That night, Will and I headed back to Reese's cabin, and when we stopped in front of the royal's designated bedroom, I was shocked to see that he'd rearranged the furniture since receiving his stitches. He'd pushed the bed up against the far corner of the room, and he'd dragged the chairs, dressers, and bedside table to form a crescent around it, like some kind of hasty barricade. 

I shot him a quizzical look. 

"I don't like sleeping out in the open," he explained, avoiding eye contact. "It doesn't feel safe."

The nature of his strange sleeping habits wasn't news to me—he'd literally slept in a tree the first night of our journey together—but he'd been using a mattress or a sleeping pad for well over a month with no complaints. "Then how come you sleep like a normal person when I'm around?" 

"Because you're around," he said, and I barely caught the shadow of his smirk as he entered the room.

Propping his crutch against the dresser, he limped over to his bed, wincing as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. It hurt to see him like this, but it also pleased me that he was comfortable expressing pain in my presence now. We'd come a long way since I'd stitched up his bicep at Nova's, back when he pretended he was immune to infectious diseases. 

I followed him into the room and crouched to untie his boots, assuming he wouldn't be able to reach them even if he tried. "That bad, huh?"

He let out a weary sigh as he shed his winter coat. "The soreness really kicked in today." 

"Crazy. It's almost like you fought against seven skilled warriors or something." I slid off his boots, and his amused, grateful smile set my heart aflame. 

I still wasn't used to him sharing his joy and affection with me so freely, so casually. Every upward quirk of his lips turned my bones to mush, and I didn't think I'd ever get over the sight of it—a content and unburdened William Sterling.

I rose to my feet, watching him unbutton his sleeve cuffs. The dim lamplight painted his features a honey yellow, and I wasn't sure if it was just the stress he'd endured over the past few days or the fact that he'd stepped into a new leadership role, but his edges looked a little sharper, his chin a little stronger, and he no longer resembled the lonely teenager who hid his emotions.

He looked...grown.

Smiling, I cupped his face and kissed the top of his head. "Get some good sleep, Will." 

"Yeah, you too."

I was almost out the door when I heard him spit a string of curses. Alarmed, I spun around, only to slap my hand over my mouth to keep the laughter in.  

The prince was halfway out of his shirt, cringing at the strain it put on his muscles and bruised arms. Eventually, he noticed me standing there watching him and ceased his struggle, hanging his head in defeat. "...I'm stuck."

"I can see that."

Closing the door, I stomped back over to the idiot and helped him out of the shirt, doing my best to free him from his self-inflicted entanglement. But as I pulled the garment over his head, my gaze lingered on his protruding collarbone, the bare skin of his chest and abdomen, and the Order's gruesome artwork on his torso.

Surprisingly, the scar didn't really faze me anymore. It was nauseating to think of its origin and the tragic memory behind it, but the sight of raised flesh no longer affected me the way it used to. Like his face tattoo, the design was simply a piece of the Will I'd come to know. Another fascinating feature on a prince of ink and blemishes. 

I tore my eyes away from his chest and threw his shirt aside. "Pants?"

His lips parted to release an answer, but no sound came out, and I couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or ashamed or what. We'd grown up in the same town; it wasn't like I'd never seen his skinny, pale legs before. What was the big deal?

I refused to let him sleep in mud-speckled trousers, so I quickly removed his belt, ignoring the way his whole body went still. I reached for his buttons next, but he caught my hand.

"Al."

The nickname seized my attention, and I stared at his tattooed knuckles in bewilderment. He'd never once referred to me that way before, in all our time together. 

But...I kind of liked the way the word rolled off his tongue. 

"They're just pants," I insisted, dragging my gaze back to his. "What are you so...?" I trailed off at the enraptured look he gave me—the heavy-lidded eyes, the dilated pupils, the coy smile—and my mouth went dry.

There had never been a more transparent emotion on Will's face. Right here, in this moment, there was absolutely no question what he was thinking, and it sent an exhilarating shiver down my spine.

Gently, the prince reeled me in by my captive hand, pulling me down to his face and greeting my mouth in a soft, affectionate kiss. The sensation made my lips tingle—like tiny electric sparks bursting beneath my skin—flooding my brain with a sense of comfort, relief, and the purest form of happiness I'd ever tasted.

