I wasn’t expecting him to care about what might please me. The thought opens a door I don’t want to open. Because if my feelings matter, then why wasn’t I given a choice about who I was mated to for life?
No one gave him a choice either,I think.
He’s the ruler of an entire biome, handed a bride who might hate him. He arrogantly told me how confident he was that I’d choose him, but some of that was bravado. If he thought it was a done deal, he wouldn’t care what I wanted to eat or do. He would make pretty flowers for me.
He’s making the best of this situation.
We ready ourselves, then he leads me out of the room.
He takes me to the catwalks that run from the fortress, but then we go on ones that are higher and deeper into the jungle than I saw before. We take a spiral stair, every landing open to the wild. The higher we go, the brighter the air gets. The scent ofcinnamon decreases. The wind carries in the scent of distant rain and something more peach than citrus.
The bridge he leads me to is little more than a mesh of vines, strung between impossibly tall trees. The wind’s higher here—cool and sharp, pulling at my robe. I look down and instantly regret it. The forest floor is a hundred feet below, nothing but a blur of green. My head spins.
Rythar puts a hand on my lower back, steadying me with a pressure that says,You will not fall. He steps onto the bridge first, testing each section before I follow. His weight barely flexes the structure, as if his weight is just a whisper on the vines.
My own steps are hesitant. The first step is bad. The second is worse. By the third, I'm clutching the rope rail with both hands, fingernails biting into vine. The bridge dips under my foot. Three inches, maybe. I latch onto Rythar's arm. My fingers dig in hard enough that I feel his muscle tense under the skin. He doesn't flinch. His free hand comes up and covers mine where I grip him. His thumb traces one slow pass across my knuckles, and the corner of his mouth lifts.
"You are afraid," he says. His voice is even, but he looks down at my hands wrapped around his arm with a pleased look.
"Of heights," I admit. It comes out strangled. "I grew up underground."
His fingers tighten over mine, once, a squeeze that lingers. "Hold on to me for the crossing."
I want to let go to prove a point, but a hundred feet of nothing makes a convincing counterargument. I keep holding on, my cheek brushing his shoulder. He walks and I walk pressed against him. Every few steps I tell myself I will let go at the next landing.
At the next landing, I can’t do it. I can’t let go.
Rythar leans in, his lips grazing my ear. “You fear nothing else?” He’s not mocking me. He’s curious.
“Not as long as you’re with me,” I tell him breathlessly. I’ve seen what he can do with vines. I don’t need to ask him if I’m safe. He wouldn’t have me up here if I weren’t. But still, my adrenaline is pumping hard at the thought of falling from this height.
His body tightens at the words, but he keeps gracefully moving onto the next bridge. His steps are perfectly balanced. The whole bridge moves with him, the way the jungle moved for him before. Halfway across, the bridge forks, and Rythar stops. I’m terrified, but I can’t stop looking at him. We’re in a break in the treetop canopy and the sun is on us. The late afternoon light is reaching a golden hour. The gold catches on his copper skin and lights up the gold in his eyes.
One bridge leads deeper into the forest, the other to a platform hung with glowing lanterns and covered in a carpet of soft green vegetation. Rythar veers for the platform. A light moves in the distance below.
I point. “What’s that?”
“Patrol,” he grunts. “You may see more. They’re easier to spot from up here.”
We reach the platform. The air is thick and fragrant with the scent of spices and fruit and everything green, alive with shimmering spores bobbing in the fading sunlight.
We wander quietly along the edge of the platform. He guides me, letting me take it in. The view is even more staggering from here. The jungle ripples with light, and every plant seems to glow from within. I realize it’s not just the plants—the entire scene is bustling with luminous insects swirling gracefully through the air. They drift in lazy spirals, some the size of my hand, some barely specks.
Rythar turns me toward him.
My heart beats so hard I imagine he can hear it.
He steps closer, and the world narrows to light and height and breath. The fortress, the Stone, the arguments, all of it falls away. There is only wind and heat and the vast, living jungle beneath us. So different from my old world of concrete and rationed sunlight. Even our most carefully cultivated gardens were pale imitations of this.
I meet his eyes.
He lowers his head. Our mouths hover a breath apart.
“So this is how you win over reluctant brides?” I murmur.
His mouth curves slowly. “Win implies contest.”
“Oh, I assure you,” I say softly, “there is a contest.”
