She shakes her head, slender throat bobbing. “It’s perfect.”
No prickles.
A relieved huff of breath. I grasp her hand, brushing my fingers over her knuckles, before carefully sliding the ring onto her finger.
She stares at her hand, at the symbol of our marriage.
“You’re trembling,” I murmur when she meets my gaze.
I press a kiss to her palm, then press it to my cheek, willing her to see the love in my eyes, though I don’t dare voice it. Not yet. “I know this doesn’t make up for everything. But I hope it’s a start.”
She nods again, her eyes almost glazed as she stares into mine. Her lips part, and unbidden, my gaze drops.
Skies, I want to kiss her.
But I don’t.
Because I want her to kissme. To want me. Tochooseme.
I want her to claim me, call mehers, because she didn’t choose to call me husband. Not truly.
I’m content to wait until then. Her gaze swirls with unchecked emotion, unshed tears glimmering in the moonlight.Soon, her beautiful blue eyes seem to whisper.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers. Our breaths mingle in the scant space, and I let myself imagine a whisper of disappointment in her soft sigh.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It’sautumninArbinjand nearly time for the Equinox Festival. The leaves in the gardens turn colors, the wind cooler with its kiss. As the season changed, so did the state of my marriage.
Healing in the infirmary has been a balm to Mayah’s soul, returning the brightness in her eyes that I’d dimmed by cloistering her away. I interrogated Sauzon thoroughly, of course. His childhood, his life, his marriage. Potential ties to the Rebellion. Any reason to hurt Mayah. Hours and hours of question after question, and he didn’t lie once. My heart rests easier knowing she’s safe in the heart of the palace, doing what she loves most—saving lives.
Mayah seems to have truly forgiven me for neglecting her in the early days of our marriage. Though I still leave before she wakes, we eat lunch together nearly every day, and I make sure to return to our chambers before she falls asleep—which has been both a blessing and a trial like nothing I’ve ever endured. Sharing a bed with her is the sweetest punishment. Bright eyes and bare shoulders wear down more of my restraint each night.And despite falling asleep apart, by morning, our limbs are always tangled together, leaving me painfully aroused.
It gives me some consolation, though, that her patience is also fraying.
“Soon,” I murmured as we lay in bed last night. “I’ll take you to my favorite tavern. They have the best mushroom stew in all of Arbinj.” She had laughed, teased me about my odd obsession with the soup, but her voice was breathless, her pupils blown wide. Unconsciously, she’d inched closer to me until there was scarcely half a foot between us.
I’m just waiting for her.
“…reinforcements to…” Jeyzar’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
The Rebellion has been quiet lately—still rumbling but nothing major. I can hardly focus on a word he says, droning on and on, and I make an excuse, ignoring my father’s disapproving glare.
“Zevayr,” he calls. Shit. I’d nearly made it to the door. “The Volcan delegation is arriving tonight. Do not miss it.”
I give a curt nod, then quickly leave before he can rope me into staying. Brisk footsteps lead me to the infirmary.
I’ve nearly reached the doors when I hear her lilting voice.
“I would never let him lash you,” my wife says. I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Wonderful,” Sauzon responds. “My fate rests in the hands of a wisp of a princess. Very reassuring.”
Mayah laughs, but irritation simmers in my chest. An irrational spark of jealousy flickers through me at the familiar way he speaks to her.
“Wisp I may be, but I’m persuasive! At the very least, I’d heal your back.”
“Whatthe fuck, Sauzon?” I growl. I stalk through the doorway, hands clenched at my sides. “Did you just refer to my wife as a ‘wisp’?”
