The walk back to the King's Nest was a blur.
Ren walked mechanically, clutching the jar of honey to her chest like a holy relic. Syris had his hand on the small of her back—his touch no longer freezing, but pleasantly cool against her heated skin—guiding her through the dark corridors.
But Ren wasn't paying attention to the architecture. Her mind was entirely focused on her mouth.
'He kissed me.'
She ran her tongue over her lips. They still tasted of wildflower honey.
'And I kissed him back.'
Ren groaned internally. 'What is wrong with you, Ren? You have a husband! A seven-foot-tall, devoted, white tiger husband who is currently probably tearing trees out of the ground to find you!'
But the memory of the kiss wouldn't fade.
It hadn't been human. That was the problem. If it had been a normal kiss, she could have categorized it as "assault" or "a mistake." But this?
His tongue.
It was forked.
