of how long he’d waited for that moment. In spite of his feral nature.
Falling back to the present, I break his kiss and watch the gems around his eyes flash through calming hues. It’s clear why he wanted me to remember that night. It was to remind me that he understands the human in me, that he adores her as much as my netherling side. I don’t have to admit how scared I am, or that I sometimes miss the mortals I will always love. He already knows. Just as I know he will never be my footman again, because I respect, adore, and need him as much as he does me. He is my partner in every way.
“Your secret is eternally safe, solitary fae,” I whisper and draw his face to mine, giving in at last.
His mouth curves to a smile and drags across my lower lip, then glides from my cheek to my temple. His fingertips trail my jawline and skim my neck, then lower.
So intent on his touch, I almost miss the flutter of wings at my cheeks and brow. My eyes pop open to find five sprites hovering around us, along with Chessie’s decapitated head and grinning face—all of them mesmerized by our impassioned spectacle.
“Blast it!” Morpheus shouts upon looking up. “Do you not have better things to do?”
Chessie gestures his whiskered muzzle toward his body where it continues to mop the floor on the other side of the room with the help of Gossamer and Nikki—as if that excuses his nosiness.
“Step off, or you’ll all lose your heads,” Morpheus grinds out through clenched teeth. “Permanently.” It’s a promise, not a threat.
Chessie’s head and the naughty spritelings hustle to escape, crashing into one another in midair in a clumsy race off the mattress. The commotion causes the baby to flutter again, triggering another influx of high-voltage pulses through my abdomen. I double over, dragging Morpheus with me as I bite down a scream.
“He’s going to stay in there forever,” I cry between panting breaths.
My king caresses my back. Although he’s trying to help, it only antagonizes me, too small a comfort for pain this intense.
“How are we supposed to convince him to join us”—I force the words through constricted vocal cords—“if he’s intent on never leaving all he’s known?”
Morpheus tips my chin so our eyes meet. “The same way I once convinced you. We entice him with a journey through the terrible and beautiful wilds, via our memories.”
“But we have so many memories . . . I can’t wait that long.” I grit out the response, the relentless contractions intensifying my pessimism.
“Then choose three. Three of your most indelible memories. Let him see Wonderland through your eyes . . . the moments and places that hold the most meaning to you. All we need is a glimpse. We have my dream-magic and your imagination to set the scene.”
I study my husband’s face, thankful for his brilliant, maniacal mind, and grateful that a once self-serving fae can harbor such patience and compassion for a half-human girl. That he even rations out such qualities in smaller doses to our subjects . . . when he’s feeling generous.
Touching his jeweled markings, I whisper, “I love you, Morpheus. Thank you for showing me all I could be.”
His eyebrows lift in the most endearing expression—the same look he used to offer as a child when I caught him off guard. He pauses for a moment, as if struggling to regain his composure, then answers, “And I love you. But this is just the beginning. We’ve yet to see all you can be.” He tweaks my nose. “Now, shall we meet our son?”
I nod.
My king takes my hands and presses them to my abdomen. He weaves his fingers through mine. Warmth radiates in the spaces between us as his blue dream-magic pulses through my body and distracts me from my pain.
His voice fills my mind:
“Little prince, so keen to hide, traverse your kingdom far and wide. Follow us through mental flights, and share the dangers and delights.”
Though he sings for the baby, Morpheus’s beautiful lullaby captures me in a dizzying whorl of music, so irresistible I become the notes themselves. He leans down and his lips meet mine with a spark of enchanted supplication. I surrender and fade from the present, reappearing in our convoluted and mad past . . .
MEDITATION
MEMORY ONE: IN WHICH I FACED WONDERLAND
Mommy and Daddy think I’m sleeping, but they’re wrong. I’m dreaming in Wonderland, brought here by