“I thought you were a prince,” Saffron whispered, and Cylvan’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring in a rush of genuine anger. Saffron didn’t mean it, feeling the first flicker of uncertainty pinch in his chest—but he just pulled Cylvan down to kiss him again. And then again. When Cylvan still didn’t respond, Saffron shook him stubbornly. “Say something, your highness. Or am I making you angry?” “Yes.” “Do you still want to take me away?” “Yes.” “Even when I make you angry?” “Yes.” Saffron cracked a weary smile. “Do you understand… what I’m trying to say?”
