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    Summary

    “I love him. I love him so much. I just want to be with him. I want to be his shelter and his respite. I want to hold him in the night when work gets to be too much. I want to make dinner for him, want to take care of him, want to—to cherish him with everything I am. I want to make his life easier, I want to exalt him above the rest of the godsdamn world. I want… I want him.”

    “A lucky man.”

    Cold dread shoots down Wriothesley’s spine. His head snaps up.

    Neuvillette stands there, silhouetted by silvery moonlight, looking like some kind of god in a suit of white and gold and pale cerulean.

    Wriothesley accidentally drinks a love potion meant for Neuvillette.

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