It was really the only nice thing about today.

“I should have left you safe in the tower,” he mutters to himself. “Let me see your feet.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed,” I retort. And I’m wrong—the sunlight wasn’t the only nice thing about today. Being with him is always wonderful. I peek at him as he kneels in front of me, lifting my skirt and taking one of my aching feet in his hand.

He frowns down at them as if they’ve somehow failed me and then pulls one shoe off. “These are useless.”

“I noticed.” I wince when even more sand falls from inside the shoe though we left the beach hours ago. “They weren’t fun to walk in.”

“I will fix them for you before we leave in the morning.” As if it’s his job to tend to me, Nemeth wipes sand away from my toes and then rubs my foot, tsking at the red marks and blisters on my skin. “Tomorrow, when you get tired, I will carry you.”

A thoughtful offer, but it’s one that makes my mind spin into uncomfortable territory. We walked all day today, most of it in pensive silence. The silence bothers me less now than the fact that I have a winged man at my side…and we walked. Not once did he spread his wings, except to shield me from the rain. “Can I ask you a question?”

He looks up from my foot, his eyes glowing. “What is it?”

“I hope this isn’t too personal, but…your wings. You didn’t try to fly today?”

Nemeth is silent for a long moment. He continues to rub my foot, sending skitters of pleasure up my spine. He’s thoughtful as he continues to rub, and eventually speaks. “When we first arrived in the tower, I thought of nothing but my freedom. Of the day I would see wide-open skies above me and then I could fly into the air. Most of Darkfell’s mountains are hollow. Did you know that? The main caverns are hundreds of handspans high, and riddled with tunnels and caves so we can fly back and forth between each other’s homes. There are very few stairs because they are not needed except for the elderly and infirm. I always flew at home. Even at the Alabaster Citadel, my room was situated in a tower on one of the highest parapets. All I had to do was open a window and I could fly out. I flew constantly. It was as necessary as breathing. And then…”

He pauses.

“And then you were trapped in a horrible tower for two years because of the name you were born with,” I say bitterly.

“No,” Nemeth says quietly. “And then I met someone who showed me that perhaps it is not so bad to be on the ground. It is all about the company.”

I reach over and flick his shoulder. “That’s a lovely story.”

He smiles at me.

“And we both know it’s dragon shite,” I continue, my voice tart.

Nemeth’s smile widens into a grin. He laughs, and some of the unease I’ve felt all day melts away. “It’s not all dragon shite. I do enjoy being with you.”

“Are you afraid to try out your wing?”

He goes back to rubbing my foot, thinking. “It feels tight,” he admits after a moment. “It has for some time. Like it’s pulled taut in one spot. I’m afraid that I could damage it further if I try to use it without a healer looking at it. And as long as I don’t try it out, I don’t know how bad it could be. I can delay the truth for another day.”

“Oh, Nemeth.” My heart aches for him. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could have fixed it better for you.”

He shakes his head. “You did the very best you could. That is all anyone could ask for.” He sets my foot down and picks up my other, dusting it free of sand and then rubbing it as well. “How can I be upset? We have had to fend for ourselves for two years.” Tilting his head, he studies my face. “Which reminds me. We should heat your potion soon.”

“Soon,” I agree, and then wiggle my foot in his grasp. It feels good, the foot rub, but it also feels like a distraction, as if he’s determined to pull me away from a difficult conversation. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow what?”

I wiggle my foot again to get his attention. “Tomorrow you’ll try to fly? For me?”

“You must truly hate walking.”

That does it. Exasperated, I pull my foot out of his grasp and lean forward to cup his face, so he’ll look me in the eye. Why is it this man can lick my pussy with the confidence of a court lothario but gets shy when I ask about his wings? I meet his gaze, stroking his cheek. “It’s not about walking. It’s about knowing our limitations so we know what we have to push past in the future. Just because your wing is tight now doesn’t mean it always will be. It just gives you something to overcome.”

He smiles at me, his cheeks stretching. “How is it that you can make me feel so calm? Even on a day such as today?”

“Because we’re together,” I tell him. “We’re taking control of our destinies. Even if the Golden Moon Goddess frowns down upon us, maybe the Gray God will look after us.”

Nemeth gestures at the rickety barn. “He led us to this, did he not?”

“He could have led us to an inn,” I say tartly, but I let a smile curve my lips. “But this will do for now. So tomorrow morning you’ll fly for me, and then we’ll see how to proceed from there. It’s decided.”

“Stubborn mule,” he says, his voice loving. “But fine. In the morning, I will fly and we will see how it goes.”

“If you really want to speed up our travel, is it safe for you to slide through the shadows? Like you did in the tower?” I bite my lip, because it feels strange to even ask. The magic of it unnerves me, but he said it was safe as long as the area was wide open and visible, and our surroundings certainly are. “But only if it’s safe.”

This time, the look in his eyes grows dark. He shakes his head. “I’m not certain I wish to risk it. When we crossed the water, something felt different than the last time I carried you.”

“Different?” Everything inside me clenches up. Has he figured it out? Has Nemeth discovered my secret already? Does he know I’m pregnant? I keep my eyes wide with innocence, my face carefully blank. “Teleporting me feels different? How?”

He shrugs. “It’s hard to explain. All I know is I don’t wish to try it again. We’re not supposed to shadow-glide with a human anyhow.”

I want to tell him that I have Fellian blood. That somewhere down the line, one of my ancestors—likely the legendary Ravendor herself—had sex with a Fellian and gave birth to his child. That I’m pregnant with his child, too. But the words won’t come. They stick in my throat like honey. I’m afraid something will change between us. That he’ll realize I’m more fragile than he anticipated and leave me behind.

The thought terrifies me. I grab his hand and put a smile on my face to hide my fear. “I can walk.”

We gaze at each other for a long moment, and I scarcely dare breathe for fear he’ll read the secret on my face.

“Your medicine,” Nemeth finally says. “Are you ready for it?”

I nod. Anything to divert the conversation.

He pulls out the bag full of my carefully cleaned medical kit—the needles, the syringe, the cloths, and finally the vials of prepared potion that have to be warmed. I watch, wordless, as he starts a fire with a flick of magic. It burns inside the small pot we brought for such things, and he holds the vial over the flames for just a moment before attaching the needle to the end and flicking it to ensure there are no air bubbles. I untie my sleeve and roll it up, and we use a sip of our precious drinking water to wash my arm.

Nemeth readies the syringe and then gazes at me with a somber expression. “I’m sorry I cannot be a better mate to you, Candra. You deserve a prince with two working wings and stronger magic, and instead you got me.”

What? Does he think I asked about his wing because I’m mad at him for not flying?

Before he can administer my shot, I push his hand aside. “Wait a moment.”

He looks surprised at my hesitation. “Are you in pain? Do you need to vomit? Shall I find a bucket?” He glances around, getting to his feet. “Give me a moment⁠—”