SNOW’S ROOM WAS unlike anything she could have imagined, and yet, in an odd way, it suited him perfectly.

“What are you, some kind of prince?” Jo scoffed, pleased her snark had returned.

She wasted no time in walking the perimeter, admiring the lux decor. Because it really did look like something right out of her childhood fantasies of royalty. Even in the dim lighting, Jo could see the immense amount of detail that went into every aspect of the architecture and the effects it housed; The lavish, four-poster bed bore a thick, dark purple comforter embroidered in colors and patterns she couldn’t quite place. The latticed windows overlooked an ornately landscaped lawn—complete with two fountains, winding paths begging to be walked, and neatly manicured shrubbery.

Inside, there was even a fireplace front and center. It was composed of stone pillars and carved designs; a happily crackling fire gave the room a flickering, orange glow. Yet, for as much light as it gave, there was very little heat to match. The room was comfortable, if not a little cool.

It felt like stepping right into the fancy bedchamber of a king’s castle. Well, at least her nickname of “King Snow” didn’t seem so far off.

“I used to be.” Snow’s voice pulled her out of her musing at once. She turned to face him, expecting him to have followed her farther inside, only to find him still standing by the door, hand on the doorknob as if debating whether or not to let her stay. Jo crossed her arms over her chest, the mere thought of him pushing her away again settling beneath her skin like the annoying buzz of a bad caffeine hangover.

“Used to be?” she asked, looking him up and down before raising an eyebrow at his tense posture. Snow’s head was slightly bowed, brow furrowed in thought and silver hair falling like a veil over his eyes.

“You asked if I was a prince,” he said eventually, straightening back up and finally taking his hand away from the door handle. Jo guessed she was worth keeping around for a little bit longer. How nice of him. “I used to be. Of a sort, at least. Well, it’s what some called me.”

There was something about the way the words fell from his lips that stilled her sass and made Jo’s heart ache. Even as he stood before her, tall, collected, and distant, she could see something in his eyes that spoke of painful memories. If he hadn’t done his damndest to keep her tiptoeing all this time just on the edge of curiosity and understanding, she probably would have hesitated in prying. But, much like that night in her bedroom, he seemed almost desperate for something—and Jo herself was desperate to know what that something was.

Jo let her arms uncross and her hands fall to her hips. With an overdramatic glance about the room, she asked, “Is this what your ‘sort of’ princely quarters looked like then?” Whether or not he could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, she didn’t know. But when his lips cracked into the barest hint of a smile, she considered it a success either way.

“I have made some adjustments over the years, but. . . mostly, yes.”

Jo could see him physically relaxing under the meaningless chatter, and while she hadn’t forgotten her purpose for coming here, the sight set something warm to bloom at the center of her chest. She’d had a glimpse of the stress Snow had to endure months ago in the chamber where “he’d died,” and she could only imagine what else he kept secret from the group. Like, for example, what happened when they failed at a wish? But knowing she had at least a miniscule ability to put him at ease blunted the urgency of the inquiry more than she’d want to admit, and kept her tongue on safer topics.

“So what were you like, then?” Jo walked up to him with a bit more of a saunter to her step then she’d intended. She licked her lips, ignoring the way her heart sped up as his eyes dipped down to watch. “As a prince?”

“Surely you did not come here to inquire about needlessly long lineages, debates over technicalities of what makes royalty, or to hear tales of what messes all of mortal-kind were making at the time that I was left to oversee it.” At one point, he must have met her step for step, easing into her personal space without her noticing. They were only about a foot apart now, but Jo swore she could feel his presence like a physical press against her own body.

“Not exactly,” Jo said, though it came out more as a whisper. Her gaze dragged up the firm plane of his chest, barely visible through the slit of his robe, to rest on his face. His steel gaze scanned her face from behind the fan of his hair.

“Then what did you come here for?” Snow asked, and if Jo didn’t know better, she could have sworn there was something implied beneath the question, like a fisherman casting a line into the dark unknown of the sea—if she’d even dare let herself read into it that way. She had so many questions, had come here ready to demand answers, and in the end, all she could manage to do was take a deep, shaky breath.

Jo licked her lips again—why was her mouth so dry? “I’m not sure, I just don’t know all that much about you, you know? Or the Society, or the wishes, really,” Jo added hastily, not wanting to give up entirely on her original mission. She wasn’t here for him. She definitely wasn’t here for him. She couldn’t let him, or her heart, get any misconceptions about that.

“Hmm.” Snow’s hum wrapped around her like a fog, making it hard for her to think, or see, for that matter. Slowly, he took another step forward, their toes almost touching. She could feel the warmth of his body like its own touch, could see every detail within the contours of his absurdly beautiful face. “You know more than you think.”

“Tell me about it? About your kingdom and your, how did you put it, ‘needlessly long lineages?’”

Something clouded and sad drifted through Snow’s eyes at the question, though his smirk stayed firmly in place, keeping Jo from panicking. “I was not born, but created.”

“What?” Jo whispered, oddly nervous.

“It was the Age of Gods, before the Age of Magic.”

“I thought you said you were from the Age of Magic. Back in the Ranger Compound.”