I hummed against his mouth, clasping the side of his neck. Surrendering to his magnetism. 

Gritz, why hadn't we been doing this since day one? Kissing Will was the best idea I'd ever had. I could do this for hours, for days, and never tire of it. I'd kiss him till my lips were bruised if it meant feeling this happy and whole and relaxed.

Hot hands found my hips, thumbs caressing the strip of skin above my pants, and my lashes fluttered at the contact. I loved his calloused fingertips. They were Will's hands—rough and scratchy and drier than the hardened soil of Belgate—and I wouldn't trade them for the world. 

As the tip of my tongue grazed his, his palms slid to the inward slope of my spine—tentatively, like he wasn't sure if he'd obliterated a boundary or not. If anything, though, two points of contact were simply not enough. I wanted more. I needed more.

I wasn't sure who made the first move, but my right knee was suddenly on the mattress beside him, and then Will's hand was on the back of my left thigh, hoisting me up onto the bed. Eliminating the distance between us. 

Eager to prolong this intimate moment, I sat down on his lap, straddling his hips and wrapping my arms around his neck for balance. He angled his head to deepen our kiss, and I nestled into him, chasing his body heat and the intoxicating rush of chemicals it provided. 

As he pulled my cloak down over my shoulders, removing yet another layer between us, I couldn't help thinking how well our bodies fit together, how perfectly two separate beings merged into one. 

And still, I yearned to be closer. 

Sharing my wavelength, Will leaned backward, and I fell into him with a startled giggle. We crashed into the comforter in a mess of limbs and aching body parts, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself hovering over his naked torso, recreating a position that often concluded a session of combat training. Only this time, a soft mattress cushioned my knees and the meat of my palms. 

Only this time, we were all alone, gazing at each other with shy smiles and ruby cheeks. 

I lowered myself to my elbows and kissed him again—memorizing the taste of him, the perfect slant of his lips. One of his hands held my face, his fingers tangled in the wavy curls behind my ear, while the other slid from my thigh to the soft skin of my waist. Waiting there in limbo, unsure where to go. 

Choosing to lead by example, I dragged my gloved hands over Will's exposed chest, exploring the untouched, the historically prohibited. My fingertips grazed his scorching skin, tracing toned curves and rutted scar tissue, venturing over the mysterious trail of hair leading down his naval and disappearing under the hem of his trousers. 

Will broke our kiss to stare at me, a question in his eyes, and I smiled, nudging his nose with mine. 

The door's open, I insisted. Let's see where this leads.

The kiss that followed was hungry and enthusiastic and borderline frantic, and Will must have understood what I meant, because his hand finally moved from its fixed position on my waist to my lower ribcage, wandering across the skin beneath my shirt and halting at the lower rim of my bra. 

Cautiously adventurous. Adorably uncertain. 

His chivalry made me snicker, and I grabbed his wrist and moved his hand up a few more inches. He inhaled sharply, surprised by my initiative, but I felt the grin on his lips as his fingers gently squeezed the swell of my breast.

Woefully, I had less than a handful to offer him, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was so excited by the invitation, he wanted my shirt gone entirely. Off my body and out of his way.

I laughed as he urgently yanked my sweater over my head and flung it across the room, and as I sat up straight to toss my hair out of my eyes, he gazed at me like I was the most amazing specimen he'd ever laid eyes on. 

"What?" I mumbled, blushing at the wide, close-lipped smile on his face.

Lovestruck, my brain offered. He looks lovestruck. 

His eyes flicked over my chest and the smooth curve of my abdomen, then slowly traveled back to my burning face. "You're beautiful."

"Pfft, Will."

"I'm serious."

"It's not anything you haven't seen before," I reminded him, thinking back to the night of Fudge and Mason's kidnapping. "You barely glanced in my direction that day at the river. It's like you didn't even notice what I was wearing."

"You just didn't catch me looking."

I rolled my eyes. "Uh-huh."

"Alex, you were standing there half-naked, fighting off a bunch of demons with a tree branch," he teased. "I was completely mesmerized." 

His grin set my whole body on fire, and I wanted to throw myself out the window to escape his honest gaze.

