I don’t want to hurt him.
But sitting beside him now, his arm slung casually over my shoulders, something is different.Iam different. I don’t desire him in the same way. I still love him—I think I always will—but the burning passion is gone.
Melancholy weighs my heart like a rusted anchor.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Everything will change.
I swallow hard, pushing past the tightness in my throat.
“Did the second shipment of food stores arrive?” I ask.
Daak scrubs a hand behind his neck, grinning. “They have. And get this—Arbinj sent over three times the agreed amount. Meat, vegetables, grain. Either someone’s terrible at sums, or they’re bleeding coin and don’t know it.”
I frown. That’s not a small oversight. Still, if it means my people won’t go hungry, I won’t question it. After this is over, when Varad is dead, they’ll never be hungry again.
“How’s Father?” My voice drops. “He hasn’t responded to any of my letters.” Bitterness creeps into my words before I can rein it back.
Daak sighs, brushing a kiss to the top of my head. “He’s well. He worries for you. I tried to convince him to write back, but he didn’t see the point. Any letter would’ve been read several times over before you ever saw it.”
Didn’t see the point? He could’ve asked how I was doing without revealing our plan. If I was being treated well. If I was harmed. If I needed anything. My eyes burn.
“Hey,” Daak says softly. “Remember when I first came to the palace? What you and Sura did?”
I loose a watery laugh at the memory. I was fifteen and furious that Father had appointed a “combat” instructor without consulting me. I expected a grumpy battle-hardened man, not a handsome man of twenty.
Tumaas tried to talk us out of our plan, as he often did, but Sura could never be swayed once she made up her mind. So the two of us offered to give Daak a tour of the capital, trudging through snow and ice to reach the open sea. We took a canoe out to Tarka Island—and left Daak stranded and paddled back.
“Not our brightest idea,” I laugh, wiping my eyes. “Especially when you just froze the water and marched back, ready to drown us.”
Daak chuckles. “I was pretty pissed. I knew then that I’d have my hands full with you.” He cups my cheek, all traces of humor vanished from his face. “I know this has taken a toll on you. I can see it—you seem different. But it’s almost over, Mayah. All of it will have been worth it. Just bear it a little longer. For me.”
I can.
I can bear it.
It’s the lies we tell ourselves that keep us moving forward.
Chapter Forty-Five
GregoranandFreynkflankme as I head toward the infirmary. My footsteps are sluggish, shoulders slumped as if there’s a staggering musk-ox draped across them. I wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and smother myself in Zev’s lingering smoky scent, growing fainter each day. My nights are restless, constant tossing and turning. Agonizing. I wish I could’ve slept a bit longer this morning.
But princesses don’t get the luxury of sleeping in.
Or choices.
“Princess?” Gregoran says, clearing his throat. He looks at me expectantly as we turn a corner. Shit. I missed his question.
“Sorry, what was that?” I ask.
“I asked if you are all right?”
I bristle. What does he suspect? “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His face reddens, and he sneaks a glance above my head at Freynk.
“Apologies, Princess. We don’t wish to overstep. Prince Zevayr instructed us to keep a closer eye on you while he’s away. And you seem … sad.”