Snow thought a moment. “I believe I merely said magic was real at such a time.”

“Way to be technical.” Jo rolled her eyes. Age of Magic, that was the time when Eslar and Samson had made their wishes. What was the world like before then? “Was it common, in your time? To be made?”

“Not quite. They called me a demigod.” His smirk had fallen into a small smile, still sad, but sweetened some with nostalgia.

“Demigod? Age of Gods? Sounds like a step up from prince, Mr. Modest,” Jo teased, trying to laugh.

“I preferred to be their prince for just that reason. It seemed much. . . simpler.” His eyes wandered to the window.

She suddenly wanted to change the topic to something else, anything other than that time. It sparked a sort of yearning in her that Jo didn’t want. “So how does a demigod like you end up in a place like this?”

Snow stared at her for several breaths, so long that Jo almost began to feel awkward. It was expectant, like he was waiting for something. But Jo didn’t know what it was, and he just shook his head. “It all started with a dangerous magic, a split goddess, and the bravery of someone I loved.”

All at once, Jo’s original purpose flooded her senses, the opportunity for answers standing barely inches away.

Just one straight answer, Jo willed herself, though it hardly settled the frantic beat of her heart or the heat steadily pooling in her chest, her stomach, lower. Just get him to give you one straight answer about something important. The rest would come if she could get that out, surely. She could be satisfied for a while if she got something from him, anything.

“Snow,” Jo began, more firmly. “What magic? Whose?”

She should have expected it, considering her track record with the infuriating man, but it still settled sour and unexpected in the pit of her stomach when Snow’s expression went blank. He took a step back.

“That’s enough storytelling for one day, I believe,” Snow said, his voice cold. Jo couldn’t help but bristle.

With a huff, she took a step forward, regaining the distance he’d put between them in a single step. “You can’t keep doing this.” She frowned, putting her hands on her hips and looking up at him with what she hoped was an intimidating glare. “You can’t keep opening up just to push me away when I get too close. Or, I don’t know, just take an interest in you like a normal friend, at the very least. This back-and-forth game of emotions—it’s not fair to you, and it sure as hell isn’t fair to me.”

Though Jo saw his resolve crumbling just slightly at the corners, Snow refused to back down. “It would be best if you left.”

“There!” Jo snapped, digging a finger into his chest. “Right there! If you don’t want me around, then why let me in at all?”

All at once, the atmosphere in the room shifted, a heavy but not uncomfortable weight settling between them. Snow’s expression hardened to the point that it cracked, then softened, and his eyes scanned her expression. Slowly, slow enough that Jo could have backed away if she wanted to, Snow raised a hand to her face.

The touch was light, barely there, but it set Jo’s cheeks aflame, her heart nearly leaping into her throat. His thumb rubbed a single line against her cheekbone, the tips of his fingers resting against her neck. It reminded her vaguely of how he’d touched her in the Ranger compound. But this. . . this was different. There was a familiarity to it, a boldness, a (dare she think it) slightly sensual nature to such a light caress. Jo couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like when—if—he ever actually did touch her.

His words were barely more than a whisper. “It’s been so long.” It had been, since he’d last touched her. “I wanted to have a solution for you this time, one that would work.”

“This time?” Jo whispered back, leaning into his touch. “A solution for what?”

Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she really wanted to know the answer. But all she could seem to focus on currently was the feel of his fingers, the warmth of his body. She could smell a hint of him in the air between them, crisp like rain or a fresh bar of soap, but as he leaned in closer, there was something like cloves resting subtly underneath. She could drown in his presence, she realized, and while the thought should have scared her, all it made her want to do was lean in the rest of the way, press her lips to his, and—

All at once, his presence was gone, and when she blinked away the haze of desire, it was to find him back by the now-open door. At first, he said nothing, simply stood there waiting for her to leave, and while she wanted to be angry, more than anything else she was just. . . hurt.

“Why did you stop?” she asked, because she couldn’t help herself. “You want it, too. . . don’t you?” She didn’t know if she wanted to hear the answer to this, not when her heart already felt so dangerously invested, but once it was out in the open, there was nothing to be done. “You feel it. I know you do, you must.”

At this, Snow frowned, his grip on the door handle visibly tightening. “Don’t get involved with me. Not. . . Not now. It’s too dangerous. I need more time. Especially at present.”

The confusion and hurt from before began to morph once again into anger. “What does that mean? What does any of the cryptic shit you say actually mean?”

“I’ll do my best to explain things when I can. For now, trust me, the less you know, the better,” he said softly, mostly to himself, as if he was the one who needed convincing. Snow blinked, a slow fall and rise of his eyelids, then straightened, as if catching himself in a spot he hadn’t ever intended to be—all traces of his previously open demeanor completely gone. “The wish has yet to be completed. It would probably be best for you to use your time more wisely.”

The sincerity in his first comment evaporated at once amid the heat of Jo’s anger. “Yeah, all right.” She sighed, stalking past him and back into the hall, though not without taking one last glimpse at his face. “I get it, King Snow—or is your proper title ‘demigod’ now? Either way, sorry to take up your precious time.”

She wasn’t sure, but for a split second, she could have sworn he looked upset to see her go.