Chapter 210

Chapter 210
Nathaniel’s smirk could have powered the entire jousting arena. He didn’t even flinch. “Of course,” he said smoothly, patting my hand where it gripped his arm. “My witch. My girl.”
Ivy blinked, her perfect queen face faltering just slightly. “Oh… how cute.”
Cute? Cute?? Lady, I will hex you into a toad.
Nathaniel leaned down, his lips brushing my ear, voice low and smug. “Careful, Aya. Your claws are showing. Don’t be too scary in front of the villagers.”
“I’m not jealous,” I hissed, though my grip on his arm tightened enough to cut off circulation. “Not one bit.”

“Mm,” he murmured, his mouth curving into that infuriating smile. “Then why are you holding onto me like you’re afraid I’ll slip away?”

Because you’re an asshole, Lisbon. That’s why.
And yet… as Ivy gave a little wave and pranced off to ruin someone else’s life, Nathaniel turned his full attention back to me. The smugness softened just a fraction, and he tilted his head, studying me like he could see every thought I was trying to bury.
“My witch,” he said again, quieter this time. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
And just like that—I hated him a little less. Which was a problem. A very, very big problem.



The festival had been chaos—smiling, parading around in that damn witch costume, pretending I wasn’t secretly stabbing Renaissance Barbie Queen Ivy in my head. By the time we got back to the ranch, my feet were killing me, my cheeks hurt from fake smiling, and Nathaniel’s smug little “my witch” whispers were still echoing in my skull like cursed music.

I thought—hoped—that exhaustion would knock me out cold. Instead, there I was at midnight, sitting on the old wooden swing beneath the giant oak tree. The Texas night was velvet-dark, cicadas buzzing, stars blazing like scattered diamonds across the sky. My costume cloak was still wrapped around me, and for the first time all day, I finally let myself breathe.

Then, of course, I heard his boots crunching on the gravel.

“You’ve got a bad habit, Lisbon,” I muttered, not even turning around. “Sneaking up on women when they’re trying to have a moment of peace.”

Nathaniel chuckled low, that sound that always made my spine shiver. “Correction—sneaking up on you when you’re brooding. I’d call it a service. Keeping you from overthinking yourself into an early grave.”

I finally looked at him. The moonlight caught his face, sharp lines softened into something unfairly gorgeous, eyes burning with something unreadable. He leaned casually against the tree like he owned the whole night.

“Go away, Lisbon,” I said, trying to swing myself into motion, but he stepped closer, close enough that my knees brushed his leg when the swing swayed back.

“Ivy got under your skin,” he said simply. Not a question. A fact.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Don’t flatter yourself. I couldn’t care less about some medieval cosplay Barbie you used to—”
“Used to kiss,” he interrupted, smirking.
I snapped my head toward him. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” he drawled, lowering his head so his lips were dangerously close to mine, “…you’re out here, waiting for me.”
“I am not waiting for you,” I said, my voice cracking like the world’s worst liar. “I was—just—getting some air.”
“Mhm.” He crouched in front of me now, hands braced on either side of the swing ropes, effectively caging me in. His eyes pinned me, hot, unreadable. “Aya, stop pretending.”
“Pretending what?” I whispered, though my pulse was hammering.
“That you don’t feel this.” His thumb brushed over my knee, light as a whisper, and my breath hitched. “That every time I call you mine, every time I look at you, it doesn’t rattle you to your bones.”
“Lisbon—” I tried, weakly.

“I think,” he said, leaning even closer, his breath warm against my cheek, “I’m not pretending anymore.”
And damn it… I believed him. Maybe not fully, maybe not in the forever sense, but in that moment under the moon, with his voice low and rough and his eyes stripping me bare—I almost believed every word.
“Shut up,” I whispered, and before I knew it, I kissed him.
He caught the back of my neck like he’d been waiting his whole life for it, deepening the kiss instantly. Heat surged between us, sharp and sweet, my hands clutching his shirt, his mouth taking mine like he owned it. The swing rocked wildly under us, and I didn’t care.
Somehow we ended up tangled, me straddling him on the swing, his hands sliding under the cloak, gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him. It was dizzying, reckless, like the world had collapsed into nothing but his mouth on mine, his breath ragged, his heart pounding against me.

His lips trailed down my jaw, hot and desperate, his voice husky against my ear. “Tell me you feel it. Tell me this isn’t fake for you either.”