She takes a deep breath, deflated. “Very well.”
The air between us is heavy as I go to the place where all the pain started.
Our wedding night. The first memory that was broken and is possibly the most damaged of them all.
I show her everything I saw. Every scar and reminder of the texture of the skin. I speak the sacred words between us, of love and promised protection. I glide with her through the water as our tongues and teeth clash together over and over. As I explore her body, and then finally, enter. I bind myself to her body and soul.
The feeling is so potent between us that I take a deep breath to keep from spending in my breeches.
Not yet.Not like this.
In real time, she gasps, clearly overwhelmed.
I focus on her flushed face and the rise and fall of her chest. All the tears have burned away in the heat of her skin.
“I—” she breathes. “That was real.”
She presses a hand to her feverish skin.
I nod. The closeness between us still feels far away. As our chests heave, almost but not quite brushing, the mellifluous sound fills the room.
“Estela,” I say again. “I will wait an eternity for such moments to happen between us. You set the pace. Can I try to clean you once more? Or would you like to?”
Her mouth close.
“No, I want you.” Her shaking fingers remove her clothes, and I wait with far more patience than the blood rushing through my veins allots me.
When she is bare, I dip the rag in and rub it over her skin. It is my joy to watch as her flesh pebbles and her nipples bead.
It is pleasure enough.
“Talk to me,” she says when water drips down one arm and her eyes squeeze shut.
“Of what, my star?” I murmur.
“You know so much of me, of my pains. Show me your scars,” she says, still mostly breathless.
I pause. “You wish to know of…”
“Your time with the giant queen.” She hesitates, opens her eyes, and then continues. “I know what your father asked of you—we’ve spoken of that before. I just want to know more.”
The heat between us evaporates. But perhaps, that is for the best if she is not ready to fully submerge in the tub. Perhaps vulnerability is exactly what our moment together calls for.
“I thought of it often as I came for you.”
She nods, as I lather soap onto the rag and rub it into the faded powder and grime.
“The woman that Mrath made me kill was Lijasa’s sister,” I say, trying to fight past the tightness in my throat.
I don’t speak of the human she murdered. Not yet.
She looks horrified. “Are you all right?”
I nod. “Lijasa came from a poisoned vine. All those around her were just products of the same world.”
Estela watches me. “I don’t want to talk about you together… It makes my blood boil. It is hard to hate someone so much when they are dead. I detest abhorring someone I can’t strangle.”
I raise my eyebrows at her murderous words.
