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“We’ve still much to discuss, witch. But perhaps this will do for now.” Grimm’s lips found hers, one hand coming up to the nape of her neck. The taste of him was beyond the sweetest delicacy imaginable. His hands tangled in her hair and Agatha struggled to breathe. His own breath was ragged and he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into her mouth. Just as she was sure the heat coursing through her would cause her to combust, he pulled back.
“Please talk some sense into my wife.” “You spew that title like it’s a curse,” she spat, crossing her arms.
“Agatha.” Gaius stifled a laugh. “You replicated the Grand Magus’ seal exactly, but replaced his nightingale with a bat.
Goddess, she was a captivating creature. Grimm blinked. For the life of him, he could no longer recall why he was so angry with her. He might have been detained in countless meetings in the days since the attack, but their kiss had not left his mind for a second. Nor had they been given the opportunity to repeat it, what with her arguing with him every spare moment.
It was intriguing to watch her direct her anger at someone else.
Agatha preened. “Traitor.” “Let’s go, then.” Agatha walked into the hallway, leaving Grimm and Gaius in the dust. “You don’t even know where you’re going,” he called after her. She turned and scoffed over her shoulder. “Your council chambers.”
Grimm smirked. “Good man. Find out all you can. Gaius, see to the guards.” He looked at Agatha and held out his arm. “I’m overdue for luncheon with my wife.”
“Who knows about you?” Agatha questioned. Grimm’s eyes narrowed, but one side of his mouth turned up. “Can’t even wait until we row from the dock, can you? Only Gaius, Mila, and you, little witch.”
“Agatha,” he spoke, his voice tender as he inferred her emotion. “Mila is a wraith. A ghost.”
“History has been full of horrors, Grimm.” Tears filled her eyes and when one spilled, he brushed it away with his thumb. “For the last three hundred years, I’m the one that has set them in motion. Not my Sisters. Me.”
“Three hundred years? You truly are an old crone, then?”
His eyebrow lifted. “This time?” “This time?” Grimm chuckled. “We have many lives, Marchands. I’ve been in this body for twenty eight years.” “And before that?” He shrugged. “I’ve had dreams and memories since I’ve been in this body that I know I did not experience in this lifetime, from at least six different others. I would say I’m more decrepit than even you, witch.”
Her heart beat frantically against her ribs, surprising her. She was terrified of the answer. Agatha did not want to watch this man grow old and die, despite their forced marriage.
Agatha’s face fell. “Yours truly. I set it free like fireflies out of a jar in a village not far from here.” He reached out and took her hand.
“My, my. You’re suddenly of a bad temper, little witch. No, we’re not going to the lighthouse. I don’t exactly trust myself alone with you.”
“The problem is you’ve already bewitched me. Thus, it’s best I keep you with other people around.” “You were alone with me this morning.” “Because you insist on wearing that infernal pin.” “It’s a brooch.”
“Poor reaper.” She brought his finger to her mouth and pressed her lips to it, letting her tongue rest on the wound to stop the bleeding. He stilled beneath her intimate touch. Agatha knew precisely what she was doing, and how lovely her décolletage looked in her dress, sitting right underneath his line of sight. If he wanted distance she’d just have to torture him.
“It’s no crime to kiss your wife, you know.” Grimm came undone. His lips crashed into hers with enough force to nearly tip them into the water. Agatha silently commanded the boat to stay afloat, unwilling to let the moment be ruined.
Her words hit the cobwebbed corner inside of Agatha’s soul where she kept her past with Ira and her growing feelings for Grimm. Alestair had loved the empress.
“Because you are the Son of Bone.” She turned vibrant eyes on Agatha. “And you are the Autumn Daughter my people have waited a thousand years for.” Dulci swore and Grimm took Agatha’s hand. It wasn’t until he did that she realised there was a tremble in her fingertips.
“Do you think so little of my power? I watch over you. There is much for you to accomplish with your bride.” “What do you know of Agatha?” His heart was hammering against his exposed ribs.
Agatha watched, invisible, as Grimm paced under the maple tree, chewing on his lip. She removed her cloaking magic and snickered. “Afraid I’d get caught, were you?” He frowned at her and came closer, eyes scanning, inspecting for any injuries and she laughed. “I’m perfectly fine, reaper.” Agatha pulled back and looked up at him.
she realised with a strange suddenness that she hadn’t pictured Ira’s face in days. Her heart cracked at the very same moment it healed.
Sorscha gasped and twirled down from the ceiling with exceptional grace.
“I—I don’t know. But I’m tired of causing pain with my magic. I don’t think it's what I’m meant for. Please, just help me with this one thing. Help me make this right.”
“Merde. Alright. But if Hespa is going to smite us for this, I’m going to burn in a new dress.” She snapped and her nightgown was replaced with a scarlet gown edged in black lace. The bodice had the look of leather dyed with blood, and the ruffled skirt slit all the way up to her bare thigh. “Goddess’ teeth, Sorscha, you look like a bordello harlot.” “Thank you,” she preened. Agatha rolled her eyes and took Sorscha’s hand. “Play nice,” she warned.
Grimm withstood the entire thing frozen in place, a pleading in his eyes locked on Agatha’s. “Sorscha, keep your hands to yourself.”
“What?” she crowed. “I said my claws, not my eyes.” “Grimm, this is my second eldest Sister, Sorscha. Sister Spring.” Sorscha baulked. “You’ll just give up any information for a face like that, won’t you?” She shrugged. “I suppose I would, too.” Grimm cleared his throat. “It’s lovely to meet you, Sorscha. My wife has missed you terribly.” “His wife?” Sorscha whined, looking sidelong at Agatha. “He’s too much, Aggie. I want one.” “Please stay focused.”
A stack of books never failed to soothe her soul.
Goddess, Seleste was a vision, especially in her island glory.
It felt to Agatha like she had inherited their mother’s wickedness, though she wished with all her might to be like her father—that strong and kind soul.
“You look like death incarnate on this beach all clad in black, Sister.”
Seleste would never fault her for coming, even if it meant a tidal wave would come dash her home to pieces. She would never accuse Agatha of being reckless.
Summer, but Agatha would never deny fruit. “It happened to me once.” Agatha choked on her bite. “What?”
By the time Agatha made it to the correct wing of the castle, she had invented several colourful new curses Grimm would have been immensely
proud of.
“You’re spending an awful lot of time with her.” Mila looked sidelong at him, batting her eyelashes like she hadn't just tried to poke a slumbering bear. Grimm took a measured breath, overlooking how obviously Augustus was attempting to feign ignoring them. “She’s my wife.”
“There’s an inn just up the way there.”
“You’re back.” He rushed around the desk to her. “It’s only been a few days, reaper,” she teased.