“Next time?” I sob, trying to breathe through a contraction. “No, no next time. I won’t survive this time.”

“Of course you will. Do you not remember? We both saw the vision in your blood mosaic a few weeks ago. We’ll be welcoming a daughter after our son turns five.” His is the voice of gentle and measured reason, a stark contrast to the teasing lunacy he usually emanates. “Now, stop worrying about what’s happening out there. For you hold me captive here.” He lifts his wings so I can no longer watch what’s happening outside, so I’m grounded on our bed where it’s just us and our own little island adrift on raw emotions and soft-spoken ploys. “This is the perfect opportunity to take advantage and regain your pride. Or perhaps you don’t mind that I trampled you at chess yesterday morn.”

The pain recedes and I unclench my jaw. “No, I won,” I manage.

He narrows his eyes. “I had the checkmate, luv.”

“But it was strip chess, remember?”

His gaze tours my body. “Oh, I remember that detail vividly.”

“So, with each counterattack you executed . . . I dropped another piece of clothing. With each glimpse of skin . . . you found it harder to concentrate. In the end—chessmen and checkmates aside—all you could think of was how much you wanted me. Isn’t it me then, who ultimately captured her opponent’s king?”

An appreciative laugh rumbles in his chest. “Sneakie-deakie.”

I laugh with him, and then stop myself. As unbelievable as it seems, tears glisten along his beautiful face in the candlelight. Not only the gems, clear and pristine, but rivulets of water that capture the glow like tiny currents of lightning along his luminous skin. He hasn’t realized they’re there yet.

“You’ve been crying,” I accuse, gently.

“Have not,” he retorts.

“Have, too.”

“Well, I’m not the queen, so I can cry all I like.”

He said those very words to me on our last night together before I left to live my human days in the mortal realm. It’s the loveliest of rarities—to have his feelings exposed and him helpless to stop them. He’s usually either in complete control or manipulative enough to force my hand before he shows his.

As moved as I am, I’m holding the ace this time, and I can’t let human tenderness sway me. I’m one of the two most powerful netherlings in the Red Kingdom, and I won’t miss this chance. Who knows when my rival will surrender again without making me work for it?

“Flatter me,” I insist with a wicked, teasing smile. “As the official winner of the chess game, I get to choose your penalty. I demand words of persuasion and praise.”

Morpheus glares at some sprites wriggling through the water curtain’s spaces. They pause at my lips to offer sips of cooled cherry treacle to give me positive energy. Afterward, they fluff my pillow and move down to straighten the blankets.

He waits until they’re pulling up the sheets at my feet before focusing all his attention on me. “Your beauty terrifies me,” he says, swiping his tear-slicked cheeks with the back of his ruffled sleeve.

I smile wider, because it’s exactly what I want to hear, and he knows it.

The sprites stall in midair and swoon at their master’s unprecedented lovelorn display, their reflective dragonfly gazes moonstruck.

“Privacy, pets,” Morpheus snarls, and they scramble out from the canopy. He folds his wings low around my head and arms, shutting out everything and offering solitude within the shadows. My sparkling skin reflects across his face. His elegant fingertips trace my neck and collarbones, warm and soft. He watches the trek, still fascinated by the same curves he’s felt a thousand times by now. His hand stops atop my breast, thumb pressed to my sternum, seeking my heartbeat.

My breath catches.

“Your savagery dazzles me.” His sweetly scented whisper warms my face. “I desire you endlessly. More than a precarious fall through the constellations, more than a game of malice upon the checkerboard sands, more than a treacherous traipse through the wilds.”

“So you admit it,” I gloat, clutching him by his shirt placket, our lips a hairsbreadth apart as I suppress my instinct to raise the stakes in our game with a flurry of pandemonium. “You expect me to hide such blatant disregard for the rules of your kind, solitary fae? A Red Queen never rations out favors . . . even to her Beloved Moth.” I lose my hold on his shirt as another surge of contractions shudders through me. Gripping my abdomen, I groan. “Unless there’s something in it” —I struggle to find my voice— “for her or her kingdom. Give me whatever I ask, or I will make a royal proclamation. King Morpheus worships his bride more than Wonderland itself.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he croaks, playing along. He lowers his wings, exposing us to candlelight again.

“Everyone will know.” I laugh the words through my own tears as the cramps relent for a moment—though it will be short-lived. They’re getting closer now, only minutes apart. “All of our enemies, all of our allies, each and every denizen of this world will see that you are still my footman.”

“Then you would give them the key to our defeat. You’re speaking madness.”

“Your native tongue,” I quip without hesitation.

There’s a potent glint of lust behind his gaze. Playfulness twitches at his lips, accentuated by the impish yellow flash of his jeweled markings. Even in a moment like this, he’s relishing my provocation. It’s in his nature and mine, too. On a typical night, such banter would lead to a scintillating duel of magic and word wizardry, and end in passionate ravishment.

But nothing is typical about tonight, and come to think of it, ravishment is how we got into this predicament in the first place.

“Ask what you will, My Queen,” Morpheus offers in humble submission, so unlike him. He cups my face in both hands and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “Toy with me, trap me, lock me in chains. I’ll give you anything so long as you bide my secret.”

A fluttering movement rolls within the cocoon of my flesh, just beneath my rib cage. At first it’s tiny and knotted, but then it spreads as if opening. An elbow, a fist, a wing tip? No. He can’t be trying to fly again; shouldn’t he be rolled into a ball, preparing to arrive? As if in answer, the unmistakable sensation of flapping stirs inside me.

A highly charged contraction follows the movement—rips through my belly, hot and grinding—as if to force the release of my prisoner. I scream, stiffen my legs, and arch my back. “Get him out!”

Acute regret shimmers in Morpheus’s inky eyes and his wings tug his shoulders to a slump. “Alas, you ask the one thing I cannot give.”

Snarling, I dispense punishment in fits, my powers as unruly and unpredictable as they were before I learned to control them. I attempt to throw off the blankets; instead, they take flight and dive-bomb us like temperamental ghosts. Morpheus curses and struggles to keep my nakedness covered. I try to fling the water curtain away, but push too hard. It becomes a tidal wave and washes across my king and our attendants, soaking them and snuffing out the candles. The only lights left to go by are the glimmering bodies of the sprites and the luminous flowers.