I wasn't used to being complimented on my physical traits, not from men. Outside the occasional remarks on my 'womanly assets,' most of the folks back in Belgate had left me alone—or respected my father enough not to openly flirt with his underage daughter. The boys I'd dealt with on a daily basis threw insults all the time, mocking me for my stunted development, but none of them ever admitted if they found me attractive or not. And then, by the time I made it to the military, Tom and Rover had quickly snuffed out any lewd commentary and dalliances.

I wasn't used to feeling...pretty.

"Plus, your clothes were soaked through," Will added. "I may be respectful, but I'm still a guy."

I laughed, and he bit his lip in response, his hands falling to my thighs. He was a guy, and because I'd assumed what we had was platonic for so long—and that this human robot was incapable of romantic feelings—I'd overlooked countless instances of close contact and otherwise inappropriate relations.

"I guess...I just thought you saw me as one of the boys," I admitted. And to be fair, that was all I'd wanted back then, to blend in. To fit in. Even if I was forced to purge myself of femininity and desirable qualities. 

He hooked his fingers through my belt loops and yanked me forward, and I threw my hands out to catch myself on the mattress, gaping at his mischievous expression.

"I never saw you as one of the boys," he promised, and he smashed his lips to mine. 

This time around, our touches grew bolder, our kisses more daring, and for a few minutes, all I knew were Will's burning hands on my skin, his zealous mouth, and two rapid heartbeats thrumming between us. 

When I resurfaced, I was flat on my back with the royal's body pressed to mine, his knee tucked snuggly between my legs and his hand cupping my breast. While he was busy leaving a trail of wet kisses down my neck, my fingers carded through the dark locks I'd pulled free from his ponytail, and I savored the weight of his body against mine, the heat of him sinking into my bones.

Surely, Sol's afterlife couldn't beat this. This was heaven. This was bliss.

I'd never imagined a scenario like this actually happening. With my curse, I'd given up on expectations of romance early on in my life. Holding hands, making love...those had never been in the cards for me, and given my hatred of marriage and motherhood, I'd been fine with that. 

But now I was here living out a fantasy without the mental preparation. In the blink of an eye, I was kissing a boy who didn't fear me—or my power—and approaching a threshold I never thought I would cross. 

I had no idea what came next. 

Would Will and I slam the door shut? Or would we kick it down together?

My hands made their way down Will's nape to his shoulders and the strong muscles of his back—weapons on his bare skin, shielded by leather and nothing more. 

Weapons, Al. And we know that's never going to change. 

I tried to shrug off the invasive thought, but it came with reinforcements. 

This barrier will always exist. Even if you master control over your power, you'll never be able to let your guard down. You'll never touch him freely.

I frowned into Will's hot skin. My gloves had always inconvenienced me, but I'd avoided thinking about the implications they would have on our relationship. It upset me to think that I'd never feel my palm in Will's, never touch his cheek without the scratch of fabric. At the end of the day, I would always be a danger to him. And these gloves would always be a nuisance to the both of us. 

My abs clenched, wrought with anxiety, and Will glanced at me through tousled bangs. Reading my gaze.  Seeing through my defenses, through my pride. Like always. 

"Do you want to stop?" he whispered. 

I closed my eyes, fighting off the sting of frustrated tears, but Will must have sensed the shift in my breathing, because he was already sitting up and pulling me with him.

"Overstimulated?" he guessed. "Do you need me to give you a minute?"

I shook my head, mourning the splendid pressure of his body, the wet heat of his mouth. Space was the last thing I wanted right now.

"Alex." 

I glanced at him through teary eyes, and his expression was so gentle and kind, it barely resembled the broody boy I'd fallen in love with. 

"There's no rush." He gifted me a small, tender smile. "I can hardly move tonight. I don't imagine taking it any further right now would be very satisfying...for either of us."

The joke didn't have its intended effect. Instead, hot tears slid down my cheeks, and he blinked at me, baffled by my emotions. 

"Are you okay? Was...this okay?"

"Yes," I said immediately, and I meant it. Despite my previous challenges with intimacy, I wasn't scared of moving forward with Will. I trusted him with my life, with my heart. And to be honest, my body was probably the easiest thing to share with him. "It's just...these."

