His breath caught in his throat and the words were on the tip of his tongue, just about to disastrously spill out.
“I love you.”
But they stayed in his mouth. What would happen if he said it?
He wouldn’t hear it back. He wouldn’t, would he?
Why would she be competing if she loved him?
He didn’t need to say it. His father was finally dying, and when he breathed his last, Nikias would be free of the deal he’d made. He would have options again. He could be patient in winning Aimilia’s love.
Or… if his worst fears were true, he could keep his vow and never marry, leaving the line of succession to Gavril and his future children with Marcella.
Nikias was so focused on keeping the words inside, the silence stretched on, until Aimilia said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
A knock sounded on the door, and it was opening before Nikias was forced to answer.
He rose from his seat, turning to see Commander Cyprian entering with a tray in one hand, the same kind of strange pot and cups on it that Aimilia had always used in Areator for the tea she made, a specialty of House Mitis.
“Aimilia, good to see you awake. I assume His Highness has told you that you made it to the next round,” Cyprian said as he carried the tray over to the cot. “Ovidius told me it was imperative you get some of this in your system to replenish your strength.”
Aimilia started to reach for the tray, but Nikias took it instead, shooting a pointed look at her bandaged arm and earning an eye roll for it. He set it on her lap and poured the cup for her, steam rising from the liquid. She looked over Nikias’ shoulder. “Have you been to see Commander Eleni? What happened?”
When Nikias straightened up, he saw Cyprian wipe away the disgusted look he’d been giving the scene of Nikias servingAimilia. He just looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, daring him to comment on it.
Instead, Cyprian looked back at Aimilia and said, “Last I heard, she was alive, but still comatose while the healers worked. It’s only been a day.”
Aimilia nodded, running her fingers over the metal on the tray.
“Your Highness, I believe your mother was looking for you. We should go and leave Aimilia to drink the tea and rest, and you can see what your mother needs from you,” Cyprian said, gesturing for the door.
Nikias might have already been pushing his luck with Aimilia—she’d been keeping herself at arms distance—but he didn’t like Cyprian’s insistence, nor the idea of going to see his mother.
A hand gently wrapped around his wrist, not even aggravating the bruises hidden beneath his illusion.
“My mother can wait, and I’ll thank you not to insert yourself into royal matters, Commander. I’m not finished here yet,” Nikias said.
He had no idea what Aimilia wanted him to stay for, but if she wanted him near her for even a second longer, he’d take it.
Cyprian narrowed his eyes at Aimilia, and Nikias shifted, blocking his view of her. He relaxed his expression and said, “My apologies, Your Highness, for overstepping. All I ask then is that you ensure my niece drinks the tea so she can fully recover and the two of us can see who truly is fit to become the next Head of House Mitis.”
Cyprian left with a short bow, and Nikias waited until the door was closed before turning back to Aimilia, who was still gently holding his wrist.
She was staring at their hands, not looking him in the eyes.
“What is it?”
Aimilia finally looked up. “I just… wasn’t ready for you to go.”
“I’m here for as long as you want me.” His heart beat faster as he took his seat again. After barely getting to lay eyes on her for a week, Nikias was starved for her presence.
She ran her fingers over his skin and whispered, “What am I going to see if you drop the illusion?”
She saw right through him. She always did.
Nikias did so with a small wave of his other hand, and the skin beneath Aimilia’s fingertips turned mottled dark purple and yellow in the shape of his mother’s hand. A few more fingertip-shaped bruises were on his forearm.
He let her pull his arm a little closer as she studied the marks, fighting the instinctual urge to pull his hand back, to hide, deny and lie about them all.
