A chaste thing. A small, impersonal peck. That was the intent. But the moment Notus’ lips touch mine, I open for him, drawing him as easily as a needle draws thread, into the velvet darkness of memory.
As soon as my tongue brushes his, something snaps in him. He growls low and gathers me close. His fingers spear through my hair. He tilts back my head, plundering my mouth of every sweet drop. His hunger is like mine: a bottomless pit. It pulls me down, and I go willingly, any semblance of modesty forgotten.
I didn’t expect this, but… I want it. I wanthim, the way a river seeks the sea. The circumstances that have forced us together aren’t ideal, but I can’t deny I still feel things for this immortal. Icravehim.
A collective “Ooooh”sounds, and we jerk apart like startled rabbits. The surrounding crowd is a streaming blur of color. My mouth feels tender, like a bruise. The South Wind’s face is nearly as red as mine.
“Again!” someone shouts. “Kiss again!”
“I think that’s enough for today,” I state loudly, so it carries to the farthest reaches of the street. When Notus catches my eye, I hurriedly look elsewhere, fearing he can sense my erratic breathing.
This is going to be a long day indeed.
“Princess Sarai. A word?”
I turn to face Prince Balior. We arrived back at the palace less than an hour ago, my mouth still tender from Notus’ kiss. The South Wind fled to his chambers as if pursued by death itself. I tell myself not to take it personally.
“I apologize, Prince Balior, but I need to change for dinner. Might we have this conversation over tonight’s lamb?”
“All I ask is five minutes of your time.” He steps closer, and a rush of clove-scented air barrages my senses. My eyes water from the strength of it. “Please.”
There is an earnestness to his expression I have not seen previously. It looks ill-fitted against his features. The sooner we have this conversation, the sooner I can return tonotthinking about the kiss.
I nod, gesturing him into a vacant sitting room. He sinks onto an armchair. I select its turquoise-colored neighbor. Through the tall, arched windows spanning one wall, Mount Syr thrusts upward to pierce the blue, blue sky.
“First,” he says, “I wish to apologize for my behavior of late.” He sits straight in his chair, gaze direct. “It has been difficult coping with the knowledge that even the best-laid plans can veer off course.”
I nod in understanding, despite the disquiet worming through me. “I accept your apology.”
He appears relieved, and relaxes into the cushions. “I also want to apologize for keeping you in the dark regarding my research, as I mentioned during the ball. I promised to help you find a solution regarding the darkwalkers plaguing Ammara.” His foot taps once, twice, then stills. “I consider myself a man of my word, and I failed to keep that promise.”
“It’s all right,” I reassure. “We have both been busy. I would not expect you to drop everything in order to cater to my needs.”
“Regardless, I’m disappointed in myself.” Leaning forward, he props his elbows on his thighs, fingers loosely linked between his legs. “I haven’t put forth my best effort. Consequently, I sabotaged our relationship before it ever had the opportunity to flourish. And now the darkwalkers have attacked the city… I feel terrible. You could have been killed.”
None of Prince Balior’s men were reported among the casualties, as far as I know. Could that mean some level of involvement? Difficult to say. As for the rest, I do believe he is remorseful, but what’s done is done. “Prince Balior—”
“Can I askwhyyou broke off our courtship?” He studies me in a ponderous manner, like I am something to be dissected. I’ve the inane urge to shield my chest with my arms. “When I thought deeply on the matter,” he continues, “I couldn’t believe that my research was the crux of it. After all, I’ve been open with you about my fascination with the labyrinth, haven’t I?”
“You have.”
Prince Balior nods, pleased that his hunch was correct. “Was it something I said? Have I offended you in any way, your culture or your people?”
This conversation feels far more fragile than I had expected it to. I do not wish to offend Prince Balior further. Neither do I wish to anger him. Ammara is unstable enough and cannot shield itself against additional strain. Has Prince Balior invited darkness into Ammara’s heart?
“I know it may be difficult to accept,” I say, “but the South Wind and I have a history, and while a union with Um Salim would provide certain advantages, the South Wind is still the most powerful being in the realm. Binding my life to his comes with undeniable advantages.”
He shakes his head, mouth quirked in an emotion that is decidedly not humor. “See, that doesn’t make sense to me. King Halim was quite aggressive in his pursuit of joining our realms. He was also enraged to learn of your deceit. It gave me the impression that there was another reason you rejected my proposal.”
Since our conversation during the ball, I’ve questioned the next step. What is the good of trying to free myself if my people turn around and find themselves conquered by Um Salim? But maybe I’ve been navigating this all wrong. I’ve been acting on assumption only. Not truth. Not evidence. As a result, I’ve failed to give the prince an opportunity to defend himself.
“If we are to become husband and wife,” I begin slowly, “then I would expect you to act with integrity. You must be someone whose word I could trust.”
“You can’t trust my word?”
Deep breath. In, and out.“I… came across certain information that made me question your motivation for agreeing to the marriage.”
“Ah.” His head drops forward, hand pressed against his mouth. “The army.”