I lifted my hands, and his wrinkled brow softened with understanding. "...You think you'll hurt me?"

"I feel like I've mastered control over my power, but that's when I'm alert and conscious," I said, wiping the tears away. "If I lose focus, and I'm suddenly overcome with emotions or adrenaline..." My throat swelled with terror as I thought of his limp body on the dirt surrounded by rotten apples. "I could never live with myself if something happened to you, Will."

He reached forward—slowly, should I choose to deny him contact—and closed his hands over mine, illustrating his fearlessness, but also his faith in my abilities. "...Do you want to try touching me without your gloves?" 

My eyes snapped to his, and panic engulfed my heart.  "What?"

"To practice," he elaborated, calmly, like he hadn't just proposed the most outrageous thing I'd ever heard. "You've learned to dilute your power across a solid medium. I can help you achieve the same thing with direct contact."

I blinked at him, appalled by his conviction and a little worried for his sanity. "How can you trust me to do that?" 

He knew the damage I was capable of. He'd experienced my power firsthand—and he still hadn't fully recovered from my mental incursion. I'd wandered around in his brain, consuming his most vulnerable memories and forcing transparency upon him. He'd come back to his body traumatized and violated. 

"What do you mean? You brought me back from the dead," he said, his voice warm and patient and tinged with amusement. "And you've improved your methodology since then. You've developed new skills." He leaned forward, his dark eyes pulsing with sincerity. "I know you can pull back if you need to; you already did it for the High Court when you erased their short-term memory. We're just removing the physical distance."

How he made something so ludicrous sound so sensible, I would never know. "But if I can't stop myself from scouring your mind in the first place...if I'm not able to control my spirit's appetite...I'll have to steal a memory from you," I said. "And I refuse to erase anything from your time here in Freemont." 

Including my love confession. I couldn't bear the thought of having to start all over again. 

He squeezed my hands. "If you have to strip me of something, why don't you take back the memory of your mother? It belongs to you anyway."

I stared at him for a few seconds, astonished and perplexed by his determination. There wasn't a crumb of doubt in his mind—this man believed in me more than anyone ever had. Probably to a fault.

"...You're sure?" I whispered. "Right now?"

He bent forward to kiss my cheek. "If it means that someday you can touch me without feeling any fear, it's worth a try."

The sentiment enveloped my soul like a warm, fleece blanket, and I nodded, repositioning myself so I was sitting across from him on the bed, knocking knees. With the utmost caution, Will slowly pulled my glove off my hand and deposited the leather garment on the bed.

Here we go.

I took a deep breath and reached for his fingertips, passing him another quick glance to see if he had any second thoughts. But he just nodded for me to continue. 

"I trust you," he assured me, and I swallowed the fear in my throat.

Focus, Kingsley. No memories. No emotions.

Just basic human contact.

I slid my cool fingers over the back of his hand, and then, with a nervous exhale, I closed my palm over the written script on his veins. 

Just contact...

Just—

A flash of light burned my retinas, and I was suddenly back in Will's head, standing in the middle of an endless, white dimension. 

...Dammit.

I still couldn't block my power from activating, then. This spiritual channel was always flowing, and for whatever reason, my hands couldn't shut off the tap. 

On the bright side, the ravenous hunger in my soul, while distracting, was manageable, and I knew I could exit this realm right now if I chose to—leaving Will unscathed and unaffected. Which meant I could touch him without killing him. Which meant...there was hope for me. 

Hope for us. 

I could exit now and feel satisfied with that truth, but I decided to seek out the memory of my mother first. It was a theory worth testing, especially if it could help me retrieve any core memories I planned to donate in the future. 

Snippets of Will's life fluttered past me like giant moths, their gossamer wings playing memories on a loop, their bodies twisting and collapsing like waves in the ocean. If I reached out, I could touch them, absorb them, consume them. But today, I sought something priceless. 

Trusting the strange prickle in my gut, I fell to a crouch and narrowed my eyes at the sterile floor beneath my feet. Then I placed my palms flat on the surface, and what I once perceived as solid tiles turned to a bed of white, undisturbed silt. I wiped the soft grains aside, digging for the memory I'd given Will so long ago. Digging for the very thing that saved his life. 

