“They’re dealing with the fallout with Chief.” Nulok sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Riven dealt with Rowan personally...”
“I wanted to help,” I whisper.
He squeezes my hand again, gentler this time. “I know. And honestly? I think what you did was courageous. You took a stand, and I’m proud of you.”
“I don’t deserve my title.” My words are bitter.
“You do,” he says firmly. “Gorok recognised you long before your life got complicated.”
His conviction hits something deep inside me. For a moment, I almost envy Samira the bond they share, and that she has someone like him in her life.
“She’s lucky to have you,” I murmur.
He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. “Compliments from my queen? I’m flattered.”
“Alright,” he says, standing and brushing off his tunic. “I need to find my mate and calm her temper. You should pack for tomorrow. I’ll bring you something to read for the journey.”
He infected me with his love for books years ago, and ever since then, we’ve shared the most compelling reads. Sometimes, the travellers who visit Earth bring small souvenirs from their world. Nulok and I made it our mission to hunt down human books. We’ve spent a fortune on them. They have such strange perspectives, but that is exactly what makes them so fascinating.
I look at the cupboard where I keep my growing collection.
“Have you finished the one I brought you last time?” I ask, remembering the particularly good romance. “The one about war, college, and dragons?”
His eyes flicker. “Yes. Dragons bonding with mortals... ridiculous. But the spicy scenes were... what can I say, my mate was satisfied.”
I burst out laughing and throw a pillow at him. He catches it easily, grinning.
“I have one about the Fae,” he says, leaning forward. “Written by a human, and it is hilarious. They have lords and courts likewe do, but they are so different. It will entertain you on the journey.”
“Is it spicy? Because if it is, I might need a helper.” I wink at him and he shakes his head.
“Only mildly, but the quality,” he replies with a grin.
We share a look, one of those familiar, wordless exchanges that belong only to us. For a moment it feels light, easy, like always. Then the air shifts, the warmth fades, and our thoughts turn towards darker things.
“Are you coming with us?” I ask, hopeful. It would be so much easier with him. “Please don’t tell me Samira will.”
He shakes his head, laughing, as if I were being silly.
“I don’t know what Jestin will decide,” he admits. Then, with a tenderness that almost undoes me, he leans down and presses a kiss to my hair. “I’m proud of you for trying. I know it’s hard.”
When he leaves, the room feels too still, too big. Not that it isn’t fucking huge.
I sit there for a long time, staring at the scattered clothes and the half-packed travel bags. Tomorrow I’ll have to face the music. But for now, I just pack, piece by piece, and let my heart ache.
Chapter 12
We spent six days on the road, cruelty at its finest. The sand rides are basically rafts with no walls, nothing to hold onto, while a sand wielder hurls us across the desert. I used to be bitter about my lack of control over portaling. Now? I am devastated.
Jestin left Samira to govern Santorili, taking only Nulok. The poor male whines all the bloody time. Do I need to add that he also barely speaks with Jestin? Even though he talks with Samira all the time via his messenger orbs, it doesn’t improve his mood.
When Samira found out Jestin was separating them, she threw a fit, blaming me, of course. Pathetic, how someone can become so utterly dependent on others. Her crude words didn’t sting as much this time. With every outburst, the bridge between us widens, and I feel less guilt than before. It is clear she doesn’t want to mend things.
I just wish Nulok would stop hurting because of the distance between them. Has the mating ceremony washed their brains? Regardless of their discomfort, I am glad he is here to buffer between me and the wall of testosterone.
My winged companions, Riven and Bane, spend most of our free time punishing me with exercises. I endure the physical torment, promising myself over and over that once I’m crowned, those merciless sessions will end.
I’ll sit on the throne and not move an inch.
