But in that unguarded moment, I'd seen something that made my breath catch. Hunger. Devotion. A depth of feeling that went far beyond duty or friendship. How had I never noticed the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching?
"Your Highness?" Myris's voice seemed to come from very far away.
I blinked, forcing my attention back to the present. "Forgive me. Your words gave me much to consider."
"Of course. These are weighty matters, not to be taken lightly." He gestured toward the temple's main hall, where afternoon light streamed through windows set with colored glass. "Please, explore at your leisure. The priests are always happy to answer questions about our practices and beliefs."
He paused, head tilting as if remembering something important. "Oh, and you must both join us for tonight's feast. We're celebrating the completion of a new translation, poetry from the outer islands that speaks of love's various forms. It should prove quite enlightening."
Rhazir cleared his throat, the sound carefully deferential. "Begging your pardon, Priest, but I am merely a bodyguard. Such gatherings are not meant for?—"
"There is no such thing as 'merely' anything, dear friend," Myris interrupted with gentle firmness. "All are equal in the eyes of the gods. Scholarand soldier, prince and peasant, we all sit at the same great table when it comes to matters of the heart."
The priest's words carried conviction that brooked no argument, and after a moment Rhazir bowed acceptance. When Myris had departed with flowing robes and knowing smiles, I found myself alone with Rhazir in the temple's echoing vastness.
My attention was drawn to a fresco that dominated the chamber's eastern wall, a masterwork of color and form that told the story of two lovers lost in passion's embrace. The detail was exquisite, almost overwhelming in its frank sensuality. Every muscle, every curve, every expression of ecstasy had been rendered with artistic skill that bordered on divine inspiration.
Heat crept up my neck as I studied the intertwined figures, their faces painted with such perfect clarity that I could read the love and desire written in their features. There was no shame in their joining, no furtive hiding of bodies or feelings. They reached for each other with the desperate hunger of souls finding their missing halves, and the artist had captured that moment of recognition with breathtaking honesty.
This was what Myris spoke of, love as bridge between mortal and divine, passion as prayer, the joining of bodies as celebration rather than sin.
"You will accompany me to the feast," I saidsuddenly, the decision crystallizing as I spoke. “As you would have if we were home.”
Rhazir's reflection appeared beside mine in the polished marble at the fresco's base. "The customs are different back home, Your Highness."
I considered this, memories rising unbidden. At court, sworn swords and their charges often shared meals, the bonds between them acknowledged and honored. But when traveling, the relationships became more formal, bodyguards took their meals separately, maintained careful distance, transformed themselves into servants rather than companions.
"Then perhaps," I said slowly, "we would be wise to embrace the customs of our hosts rather than cling to those that serve no purpose here."
In the marble's reflection, I watched his face cycle through a dozen emotions before settling on resigned acceptance. "As you command, Your Highness."
Something in his tone made me turn to face him directly. We stood close enough that I could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, could smell the subtle scent of weapon oil and leather that always clung to him. For a moment, the careful distance he maintained seemed as fragile as spun glass.
"Not as I command," I corrected quietly. "As I request. We are far from the Three Isles, old friend. Perhaps we might set aside some of the barriers that court life requires of us."
His breath caught, so softly I might have imagined it. "Your Highness..."
"Serin," I said, as I had before. "When we're alone, just... Serin."
The name hung between us like an offering, and for a heartbeat I thought he might reach for it. Then his training reasserted itself, armor sliding back into place with almost audible finality.
"As you wish," he said, but he didn't repeat my name.
I turned back to the fresco, studying the painted lovers with new eyes. They had found something worth celebrating, worth immortalizing in stone and pigment. What would it feel like to be looked at the way they looked at each other? To reach for someone and know they would reach back?
The pulse I'd felt earlier returned, stronger now, thrumming in the space between us like a held breath. I didn't turn around, but I was suddenly, acutely aware of Rhazir behind me - the steadiness of his presence, the careful way he breathed, the warmth that seemed to radiate from his skin despite the marble chamber's coolness.
Eight years he'd stood at my side. Eight years of faithful service, of protection offered without question or complaint. How many times had I taken that devotion for granted? How many times had I failed to see what was right before me?
The painted lovers seemed to smile down at mewith knowing eyes, as if they could read the confusion and dawning recognition written in my heart. Perhaps Priest Myris was right about bonds being bridges to the divine. Perhaps some connections transcended the merely mortal, reaching toward something larger than the sum of their parts.
I thought of tonight's feast, of sitting beside Rhazir as an equal rather than maintaining the careful hierarchy that had defined us for so long. The prospect filled me with anticipation and terror in equal measure.
What truths might surface when the barriers came down?
The frescoed lovers offered no answers, only their eternal embrace and the promise that some risks were worth taking, no matter the cost.
Chapter
