Nenavar. Sardovia. Kesath.
It all came crashing down on her again, all at once.
What were they doing?
She was going to get everyone killed.
Large arms reached around her waist, trying to bring her closer, but she stiffened at his embrace. The embrace of the Night Emperor.
Talasyn drew her hand back from Alaric’s hair to push at the wide slab of his shoulder. “Get off of me.”
He lifted his mouth from her clavicle. At first, he didn’t seem to understand. He squinted at her as though searching for answers, his brow creasing in bewilderment—hurt, almost. She remained still beneath him, turning her head to the side so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.
Then the common sense that had overtaken her must have returned to him, too. He rolled off her in an instant, scrambling as far from her as was possible without actually falling off the bed.
She couldn’t deny that something in her broke when he moved away.
Talasyn dove under the covers, pulling them up over her chin. She dared another glance at Alaric, his chest heaving, his lips wet and swollen, his black hair sticking up at odd angles from where she’d run her fingers through. An embarrassed flush colored his moon-kissed complexion as he reached down to rearrange his trousers. He looked as upset as she felt. The perfect pleasure of only a few moments ago had faded, leaving in its wake only a jumble of horrible thoughts, scattered and disjointed.
The man she had just done—that—with loathed her, and she was supposed to loathe him in turn. He was an unwilling political ally whom she would someday betray. He was her enemy. He was a monster.
And yet, her fingers were still sticky with his spend.
“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said. And, in the act of speaking, she burst whatever bubble they’d been trapped in for the past month. She ripped away all the illusions they’d labored under; she knew that the moment she saw the resignation creep over his face.
But it was a miracle how steady her voice was, how it didn’t falter in the slightest. Talasyn supposed that she could be grateful for small mercies. “We shouldn’t have done this,” she told him.
He opened his mouth, dark irises flashing silver. Would he argue with her? Did she want him to?
But he seemed to think better of it. He gave a short nod.
She stole out of bed, heading to her bathroom so she could clean up. “I changed my mind,” she announced. “You’re sleeping on the floor.”
Without waiting for his response, she slammed the bathroom door shut behind her. Closing it between them, a shield from further mistakes.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A pillow slammed into Alaric’s face in the early morning, unceremoniously rousing him from slumber.
His eyes flew open with a start. He grabbed the offending pillow and tossed it back where it came from, to his hellcat of a new bride. It landed in Talasyn’s lap, and he belatedly registered that she was sitting up in bed and looking at him in panic while a series of knocks sounded lightly on the door.
Every muscle in his body groaned in protest as he scrambled to his feet. He had enough presence of mind to return the cushions that he’d liberated from the chaise longue to their proper place, but he couldn’t help scowling at Talasyn as he joined her on the bed.
I can’t believe you made me sleep on the floor, he thought darkly. It wasn’t that he hadn’t gotten what he deserved for taking liberties with her, but he’d had a rough night’s sleep and he wasn’t inclined to be charitable.
She ignored him, calling out something in Nenavarene to whoever had come knocking. The door creaked open and Jie entered, clearly trying to fight back a saucy leer at the sight of the imperial couple side by side on the canopy bed.
“If it pleases His Majesty,” Jie said, “the Lachis’ka has to get ready for breakfast now.”
As Jie ushered Talasyn into the bathroom, Alaric took great care to avoid looking either of them in the eye. Right before the door closed behind them, though, Jie erupted into rapid, excited chatter. There was no mistaking what that tone implied, even if he couldn’t parse the language, and regret and disbelief were sharp and heavy in the pit of his stomach as it all came rushing back to him. What he had done last night. With the Lightweaver. With the girl he’d met in battle whom he was now married to.
Why had she let him touch her? Why had she returned his kisses and touched him back?
She had called him Alaric. It was the first time he had ever heard his name in the shape of her voice. It had added to the blood pounding in his ears, to the fire in his soul. The memory of it now sent a pang through his chest.
He stared at his hand, holding it up to the early-morning light. The small shards of diamantine gemstones embedded into the wedding band on his ring finger sparkled.
This hand had been between his wife’s legs last night. The middle finger of this hand had been inside her.
She had fallen apart around him, and that fluttering of her inner walls as she clamped down had been the best thing he’d ever felt—perhaps even better than when he had come all over her lithe hand.
It haunted him: the sound of her soft cries, and the unexpected gentleness with which she’d stroked his hair as he lay slumped atop her, his world irrevocably changed.
But he was sailing home today, home to the nation that had caused her so much suffering. She wouldn’t be joining him for another fortnight. By that time, it would be too late to get those moments back.
Wasn’t that for the best, though?
Not long after Talasyn had finished dressing, an attendant knocked on the door with a summons from the Zahiya-lachis. Talasyn wondered what fault of hers had been unearthed by her grandmother this time, and then it struck her what a sad reaction that was to your own family wanting to speak with you.
Had she shared such a grievance with Urduja, the older woman would have scoffed. The Zahiya-lachis of the Nenavar Dominion had little patience for sentiment, and that was never more apparent as when she received Talasyn in her salon minutes later.
“Seeing as no corpses were discovered in your chambers this morning, I trust that you and the Night Emperor had an amicable night together.”
By some miracle, Talasyn was able to hold her grandmother’s gaze in a calm manner from across the table, even as her fingers twisted nervously into the fabric of her skirt. “It went fine.”
“I dearly hope that such a blissful state of affairs won’t prove to be the exception to the rule.” Urduja paused as though reconsidering her statement, then inclined her head in a thoughtful nod. “Well, up until the endgame, anyway.”
Talasyn’s heart dropped into her stomach. It wasn’t as though she’d forgotten . . .
No. That wasn’t true. There were moments on Belian when she had forgotten, however briefly. And last night she had definitely forgotten long enough to come. She’d let Alaric drive all logic from her mind.
“Things will only get more difficult from here, I’m afraid,” Urduja continued. “I will have my people meet with Vela and ask her what she plans to do. The Sardovian remnant cannot hide in Nenavar forever. It would be untenable. We need the alliance with Kesath up until the Night of the World-Eater. Afterwards, though, either the Allfold moves to reclaim the Northwest Continent within a year, or . . .” She paused again, drawing a measured breath.