“Prince Balior already has an established interest in the labyrinth. Now you learn that the beast promises to give whoever releases it what they seek. What if that is power? Why should Prince Balior bind himself to Ammara, a smaller, weaker realm, unless he hopes to gain something by it?”
His voice falls into the blackness of the ruined stacks surroundingus. I stare at his stern, unwavering expression, its shades of gray. My heart rejects the notion that I could be so easily fooled.
“I see what this is about.” I cross my arms, shake my head in frustration. “Firstly, you are forgetting that Father arranged my marriage to Prince Balior, not the other way around. Secondly, Prince Baliorisa scholar who researches myths within the realm, so of course he has some interest in the labyrinth. Lastly, why would the prince seek to harm Ammara by releasing the beast when he intends to bind himself to this realm through marriage? It makes absolutely no sense. The only reason you’re bringing this up is because you hate to see another man claim my hand in marriage.”
His eyes flicker dangerously. “That’s not it at all.”
I’m sure. “So, you have no issue with my upcoming nuptials?” I press, hand propped on my hip.
Notus sighs, glancing up at the ceiling overhead as though he might find a bit of patience there. Interestingly, he fails to answer the question. “What if Prince Balior doesn’t intend to honor the marriage, only use it as a ruse to gain access to the labyrinth until he has succeeded in his plan?”
That, I did not expect. Here I was, placing my own pieces on the game board, when Prince Balior may have been shifting their positions while my back was turned. What if Notus is right?
What if he is wrong?
If I end the courtship, I sacrifice my best chance at obtaining information to break my curse. It’s possible this has all been a misunderstanding. And if I act against it? In believing Notus’ claim, I allow suspicion to cloud my gaze. I substitute research for nefarious motives. I brandish my future husband a traitor.
“I understand where you’re coming from, Notus, but we have no evidence to support your suspicions. I can’t make a decision on whatmaybe.”
“That’s fair,” he says, because of course he attempts to see both perspectives, despite the disagreement. I admire him for that. “But there is something I would like to show you.”
At this point, I really have nothing to lose.
Moving silently, we depart the library, then the palace itself. As we stride down the Queen’s Road, the South Wind says, “Is that bakery in the lower ring still there, the one that makes those honey cakes?”
“It is,” I say, glancing at him sidelong. Quiet steeps the residential streets, but a few windows glow with candlelight.
He shortens his strides to match mine. “Do you ever…?”
“Sometimes.” It feels too vulnerable, this admission. That I still visit the bakery I once consideredours.
Notus smiles, which in turn makes me smile. “You always did love their honey cakes.”
Indeed, I did. Still do.
This is not a road I wish to revisit, yet I find myself saying, as we turn a corner past one of the smaller shrines, “Nadia asks after you on occasion.” Between the two of us, the old woman had her favorite, and it certainly wasn’t me. Not that I can blame her. Notus’ quiet nature endears him to even the most cantankerous personality.
“We could always drop by,” he suggests casually, casting me a suggestive glance. “No harm in it, right?”
My head snaps toward him in surprise, and despite the walls I have erected around my heart, I feel the slightest crack forming. Nadia begins her baking quite early—hours before dawn, if I am not mistaken. “What about the thing you wanted to show me?”
“It can wait.”
Well, I’m certainly not going to reject the opportunity to eat a honey cake fresh out of the oven.
The bakery is located at the end of a crooked lane shrouded in deepest shadow. We knock. I’m not expecting Nadia to answer the door at this hour, but to my surprise, she does, a wave of warm, sugar-dusted air billowing out onto the street. Flour coats the old woman’s apron and hair. One look at the two of us, and her entire face brightens. “Princess Sarai! And… is that Notus?” A girlish gasp escapes her. “My word, it is. Look at how you’ve grown!”
I bite back a shock of laughter. The woman has no idea Notus is immortal. He hasn’t aged a day since he left.
“Let me guess,” she says, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re here for the honey cakes? Don’t you think that I’ve forgotten.”
Notus ducks his head sheepishly. “Guilty.”
All right, evenIfind his reaction adorable. It must be something in the air.
“Lucky for you,” she says, “they’ve just come out of the oven. Just a moment.”
When Nadia disappears into the back, the South Wind murmurs, “There’s a bakery in the City of Gods that is renowned for their cinnamon biscuits. Father would take my brothers and I when we were young.” He stalls there, as though unwilling to cross an unseen threshold. “Next door was the armory, and after purchasing a few sweets, we would wander the shelves of weapons. One day, Father told us each to select one.”
