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Jolyon thought it would be like seeing a ghost, but it wasn’t. The man his sight glided over was so brilliantly alive that his breath caught. His eyes hadn’t been so lively, so warm, since long before the Garden. His face was animated as he spoke—his lips formed the words of a plan that Jolyon could have read if he wished, but Jolyon did not care about whatever plan he was concocting in that moment, he only cared about the lips speaking it.
Becoming a Guardian may have reset his memories, but it did not change how dear and known the man’s mouth had been to Jolyon, a lifetime ago. From the dry quips and hairbrained schemes that had made Jolyon grin to the demanding, taunting bites and kisses that had made him moan, those lips had been responsible for so much of what Jolyon had loved about his prince. His face hadn’t been so open, so unguarded, in centuries, but the features were the same. It was captivating. It was irresistible, the Queen’s order be damned.
Petra had said being resurrected had given him humility, a trait that his prince had never embodied before. His prince was cocky, reckless, confident. His prince was desperate for love, desperate to prove himself—to be proud, and have others be proud of him. As he watched through Supremacy’s sight, he reminded himself that this humbled man was no longer his prince, even if he had his face, his eyes, his damnable lips.
Against his will, a cruel fantasy took hold of his mind. What would those lips on his feel like? Would he be needy yet rough, as his prince had been, or something achingly different? Would his mouth be shy yet eager? Would his body remember what his mind did not, and would they come together naturally, instinctively, as though death and the Garden had never separated them? If he was bold, was this a chance at his love finally being enough to sate him?
Jolyon ached for answers. In both this life and his precious one the man was a flame, burning bright, and Jolyon remained a moth helplessly, tortuously drawn to its deadly heat.
The man began to move, soon to be out of range, but Jolyon kept his sight on him all the same, unwilling to tear his gaze away, knowing that he should. A traitorous voice in his mind whispered, He can never again be your prince. But now he could be your light.