I walked to the kitchen and started opening the cupboards. I hadn’t made him dinner last night, so I still owed him a meal. When he returned, I could have it waiting. I shivered again, grateful he hadn’t followed through on his threat to make me sleep on the battlements. I probably would have suffocated under a mound of snow.

Eggs, flour, and sugar were here, so I thought I’d try my hand at making pancakes. I’d eaten them hundreds of times—how hard could it be?

I kept watching the door, hoping that at any moment it would open. Was I worried for him? Or for me? Maybe a little of both, if I was being honest. I set to work, finding a bowl and estimating the ingredients, mixing it all together, stirring and stirring, trying to smooth out the lumps. It wasn’t perfect, but surely it was good enough.

Finding the frying pan and butter, I put them on the stove and spent several minutes figuring out how to light it. I wondered who had taught Wicked to do all these things—he was an excellent cook—or if he’d had to learn everything on his own. Finally, I got the stove working and watched in satisfaction as a yellow puddle formed in the bottom of the cast-iron pan.

When it seemed ready, I dropped in a dollop of batter and listened to it sizzle, rather proud of myself. With the spatula in my grip, I waited until it seemed ready and then flipped it and grimaced. The pancake was more charcoal than golden, and it wasn’t fluffy. Maybe the next one would be better. I tried again, turning out another blackened disc that resembled cardboard more than food. I stared at the stove, wondering what I had done wrong.

It was at that moment the door crashed open and a monstrous frame filled the doorway. A leering skull covered in ice, a beast with fur and fangs dripping in icicles to the floor. I screamed and brandished my greasy spatula. “Get out!”

But the beast paid me no heed and lumbered inside, and then I recalled that skull. It had been weeks since I’d seen it, but now that I had my wits about me, I’d know it anywhere. Wicked shook the snow off his shoulders and pulled off the mask, his dark hair spilling around his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” He arched an eyebrow, stomping his boots on the floor and hanging the mask on the wall.

“I’m cooking. Where have you been?” He shucked off his cloak and shook it out. I winced. He was getting snow everywhere. It was going to leave a muddy mess on the floor.

“Miss me, Princess?”

“Not at all,” I lied. “I was hoping the Reaper got you.”

He snorted and then pulled off his gloves and overcoat and finally his boots. His nostrils flared in awareness and at that moment I smelled it, too.

“No!” I yelled, pulling the pan off the burner where the pancake I’d been cooking was now burned to a crisp on one side and completely raw on the other. Wicked came to stand next to me, eyeing the stack of inedible pancakes I’d already ruined.

“I made breakfast,” I said meekly. “Or I tried.”

I waited for him to mock me. To scoff at what a useless little princess I was. Instead, he took the pan off the stove, stalked to the door and tossed the ruined food out in the snow.

“Hey!” I said. “I was going to eat that!”

“You were not,” he said. “It looks like you forgot the baking powder. Can I help you?”

I opened my mouth and then closed it. He wasn’t trying to make me feel bad. His offer was genuine. “Okay.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up, and we got to work. He showed me what I’d missed and how to cook them. Before I knew it, we had a stack of fluffy golden pancakes ready to eat.

“Where were you?” I asked through a mouthful of food.

He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I promised I’d take you home today, so I was checking to see if there was a safe way to do that in this storm. But the pass through the hills is already blocked. I’ll need to shovel it out when this stops.”

“You went out in that for hours just to see if you could take me home? Now that the ogre doesn’t want me and you have no use for me, you want to get rid of me as quickly as possible?” I wasn’t entirely sure why his words hurt so much, but as my voice got louder and louder, I realized how much they’d cut.

“No,” he said. “No, that’s not it. I thought you’d want to go home.”

“There was no reason to risk your life.” The words came out angrier than I intended. He gave me an enigmatic look, saying nothing before he took another bite of his food.

“The ogre came that night,” he finally said, so softly I wasn’t sure if I’d heard at first.

“What?”

“It came. Closer than it’s ever come. It did want you, Rowan. So no, this has nothing to do with you being no use to me. And I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I truly am sorry for what I did.” There was so much remorse in his voice I believed him. I wasn’t sure I was ready to forgive him, though. “I just wanted to take you home like I promised.”

When I thought of home, I tried to understand the hollow feeling in my chest. Did I want to go back? What was waiting for me there? A loveless marriage? A crown I wasn’t that interested in? A life of being told constantly what to do?

But I couldn’t stay out here. What kind of life would this be?

“How do you do it?” I asked finally.

“Do what?”

“Survive. Get supplies and food. You said you couldn’t leave the forest. You left it that day you claimed me.”

“I can travel short distances past the tree line. The day of the Hunt, I was close enough that it didn’t bother me, but if I try to go much farther, it becomes painful. If I lose sight of the forest, the agony is so fierce, it’s all I can do not to black out. When I was first banished, I tried so many times to leave, but it was no use. I couldn’t make it.

“As for food and supplies, I have contacts in the village who I trade with. I hunt and bring them meat and they provide me with everything else I need.”

While I listened, I understood just how alone he’d been all these years. The only people in his life had been out of necessity. I could hear the despondence in the fissures of his voice. It sounded like the echoes of a life barely lived.

“Why have I never heard of you? Surely someone would have noticed?”

“I wear the mask and let them believe I’m the Reaper. No one else knows there are actually two monsters living in this forest.”

“You aren’t a monster,” I say, the words defiant.

He tilted his head, arching that soul-destroying eyebrow. “That’s not what you said last night, Princess.”

I scowled. “You can’t hold that against me.”

He grinned. “What are you smiling at?”

“I love it when you look at me like that, Princess. Like you want to strip off my skin and gnaw on my bones for dinner.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping so low I felt a throb between my thighs and my cheeks flush.

“So you’ve been...alone all this time?”

“Mostly,” he said, trying to make it sound casual, but there was a strain in it.

“What about...you know?”

He graced me with a smug look, his mouth twisting into a wry smile that did things to me. “Are you asking if I’ve fucked anyone lately, Rowan?”

“I—no—yes,” I stammered, my skin tightening, his words burrowing deep in my stomach. His grin was feral.

“You’ve got nothing to be jealous of, Princess. There has been the occasional visitor, but they’ve been far and few between. It’s also been a very long time.” His jaw flexed, heat burning in his gaze.

“I’m not jealous,” I said. A lie.

“What about you?” he asked. “Did I sully your pristine princess perfection?”

I scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.” His grin stretched wider.

Why did I bring this up?

“How long?” I asked, apparently unable to stop myself from wandering this path.

His brows rose, and he studied me. I felt his look like a touch, a gentle, pressing finger caressing my skin. “I’m not really sure that’s any of your business, Princess.”