Zevhasbeengonefor a week.
There was a storm last night, and I spent the entirety of it curled into a ball beneath the sheets, hands clamped over my ears, face damp with tears. I either fell asleep or fainted, I’m not sure which—either way, I woke the next morning wrapped in self-loathing.
“Would you like to look at the seating chart?” she asks, breaking me out of my reverie.
“Uh, no, that’s all right. I’m sure it’s perfect.” Her smile widens, until the dimple in her left cheek winks at me.
“Anything else?” Farzina asks. “I’ll retrieve your gown from the seamstress. I can’t believe the Festival is only a week away! Guests should begin arriving soon.”
I can’t match Farzina’s enthusiasm, not when guilt and confusion and indecision are tearing me apart.
“I can’t wait.” I smile at her like everything’s fine, like I haven’t spent the night sobbing into Zev’s pillow. Like I haven’t kissed one man while thinking about another. The lie tastes bitter, but I swallow it anyway.
I’ve become skilled at pretending I’m whole.
It was supposed to be simple.
Infiltrate. Poison. Rule.
So why does my heart twist every time I think of Zev’s smile? Why do my hands hesitate when I touch Daak? It’s like my body has already decided it belongs to someone else—it won’t betray him.
Even though I already have.
The day passes in a blur—I don’t remember what I ate for lunch, what wounds I healed, which guards shadowed me in the hallways. After the sun sets, I trudge through the tunnels. They’re familiar to me now. I don’t even need a torch.
Daak is already waiting for me. He’s quick to pull me into an embrace. It’s not entirely unwelcome—he’s warm and familiar. He cares for me. He loves me. And he’s my friend. It just doesn’t feelrightbecause he thinks I still feel the same.
“Here, try this,” he says, pressing a flaky pastry into my hand. “Arbinjis may be vile assholes, but their food? Delicious.”
I shove the pastry into my mouth with one bite.
Daak chuckles. “Ah, your ladylike manners. One of the things I love most about you.”
I laugh too hard—like if I laugh enough, I won’t notice the cold freezing me from the inside. Does Daak notice my smile doesn’t reach my eyes? I chew and swallow, even as the walls close in.
Daak brushes away a crumb from the corner of my mouth.
“There was a storm last night,” he says softly. “Were you all right?”
“Yeah,” I lie. I don’t want to talk about it.
“You could’ve come down here. I was waiting for you. I thought you’d need me.” Melancholy bathes his words, lines the slump in his shoulders.
“I’ve gotten better at handling it alone.” Another lie. “What did you do during storms after I left? You must have so much free time without me to babysit.”
“You know I didn’t think of it as babysitting,” he says softly, brushing a strand of my hair back. He doesn’t notice the tension in my spine as he draws near. Daak blows a quick puff of air through his lips, contemplating. “Actually, I don’t think there’ve been any storms since you left.”
“Really?” I frown. “That seems … unfair.”
Daak only hums, his blue gaze darkening as he looks at me. He inches closer. “I miss spending nights in your bed.”
I draw back, arms rigid at my sides. “I was passed out for most of those nights.”
“I can’t miss holding you?” He’s looking at me so intently, it makes my stomach churn.
“Anything else you can think of for the Festival?” I ask.
Daak eyes me for a beat before responding, his mouth tightening. “I don’t think so. We’re ready. Just waiting now.”