A few inches below the surface, I finally found it: a pool of water shimmering with history—like liquid mercury bubbling out of the ground. Its colors were dull and lifeless, but I saw glimpses of my mother on its reflective surface. Snapshots of her white teeth and deep-set eyes glistening in the deep. 

I dipped my hand into the puddle, expecting to relive the experience, waiting for my spirit to absorb the interaction like dehydrated food touching water, but nothing happened. I just stared down at an empty, dry hand. 

The memory was inaccessible. 

Frowning, I glanced up at the other memories circling overhead. The closest scraps were just within reach, and with one violent, mental tug, they'd all shoot into the vast sky of nothingness above me, soaring into my famished soul. But beyond the familiar scenes of Freemont and the Gritz, there were others—darker memories tainted with trauma—and they'd lost their vibrant colors too.

Strange...

I called one of the muted recollections forward, recognizing it as the distant, wispy memory of a young Will and Regulas playing in a meadow. I extended my hand to touch the fragment of his childhood, but when my fingers passed through the mist, the scene that enveloped me was incohesive, blurry, and void of emotion.

It was the same sensation as touching Tom's knife or a dead animal I'd killed with my bare hands. It was like I'd already stolen the nutrients I needed, and all that remained were lifeless photographs. In fact, these memories were exactly what I'd encountered the morning after my mother passed away, when I'd tried to shake her awake. They were no longer consumable anymore; I'd already ingested them before, then sliced my belly open and returned them to Will. These inedible records did nothing for my spirit but leave her with a bitter aftertaste. 

Fearing I'd spent too much time in Will's head, I stood from my crouch and plucked a recent memory from the river of fluttering colors above. But this time around, as the Rhean pavilion materialized around me, I refused to ingest the contents of this moment. Instead of absorbing Will's past and attempting to return it to him later, I chose to stifle the Mad Commander's voracious appetite—preemptively. 

The conscious decision placed me beside Will, rather than inside his head, and I was now a bystander to his memory, not a participant seeing through his eyes, experiencing his every thought and emotion. 

The Rhean girls from this evening appeared on all sides of us, talking over each other and giggling like mischievous little elves. I glanced at Will, expecting the displeased frown I'd come to expect from the prince, but his expression was fond, and maybe even a little relieved. 

Mostly because his attention was directed at something else entirely. 

Confused, I followed his line of sight to a firepit in the distance, where two girls in crimson cloaks embraced each other and laughed through their sniffles. Two girls who couldn't be more different, but whom he treasured dearly.

Will smiled at our interaction, and I felt like shoving him over. His blatant adoration was too much to handle. 

Okay, that's enough of that.

Time to go, Al.

Finished with the experiment, I released my grip on the memory—and the warm skin of Will's hand—and opened my eyes to kissing knees and wrinkled sheets. 

Will stared back at me, conscious and unhurt, and I would have thrown my arms around him and peppered him with kisses if he weren't sitting so close to the end of the bed. I didn't want to risk breaking any more bones.

"Are you alright?" I whispered. 

"Fine," he said distractedly, his eyes traveling from the fading pink crescent on my palm to the brown scars spiraling up my arm. 

"...Was I glowing again?" 

His lips lifted. "Only for a couple seconds. I didn't think you'd be done so quickly." 

It was strange how little time passed when I entered that ethereal landscape. It felt like I'd been gone for half an hour. Meanwhile, my test subject barely had any time to process what happened. 

"Do you still remember the pavilion this evening?" I checked, reaching for my glove. "When you saw Val and me by the campfire?"

He nodded. "I watched the whole thing happen again...kind of like a dream. The last few seconds...it was like I could actually feel you there in my head." 

That gave me pause. "Really?"

"I didn't see you or hear you, but I felt a familiar presence. I'm not sure how else to explain it." He leaned forward and swept a stray hair out of my face, frowning as he sensed the weight of my findings. "What about the memory of you and your mom?"

My shoulders slumped in defeat. "I couldn't access it. It looks like giving away a core memory like that is permanent. Although, I suppose it wouldn't be much of a sacrifice if they were retrievable." And magic, according to the Order, was built on sacrifice. 

