Soon. I’ll tell her soon.
“I was hiding from my brother, too.”
I brace one arm against the door frame to our chambers, looking down at her. “Have you decided, wife?” I deepen my voice, hoping to distract her from her question. “Can I come inside?”
She bites her lower lip. “You don’t need permission to enter your own chambers.”
I lean closer, my breath fanning her ear, “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”
She shivers. “Your—your brother is looking for you.”
For a moment, I don’t process her words.
Then her rejection settles across my shoulders, tight and uncomfortable, like a cloak I’ve outgrown.
I nod stiffly, disappointment and hurt battering my heart. She wants me,caresfor me—I know she does. And we’re married. I don’t understand her hesitation.
When I step away, her hand thrusts out, fingers curling around my bicep.
“Wait! I—” A wary hope flickers within me as I rake my gaze over her, indecision clear on her face. “Iwantto, Zev. Truly. It’s just … even with our marriage, the situation is tense between our kingdoms. Your family still doesn’t trust Tundrayn. I’m afraid. Of being hurt. Of hurtingyou. I just need more time.” She cups my cheek, eyes soft and earnest.
Truth. All of it.
My heart melts. In her mind, our marriage isn’t permanent. Isn’treal. She sees it as an instrument of politics, and I can’t blame her. Not with how her father sent her here and how my father changed the script to suit his goals.
A weary exhale escapes me before I brush a kiss to her forehead and walk away.
The dungeon awaits.
I’m washing the blood from my hands when a haggard servant finds me and summons me to the council chambers, where I’m met with my father and Faramir’s grave faces.
“What’s happened?”
“Rebellion attack on the Valreyz base. Four hundred casualties on our side.”
I swear, low and colorful, settling into a chair across from Faramir.
“There hasn’t been an attack of this scale in nearly a year,” my father says, thick brows drawn together. He’s wearing his crown tonight, shoulders hunched beneath its weight.
“The timing is indeed … convenient,” Faramir drawls.
Silence descends on the room as both men look at me expectantly.
“What are you staring at me for?”
Faramir scoffs. “Let’s not dance around it, brother. Mayah is feeding them information.”
I blink.
Then my temper rages. “Whatthe fuckare you talking about?”
My father sighs wearily, as though he anticipated my reaction yet is still disappointed. “The timing is indeed strange, Zevayr,” he says matter-of-factly as if we’re discussing the weather and not my wife committing high treason.
“I’d hope,” I grit out, “that you gathered evidence before making this outrageous accusation. How in the ever-loving Skies do you think my wife managed to feed information to the Rebellion? That she’s even working with them? She never leaves the palace. She either remains in our chambers or heals in the infirmary.” Except earlier today when I caught her alone in a supply closet—I keep this detail to myself, though. Mayah spoke the truth when she said she wanted to be alone.
My father looks uncertain. Faramir has a disdainful smirk plastered to his face.
“She sends no letters. None come for her.” My hands clench the armrests until the wood groans.
