Zev.
My heart flutters.
True to his word, Zev has made the most of his second chance. Our bed is cold when I wake in the morning, but he never misses lunch with me. Most nights, he comes to bed early, the hours melting away as we talk in the hush of darkness until sleep claims us both. We’ve yet to explore the capital, but he’s promised to take me once things settle down with the Rebellion.
“Soon,” he murmured as we lay in bed last night, facing each other with scarcely half a foot between us. “I’ll take you to my favorite tavern. They have the best mushroom stew in all of Arbinj.” I had laughed at him and his obsession with mushroom stew, trying to mask the effect he was having on me.
Even now, desire curls low in my belly at the memory of his voice—deep and rough and sinful enough to melt the iciest resolve. Each night stretches the fraying edges of my control. I start on my side of the bed, determined to resist him, but as the hours slip by, I find myself drifting toward him like a moth to flame. And when his fingers trace my jaw or his hand tightens around mine, tension ripples through him, barely restrained desire vibrating just beneath the surface.
I know he’s just waiting for me.
I hide a smile, pulled from my thoughts as a young woman walks into the infirmary. She’s a new face—Sauzon says the number of women seeking care has almost quadrupled.
A swell of pride warms my chest.
She offers a tentative smile and shuffles over.
“Y-your Majesty. Princess. Um, hi,” she stammers, tucking a lock of chocolate brown hair behind her ear before falling into a deep curtsy.
I try to ease her nerves with a warm smile. “Hello. What’s your name?” I gesture for her to sit on the neatly-made cot before me.
“Lunayra.”
“That’s beautiful. What is troubling you, Lunayra?”
She bites her lip, eyes flicking to Sauzon standing at the infirmary desk a few feet away. “It’s my monthly bleeding,” she whispers. “It’s extremely painful. Sometimes, I can’t even get out of bed.” She clutches her lower stomach, grimacing. “I’m sorry to trouble you for something so trivial … you treated my friend last week for a broken finger. She said you’d understand.”
I place a hand on her shoulder. “Lunayra, if something is causing you pain, there’s nothing trivial about it. I’m glad you came to see me.”
Debilitating monthly bleeds are not uncommon. Icouldplace a temporary block that would prevent a cycle altogether—I performed it on myself years ago. I worry my lower lip. But if something were to happen to me—if I couldn’t heal anymore or if I left Arbinj … or if an assassination attempt were successful—Lunayra would be left unable to conceive unless she found another healer to undo the block.
Which is unlikely in Arbinj.
“I’ll soothe the pain now,” I tell her. “There’s an herbal tonic that Sauzon can give you—take it in the evenings, and it’ll alleviate the discomfort at night. Come back tomorrow if you’re still in pain. I’ll heal you again.”
Her bright smile is grateful, infectious. I set my glowing palms to her abdomen and channel my power through her lower belly. Lunayra breathes a sigh of relief, the tension easing from her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she whispers, green eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you so much, Princess.”
“Of course. See Sauzon on your way out for the herbal tonic.” I give her a mock-stern look. “And I mean it. Come back tomorrow if you’re still in pain.”
After Lunayra leaves, Sauzon’s deadpan voice calls out, “Time for a snack, Princess.”
I groan. “I’ll eat some fruit later.”
Sauzon straightens, glaring at me over his spectacles. “It’ll be my hide if the prince finds out. Fruit. Now.Please.”
“I would never let him lash you.”
“Wonderful. My fate rests in the hands of a wisp of a princess. Very reassuring.”
A peal of laughter bursts from my chest. “Wisp I may be, but I’m persuasive! At the very least, I’d heal your back.”
Sauzon fixes me with a stern look, though his mouth twitches.
“Whatthe fuck, Sauzon?” a deep, gravelly voice rumbles from the hallway. Sauzon freezes, dark eyes wide with panic behind his spectacles. Zev stalks into the infirmary, his face bearing the wrath of lightning itself. “Did you just refer to my wife as a ‘wisp’?”
The blood drains from Sauzon’s face, and he takes a shaky step back. “Sire, I meant no—”
