“Faerahzar?” Mayah says with a smile. “We call him Faerataak the Mighty.” She nudges my arm with her elbow. “He was Tundrayni.”
My lips quirk. I haven’t said a word, but she can read the grief in my heart. She’s trying to console me, and her kindness warms my soul, even if nothing can fill the hole Mother’s death left inside me.
“Don’t say that to anyone else. You’ll get sucked into a two-hour-long debate about why he wasdefinitelyArbinji. Or you’ll get stabbed.”
I reach up to replace the book, but Mayah snatches it from my hands. “I’d like to read it.”
I freeze. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Truth.
She truly wants to read this fantastical children’s book. Forme. Her earnest expression stokes the embers of hope inside me—that maybe, just maybe, she’s falling for me, too.
She clutches the book to her chest, averting her gaze.
By the Skies, one day she’ll stand unflinching before the love in my eyes. She’ll bask in its warmth, not shrink away from it.
“Can we see the Healing Chambers next?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, we call it an infirmary here.”
“What’s that smell?” she asks, nose wrinkling as we enter.
“Antiseptic,” I chuckle. “It’s mostly alcohol. Used to prevent infection.”
“Sire,” Sauzon greets, white hair glinting in the light as he bows deeply. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Sauzon. This is Princess Mayah.”
Mayah dips her chin in greeting, but her gaze flits over the patients lying in cots, lingering on the sleeping man she healed last night.
I know my tender-hearted wife is itching to heal every last one. With a nod to Sauzon, I usher her into the hallway before she can offer. After the debacle last night and rumors about her sympathizing with the Rebellion, there’s a large target square on her back.
I distract her before she can protest.
Just before sunset, I take Mayah to the gardens where we were wed. With the chaos of that day, there was no time to properly enjoy its beauty.
I can’t tear my gaze from her face, lit with wonder at the colorful blooms lining the path.
“Do you miss the snow?” I ask quietly as we turn a corner.
She looks pleasantly surprised by my question. “Not today,” is all she says, squeezing my hand.
Her breath catches as we come across the picnic I planned.
The servants did well—lanterns are strung between the trees, and a checkered blanket stretches across the grass, a large bouquet arranged artfully in the center. A wicker basket rests beside it, its lid slightly ajar.
I watch for her reaction. Does she like the flowers?
She offers a small smile, and the tension seeps from my shoulders.
We sit on the blanket, eating in comfortable silence.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. I know she means for the day we’ve shared.
My lips twist in an apologetic smile. “I won’t have as much time these next few days. There are movements with the Rebellion. And the hopeful alliance with Volca. I’ll be caught up in meetings.”
