Cordell doesn’t need me on this trip. And we found the magic chasm—Cordell doesn’t need Winter anymore either.
I pull back, pressing my forehead to Theron’s. “Have you told your father about this?”
Theron closes his eyes, his arms dropping to encircle my waist. “No. It might be best to wait until after Yakim andVentralli sign it. I can sign it for Cordell in his stead.”
I exhale. Noam doesn’t know.
Theron moves to kiss me again, and I find myself wobbling on a precipice I never imagined: if I disagree with Theron’s plan for peace, will he run to his father for support like he did with the magic chasm, regardless of his own reasoning?
Theron’s lips move to my jaw, creep down my neck in slow flutters. He moans, a soft sound that days ago would have melted every nerve in my body. But now I can’t feel anything past the thoughts clogging my head.
This is politics. This is the life of a queen—hiding things, making sacrifices, keeping secrets, all for the betterment of my kingdom. It’s what Dendera and Sir and everyone else seem to be shoving me into, at least—a life of pretending and hiding the truth.
Theron slides his hand up my spine, his lips hovering over my ear in a pause that beats awareness into me.
We’ve been whatever we are since our first kiss in Abril, but it hasn’t gone beyond that. Him touching my hip or holding my hand or stealing a kiss after a meeting—nothing like the way we lean into each other now, him driven by passion, me driven by distraction.
I launch away from him. “We should . . . we should get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”
Theron pauses. Realization dawns on his face and he shakes his head, his skin deepening to a heavy scarlet hue.
“Yes. We shouldn’t . . .” He regains himself a little and puts an arm’s length of space between us. “I won’t push you to do anything you aren’t ready to do.”
My own blush heats every bare surface of skin. I haven’t really thought aboutthatat all. But as I look at Theron now, I realize I probably should have, if only to decide what I want our relationship to be.
“I know,” I say. “I just . . . I don’t want us to be together because we want comfort to chase away our nightmares or because I feel—”Indebted to you.
Theron saves me from having to explain by taking my hand. He’s shaking, a tremor that catches in my own muscles and ricochets up through me.
“You don’t have to explain,” he whispers, his voice low and heady. “I know things have been chaotic, but I truly believe this trip will be the beginning of an end to that chaos. Soon all we’ll have to think about is us.”
Part of me wants to laugh at that, the idea of being so carefree that my only thought is of a boy. I can’t foresee that ever happening.
Theron squeezes my hand and steps back, the moment gone. “We’ll leave in a few days,” he tells me, tugging on his frontage of the proper prince. He bows at the waist, never taking his eyes off mine. “Lady Meira.”
I drudge up a weak smile. “Prince Theron.”
He offers one last grin and leaves.
This day has done its best to pick me apart, one emotionalevent after another. And as Theron shuts the door to my room behind him, the one leading to my balcony groans, and I’m hit with the numb thought that it isn’t over.
A figure staggers in, swaying like he’s caught in a gale.
No, no,no.
Just one glance at Mather, and it’s enough to undo the control I’d built up this night. All I am now is the truth underneath: trembling and aching and frantically terrified. Was it only a few hours ago that I was glad for the way his presence unraveled me?
“What are you doing here?” I growl, but I frown when his bloodshot eyes have trouble locking on me. “Are youdrunk?”
Mather pinches the skin above his nose and chuckles like he’s shocked he made it. “Wait, wait—” He moves two fingers up to me. It takes me a moment to realize he’s mimicking what he used to do when he snuck up on me as a child, two fingers on my neck in place of a weapon. “You’re dead,” he declares, sure enough. “And I’m allowed to drink.”
I wipe away the nostalgia. “You climbed up my balcony while drunk?”
“I was perfectly steady,” he slurs, and stumbles forward a step, bumping into the foot of my bed. The laughter on his face sloshes away as he remembers something serious, dark. “But why should you worry? I’m just one of your supplicants, humbly basking in your presence.”
“Mather—stop it! Why are you here?”How long have you been here? What did you see?
A chill rushes through me, and my body feels light and heavy, tied down and floating.
