a hand up her spine. “Use me. Toy with me. Feel something, Ione.”

“You look good in this chair.” She glanced down through her lashes at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Under me.” Elm tugged her hair, baring her throat to him. He dragged his bottom lip up the warm column—took in a full breath of her. “That’s the idea,” he murmured into her skin.

He laced his fingers in Ione’s, pushing his Scythe into her hand. “I wish we could have had those hundred years, Hawthorn. I wish you could have been Queen.”

“See you in the woods,” he murmured. “Mud on my ankles.”

“A hundred years,” he said to her, as if she were the only one in the room. “I’ll love you for a hundred years—and an eternity after.”