“And what of Prince Balior’s army? Who is to say he will not retaliate to this disgrace with force?”
It may take time—days or weeks—but eventually, Prince Balior will lower his blade, lift the white cloth of surrender. He will not wish to steep in this humiliation.
“Prince Balior is too proud to resort to threats,” I explain. “He wants his victory to be earned, not coerced.”
“Sarai—”
“I know,” I rush to say. “And you’re right: I’ve placed both you and Father in difficult positions. And I’m sorry, truly. I know how it feels to be trapped into something you don’t want. But what’s done is done. Now I must figure out how to protect Ammara to the best of my ability.”
It is not surrender. I am not baring my belly to the god who shattered my heart. But as much as I wish otherwise, Notus’ cooperation is necessary. I’m no longer the girl I was. My skin does not tear so easily.
“Will you help me?” I implore him.
The South Wind’s gaze leaps to mine. Those shining pupils gleam with a focus so acute I am temporarily left wanting. All of this, every effort, to bind myself in appearance to the immortal I despise. For Ammara. For my people. Nothing and no one else.
In the end, it is Notus who looks away first. “What must I do?”
12
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, NOTUS’BELONGINGSare moved into the chambers adjacent to my room. In the hours since declaring our betrothal to King Halim, I did what I rarely do, and I tossed breadcrumbs to the court. The story unfolded like so: Darkwalker sighted in the library yesterday evening. None were harmed, though extra security measures have been put in place to protect the royal family. The South Wind’s presence is a necessary precaution.
I’d hoped that his proximity would grant us the opportunity to unravel the mystery of the labyrinth without interruption. Unfortunately, Notus seems to avoid my company at all costs. Some mornings as I lie in bed, I listen through the shared wall as he dresses for the day. By the time I gather the courage to approach his door, he has already departed, none the wiser to my increasingly vivid dreams, which feature his broad hands and swift fingers. Sometimes, I fall asleep with my hand between my legs, skin stinging with perspiration following a particularly sweet release.
A week after the darkwalker sighting, I inform my maidservants that I will be taking breakfast in my chambers rather than in the dining room. It is early—before dawn—but I want to catch Notus before he leaves. Too easily, he slips from my grasp. Today, I will not allow it.
Grabbing a robe from my wardrobe, I wrap it around my nightgown and belt it at the waist. Then I cross to the interconnecting doorbetween our rooms. Ear pressed against the wood, I listen to the rustle of clothing as he dons his uniform. When I knock, the rustling stops.
Then, the South Wind’s slow footfalls, their undeniable approach. I catch my breath, neutralize my features as the lock flips and Notus pulls open the door.
He wears a pair of trousers and a tunic so thin that the curl of chest hair bleeds through the fabric. The disheveled state of his hair suggests he has run his fingers through it repeatedly—or someone else has. As soon as the thought forms, I discard it. I’ve heard no indication of Notus hosting guests. And I refuse to consider the possibility.
“Good morning.” I offer him a smile. “Would you care to join me for breakfast?”
He stares at me. “Breakfast.”
“Yes, breakfast. According to some, the most important meal of the day.” I gesture toward my sitting room, where two place settings await, in addition to assorted fruits, fresh bread, sliced vegetables with hummus, and steaming tea.
Notus looks to the spread, back to me, back to the spread, back to me.
“I don’t bite,” I reassure him.
“Much.”
My mouth parts in surprise, and bit of laughter slips out. Well, he’s not wrong. “Look.” Boldly, I rest a palm on his chest, over the hard kick of his heart. “If we’re going to convince Prince Balior that he’s lost the battle, we need to be a little more…convincing.”
His gaze drops to the hand on his chest. The drum beneath my palm quickens. “A love match.” He lifts his head, eyes darkening in both wariness and understanding.
My face warms, and I snatch my hand away in sudden retreat. “It was once.” It takes more strength than I care to admit, to voice that aloud. “Obviously, circumstances have changed, but I believe we can put on a decent front, don’t you?”
He scrubs a hand along his jaw. “I suppose…”
“Great.” I tug him across the threshold. “Then we’ll need to practice. Obviously.”
“Of course,” he replies smoothly.
He takes a seat. I take a seat. We sit near enough that, were I to angle slightly to the right, our knees would touch.
“Tea?” I inquire. At his nod, I pour him a cup. Notus returns the favor. He even adds a spoonful of sugar, just how I like it. I watch him beneath lowered lashes as he takes a sip. After a period of silence, he sets the cup on the table.