Will searched my eyes for disappointment, recognizing that my success could have meant the salvation for every Pan beneath Havenbrooke. Realizing that our quest for a practical solution wasn't over. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." It wasn't, but I didn't plan to dwell on that right now. "I also couldn't reabsorb any of the memories I'd seen before. They didn't provide any nourishment."

He nodded again. "I suppose that makes sense. Otherwise, you could just recycle the same memories over and over again as sustenance. Spirits would never have to seek out new hosts, and the demons would never run out of fuel." 

"The Mad Commander also wouldn't need to steal memories from external sources," I tacked on, sliding my hand back into its leather sheath. Will glanced at me curiously, and I sighed. "Your psycho brother believes my power manifested because my co-spirit refused to deplete my human memories. She needed something to tether her to this realm, but she also wanted to prolong our lifespan—and encourage spiritual harmony—so she sought memories from objects and other living things...allegedly."

An odd look passed over Will's face, and I wasn't sure if he was intrigued or disturbed. "...Do you believe him?"

"I don't know. It makes a lot of sense, but there's also so much I still don't understand about my ability. For all we know, I could be wrong about everything."

He looked like he wanted to say something I didn't want to hear, but he chose to let the topic die. "Well, what we do know is that you ventured into my head without stealing any memories, even with your gloves off." His proud smile stomped out any lingering feelings of discontent. "Well done."

I felt the blood return to my cheeks. "Thanks for letting me try. It means a lot that you were willing to do that for me." We locked gazes, and I took his hand in mine—more confidently than ever before. "Knowing that I can accidentally touch you without depleting your entire life history...it's everything." 

I no longer had to fear an intimate relationship with him. At least, not because of my co-spirit. My palms wouldn't suck his soul away if my power permeated my gloves. It couldn't. 

"You're welcome." He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, his expression playful. "I'll be your practice dummy anytime."

I flicked him in the nose and laughed, peeling away from his enticing body heat. "Good to know, dummy." 

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and pulled my bra straps back into place, scanning the room for my sweater. 

"Where are you going?" he murmured. 

I raised my brow, throwing him a dubious glance over my shoulder. "Back to my room? Per Reese's request?"

"She doesn't have to know you spent the night here."

"And your whole kingdom doesn't need to find out that you share a bed with an Ellsian peasant."

He pressed his lips together, failing to contain his smile. "Did you just call yourself a peasant?"

"I'm not royalty, am I?" 

He loosed a heavy breath and moved to sit next to me, his thigh brushing mine. "I don't care what they say. Falling in love with the enemy isn't a bad thing. It shows that I'm capable of making peace, and that I consider peasants on equal footing as the upper class."  His side-eye was genuine. "It's not what my father would have approved of, so that means I'm doing something right."

I grinned a little, picturing how my own father would have reacted to our relationship if he were still alive. Like Tom, I imagined he would have a mental breakdown at first, then eventually come around once he acknowledged the lengths Will had gone to keep me safe. Not to mention, his concerns over financial security would quickly evaporate. And we both knew my mother approved, given her spirit's overt fascination with the guy. 

I'd like to think they'd be happy for me for snatching my very own prince, but mostly because I'd found someone who enabled me to be open and vulnerable and unabashedly myself. 

"You should stay," he said—softly, pleadingly—and my heart pounded heavily against my ribcage, as if it were smacking my chest for even considering a veto. 

"...We're gonna get in trouble," I muttered, but I was already kicking my boots off. 

He fell back against the bed with a snort. "Since when has that ever stopped you?" 

I huffed and twisted to look at him for a moment, taking in his long, dark hair splayed over the blanket and the patient, loving look on his face. 

"...Fine."

I collapsed onto the mattress next to him, allowing the smug prince to pull me into his embrace. The tension vanished from my bones, and I burrowed into his body, melting into his frame as if I'd never left.

"You princes are so spoiled," I complained.

His chest shook with silent laughter, and I smiled into his skin, refusing to close my eyes—lest this beautiful moment bleed into tomorrow.

**********************************************

A big ol' chapter to satisfy your Willex cravings!

FYI, it will probably be a full month until the next update. I need to focus a bit on my Creator Program story.

Thanks for reading/voting/interacting! <3