Zarrah didn’t know what was real. Couldn’t remember. Couldn’t think, because it felt as though her mind were unraveling like a spool of thread.
The room spun in a darkening blur of colors as she sucked in breath after breath that didn’t reach her lungs. “I feel sick,” she gasped, and then everything went dark.
“I hate how right she was.” Zarrah squeezed her eyes shut. “She said that the moment I was back in your presence, I’d fall back in your bed. That my loyalty to Valcotta would always come second to my desire for you.”
“Petra’s a master manipulator,” he answered. “She’s also a fucking madwoman.”
“Yet she saw the truth. As did Bermin.” In a surge of motion, Zarrah leaned across the small space, her hands pressed to either side of him. Cheek brushing his as she whispered into his ear, “How can I be the empress Valcotta needs when all I want is to do is fall to my knees and suck the King of Maridrina’s cock?”
The muscles of his jaw tightened. “That’s not what I want from you.”
“Because it’s all about what you want.” She moved her head, lips grazing his. “It’s all about having things your way, on your terms. I know that better than anyone. Have watched you do it time and again. Watched you do it today. Yet it doesn’t seem to matter when I’m in your presence, because all I want is you.”
Keris pulled away from her. “There was a time I thought I’d die to hear you say that again, Valcotta, but not like this.”
She was furious with herself, but Zarrah found herself turning her venom on him. “So sorry to disappoint.”
“Don’t.” He gave her a warning glare. “There is a limit to the abuse I’ll take just because you drank that bitch’s poison. It’s Petra who deserves your hate, yet you treat her words as though they were delivered by God. Like a fucking mantra.”
“I do hate her.” Her hands clenched into fists. “I don’t want to listen to her. Except to ignore the truth because it came from the mouth of my enemy is just as foolish as believing lies.”
“Petra has taken the truth about us and twisted it to the point it barely resembles reality, yet somehow you now hold it as memory. She’s undermined your judgement by making you believe that everything you did was motivated by lust.”
Nausea swam in Zarrah’s gut, her head a mess, no part of her able to focus on a thought. “I’m losing my mind.” She stared at her palms, which were marked with bleeding crescents. “I feel like I’m going mad.”
“You’re not going mad.” He gripped her hands. “Petra knows we are stronger united, so it is in her interest to turn you against me even as she turns you against yourself. But ask yourself this: If I manipulated you and used you as part of my scheme to further myself, why am I here now? If all I cared about was gaining the crown, why did I leave it in my half sister’s hands to race south to risk my life freeing you from prison? Why am I with you in Arakis, searching for the rebels, if all I care about is a plush life in a palace surrounded by women? Because to be very clear, if that was what I wanted, I could have it in a heartbeat.” His eyes searched hers. “Deep down, you must know that what she claims doesn’t make sense.”
Zarrah didn’t know what was real. Couldn’t remember. Couldn’t think, because it felt as though her mind were unraveling like a spool of thread.
The room spun in a darkening blur of colors as she sucked in breath after breath that didn’t reach her lungs. “I feel sick,” she gasped, and then everything went dark.
HE CAUGHT ZARRAH as she slumped sideways, though her loss of consciousness was brief.
Gasping, she jerked awake.
“Breathe.” He held her steady. “Breathe, or you’ll pass out again.”
Her dark eyes were full of panic as she fought to get air into her lungs, and Keris wanted to scream in rage at what had been done to her. Petra, with her heartless guile, had turned Zarrah against herself, stripping the woman he loved of her confidence, her fearlessness, her brilliance. And she’d used him to do it.
“I can’t …” She was shaking like a leaf, tears coating her cheeks. “I don’t know who I am
anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You are Zarrah Anaphora,” he said. “The daughter of Aryana Anaphora, who was the named heir of Ephraim Anaphora. You are a warrior. A general. And by Valcottan law, the rightful empress of this empire. You are in Arakis to join forces with an army capable of overthrowing your aunt, who unlawfully usurped the throne and murdered your mother. And once you have succeeded in liberating Valcotta from her tyranny, you will end the Endless War and bring peace to the Empire.”
Zarrah drew in a long, shuddering breath, then nodded once. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was. I’m fine now.”
She wasn’t fine, had only wrestled her emotions back behind walls, where they’d simmer until something caused them to boil over again. Petra had had most of Zarrah’s life to sink her claws deep.
She’d woven the threads of her niece’s psyche and knew exactly which ones to tug to unravel the whole. Whether there were more threads to be pulled remained to be seen, and the thought terrified him.
She shivered, and instinctively he pulled her closer. Zarrah molded against him, arms around his waist. She felt limp, exhausted, as though their conversation had stolen every ounce of energy she possessed.
“I can go ask for more wood for the fire.” His voice rasped, and he coughed to clear it, painfully aware of the press of her naked skin against his. Of the taste of her still lingering on his lips. “We may be here for a while.”
“Not yet,” she answered, her head resting against his uninjured shoulder. “The soldiers might still be in the building. Or come back. Better to wait.”
“Right.”
Reaching down, he pulled the cheap silk sheets over her bare legs, easing her down onto the bed so that they were facing each other. His shoulder felt like it was trying to murder him from within, but Keris ignored the pain to lift his hand and brush her hair from her face.
The corner of Zarrah’s mouth turned up, but her eyes were full of sadness. “What are we doing, Keris? How many times will we come together, only for circumstance to pull us apart?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, pain, old and new, welling in his heart.
“Is there a future for us?” she asked. “Is there a path forward I’m not seeing that allows everything we’re fighting for to coexist with us spending our nights in each other’s arms?”
The word yes tried to push its way from his lips, but he swallowed it down. “No.”
“Then why do we keep trying?” Her lip quivered, and he watched her bite down on it, warring with emotions. “Why do we inflict such suffering upon ourselves? Why do we come together,
knowing that the wound will inevitably be torn open again?”
He didn’t want to answer these questions. Wanted to close his mouth over hers to silence them, because to answer would be to impose logic on matters of the heart. Instead he cleared his throat, voice hoarse as he said, “For my part, it is the absence from you that cuts deepest, the wound growing crueler with every hour, day, week that I cannot see your face or hear your voice. The hope that our separation will end, even briefly, allows me to endure the pain, but if I were to lose that hope, I think the wound would fester until it consumed me entirely.”