89

The two lovers didn’t leave the inn until noon – or until the water in the washroom turned cold and they had to move their activities back to their room. Truth by told, they would’ve stayed much longer if Dove’s stomach didn’t start growling by their third round, reminding them both that she’s still awfully half-human and needed food to survive.

With no castle staff or parents or princes to see them, they walk hand-in-hand to the tavern next door. Jacques is making good on his promise to treat this as a honeymoon, pulling out her chair like a true gentleman and insisting that she waits while he fetches her some breakfast.

He hasn’t felt this rejuvenated in days, feeling like a newly turned vampire after that few sips of blood he had from her that morning. He felt like a god, capable of anything with the world at his feet.

Joining Dove at their table, he slides a plate towards her, smiling when she dug right in. With no one observing her every move, she eats with abandon, picking up the bacon in her hands and ferociously tearing it with her teeth. A tinge of guilt stirs within him when he realizes that she hasn’t eaten anything since they left the castle. He should’ve thought of that sooner.

“So,” Dove asks between bites, her eyes gleaming at him, “what are our plans for the day?”

Smiling at her enthusiasm, Jacques leans back into his chair and caresses her thigh underneath the table. “I was thinking, if this is as good as a honeymoon, then I want to do it right.”

She quirks a brow. “And how’s that?”

“Well, the first step was to buy you breakfast – check.” He grins when she pulls a face at him. “The second step would be to show you around town, do some exploring. The last time I was here, Adrian…”

“Was kidnapped.” Her gaze softens when he solemnly nods. She’s heard the story before, and knows that, until this day, Jacques still holds himself accountable for it despite how well it ended. “I’m sorry that this place doesn’t hold many fond memories.”

Jacques blinks, then frowns. “Oh, on the contrary. Had it not been for the very inn we occupied last night; you would’ve never been made.”

It takes a moment for her to realize what he was hinting at, but as soon as it clicks, Dove’s face blanches and she slowly slide her plate away. “I think I had enough, thank you.”

The healer throws his head back as he laughs, adoring every moment of her revolt, how adorably she scrunches her nose, and how her eyes convey the horror of knowing that bit of information. True, if Lorcan and Elle didn’t leave the children with him and Gus to ‘rendezvous’ to the inn, Dove wouldn’t be sitting next to him today.

“But enough talk of your parents’ shenanigans, Princess,” he says lively and pulls her to her feet. “Shall we overwrite Frostbite with our own fond memories?”

“Please,” Dove replies, desperate to get out of there already.

The little village of Frostbite is blanketed by snow, glittering in the afternoon sun. It’s almost strange to see a whole community void of gardens and fountains, seeing as there were plenty of those around at home. However, what it lacked in greenery, it made up for with ice sculptures.

Dove gawks at their shapes and sizes, varying from people to animals. From the largest polar bears to the smallest squirrel, and nothing seems to be melting despite the sun sitting high.

“It’s always winter here,” Jacques mentions as they stroll through the building towards the main square. “If I do recall correctly, the people here are preparing for the annual spring sculpture festival.”

“That must be a sight to behold,” she replies, imagining ice sculptures lining every street and corner.

And with a festival around the corner, Frostbite is a cacophony of lively music, children engaging in snowball fights, and residents building snowmen in the main square. Stalls and markets fences the plaza, the vendors selling all kinds of trinkets. Soup, coffee, tea, freshly baked bread, steaming baked potatoes, scarves, mittens, blankets, cloaks, caps, snow boots, and more.

Everything here was focused on winter, and Dove couldn’t help but find a certain kind of joy in it.

The local orchestra switches to a slower tune and Jacques sees his chance. While she is gawking at their surroundings, he snakes an arm around her waist, and pulls her flush against him. First, she gasps in surprise, only to go still with realization.

Taking her one hand in his and pressing the other on his chest right above his heart, the healer sways them to the flow of the music.

Dove’s stomach flutters at the intimacy of the moment, how gentle yet tightly he’s holding her, and how his eyes never stray from hers. It’s staggering how her instincts just take over as they dance, and Dove blames – and thanks – every time she had run to him for dancing lessons instead of staying with Madame Caitlyn. She knows his steps by heart, and he knows how to guide her body to gliding across the snow.

Resting his head against her, he murmurs close to her ear, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”

“What, dance with me?” Her breath hitches when he spins her out and back, dipping her low to gaze playfully into her eyes.

“No, Princess, build a snowman with you. Of course, I’m talking about dancing!” She bursts out laughing when he pulls her back up only to nuzzle his head in her neck, his stubble tickling her skin. He presses a soft kiss to her nape before continuing, “I saw you that day in the town, you know. Dancing with the prince. That was the first time jealously ever consumed me.”

She gasps when he presses her closer to him, feeling the expanse of his tall frame moulding with hers. He’s magnificently tall, and comparing their sizes, how he can so easily overpower her, has desire coiling in her stomach.

“You were…jealous? Of Rubin?”

“No, and yes. I was jealous of how he got to hold you, touch you. I wanted that for myself.” Remembering it as though it was yesterday, Jacques recalls where the prince’s hands had been. “To hold you this close…” His hand splays over the small of her back, pressing her hips deeper into his. “To touch you like this…” His other hand comes up to her collarbone, the back of his fingers trailing down the bone, over her breast, and down her torso. “What a selfish notion for a healer to have.”

The music faded into the background while his words rooted within her, echoing like angelsong in her ears. Invigorating her.

“So,” Dove’s eyes alternate between his and his lips, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, “let’s be selfish together.” Only as soon as she said it, she adds in a hurry, “Just not at the inn. Some memories are a bit harder to overwrite.”

She will never be able to give herself over to bliss while knowing that her parents had their fun under the same roof two decades ago.

Chuckling, he accepts that she has a point. Raking his thoughts, and idea flickers in his head. “I think I know just the place.”