A few days ago, I hated Rafe too. That feels like a much simpler time and a much simpler emotion than the conflicted tangle of things I feel for the man whose jacket is still draped over my shoulders. “It’s true,” Rafe agrees. “He can’t stand me, and he most especially can’t stand the idea of you with me.” “Yes, but—” “Seraf, I may be your best bet to help you win your prince. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Isn’t it?
