“Will you try?” he asked. “I have searched for you all of my life. I don’t want to lose you now.” “Yes,” I said softly. “I’ll try.” Relief flashed across his face, like the sun peeking between storm clouds, and quickly gone. “Good. Will you marry me? The Roberes will write up a binding prenuptial agreement to protect your holdings and your status as Dark Queen.” My throat hurt, but I managed wryly, “It’s immoral, and against the law, even in Alabama, to marry a five-year-old child.” “If you shift into a child, then I’ll wait until you grow up. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
