I slid my hands on either side of Sage's face, not for romance, but to control him. His skin was like a baby's, so soft, unbelievably fine under my fingertips. I'd never touched a demi-fey this much, because there had never been enough of them to touch. I leaned toward him, and he just stood there, hands at his sides. He waited for me to complete the act.

I turned my head slightly to the side and hesitated, my mouth hovering just above his. The lips looked redder than they should have. I wondered if they would feel different, like the texture of his skin, then my lips brushed his, and I had my answer. They were just lips but soft, soft like silk, satin, rich like tasting some ripe fruit.

It was interesting, but there was no magic to it. I leaned back from him, hands still on his face. I looked at Niceven in the mirror. "There was no spell, no cure."

"Did his body enter yours?" she asked.

"You mean tongue?"

"That is what I mean, since you seem so determined to have nothing else."

"No," I said.

"Kiss her, Sage, kiss her like you mean it, then this can all be done."

He gave a heavy sigh, his body moving under my hands. "As my queen bids."

His hands slid around my body, pulling me against him. We were too close for my hands on his face, but as my hands slid down his back, I found wings and didn't know where to hold on.

"Underneath where the wings attach to my back," he said, as if he understood the problem. Maybe he'd had the problem before with other non-demi-fey.

I moved my arms under his, sliding them along his back to where the wings attached to his body. His back felt normal other than the extra softness of the skin. Shouldn't he have had extra muscles under there to flex the wings?

His hands kneaded my back as he brought his face close, closer. We kissed, and this time he kissed me back, gentle at first, then his arms convulsed around my body and he thrust himself inside my mouth. It was as if his tongue, his mouth, were heat. Heat to fill my mouth, heat to spill down my throat, heat like a stream flowing through my body, spilling out, out to my fingertips, my toes, until I was full of it, until my skin ran hot with it.

It was Niceven's voice that brought me back. "You have your cure, Princess. Give it to your green knight before it cools."

Sage and I pulled away from each other, bodies reluctant to part. Our hands slid down each other's arms as I turned from him to find Galen. Galen had moved up closer to us.

I went to him, slid my hot, hot hands over his arms, and even through the sleeves of his shirt I could feel his skin, feel the heat gliding over him. His breathing was fast and hard by the time he bent down to receive his kiss.

Our lips touched and it was as if the heat were hungry for him. Our lips sealed together, so that no drop of heat would be lost. Lips, tongue, even teeth fed at each other's mouths. The heat filled my mouth almost like liquid. I could feel the warm, sweet thickness of it like warm honey, warm syrup that filled my mouth and spilled into Galen. He drank at my mouth, drank the magic down.

He drew the heat out of me, pulled the magic from me with his mouth and his hands and his body. The magical heat fed on heat of a different kind, and with a small cry I climbed his body to wrap my legs around his waist. He cried out when my body touched his groin, and it wasn't pleasure.

He set me down quickly, not quite pushing me away. In a breathless voice, he said, "I don't feel healed."

"You will be healed two days hence by nightfall, or earlier," Niceven said.

I was still standing, half swaying, breath coming in ragged gasps. I could barely hear over the pounding of my own pulse in my ears. So it was left to Doyle to be sensible. "I want your word, Queen Niceven, that Galen will be healed two days from now."

"You have it," she said.

He nodded. "We thank you."

"Don't thank me, Darkness, don't thank me." Then she was gone, the mirror just a mirror once again.

Galen sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He was still gasping, struggling to breathe, but he smiled up at me. "In two days."

I tried to touch his face, but my hand was shaking so badly I missed. He grabbed my hand and put it against his cheek. "Two days," I said.

He nodded, still smiling, my hand still pressed against his face. But I couldn't smile back at him; I could see Frost's face. Arrogant, angry, jealous. He seemed to notice me noticing him, and looked away. He hid his face because I don't think he could control his expression. Frost was jealous of Galen. It was not a good sign.