“And you assume the act would be strictly platonic because it’s a man?”
My eyebrows arch in surprise.
“My preference is for females.” He slides his head on his pillow to study me. His golden-brown hair is full and mussed and sexy. “And I wouldn’t.” He swallows. “Not if this is real.”
“This is real.” At least it is for me.
He reaches up to stroke the wayward hair off my face. “Whatever Aoife might have done … I will be a better king with you by my side. I will be the king that Islor needs. It becomes clearer to me with every day that passes.”
Flutters stir in my chest even as my trepidation grows. Would he still say that if he knew what I was?
“You don’t want to be queen?” he asks quietly.
“That’s not it.” Though I’ve professed it many times, I’m beginning to see the good I can do here. The urge to tell him the truth is overwhelming, but my dread holds me back. Just a few more days of this, at least. More time so I can prove that he has nothing to fear from me. “Atticus said they’ll never allow it.”
“They have no choice. These noblemen have gathered power they have no right to wield. That changes now. They do not have a say in who I marry or who I love.”
An ache stirs in my chest with his words.
Concern carves into his face. “But what if she comes back?”
I assume he means Princess Romeria. I trace his hard jawline with my fingertip. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
“No?” His sleepy, docile eyes roam my face. “How do you know?”
“I don’t for sure, but I think you’re stuck with this version for good.” It’s the closest to the truth I can give him. “But if she does come back, please do me a favor and kill her.”
He snorts. “I think Corrin will before I get the chance.”
“Speaking of Corrin, she’s going to storm in here any minute.”
“No, she won’t. Elisaf will warn her off.”
“You assume he knows what happened in here last night?”
Beneath the sheets, Zander’s hand grazes my hip and my belly, before shifting lower, between my legs.
His penetrating touch pulls a deep moan from my lips, unbidden.
Zander’s gruff laughter carries through the chamber. “Yes. I’m going to assume he knows.”
The cloud cover and threat of rain brings with it a damp chill in the morning air. I huddle within my cloak as our company travels across the bridge at a steady canter, heading for the crown hunt. Beneath the grace of daylight and calm, I can appreciate the detailed masonry and the span of the construction, requiring five yawning barrels to reach from one side of the river to the other.
An eerie sense of déjà vu courses through me, and my attention drifts to the shoreline where I dragged Annika to safety. I vaguely remember slick mud that night, but now there are only patches of lush, clover-laden grass. It was in that same place that I was seconds away from being stabbed to death by the man whose thighs hug my hips.
We leave the bridge behind and follow the road into the dense forest, and I think about how dire things were that night and how drastically they have changed. And how drastically they still will, likely. My life is here now, a Ybarisan among the Islorians. As their queen, if Zander’s bedroom whispers translate into reality.
But also as one of these key casters—a creature that no longer exists in this world, and that many will demand die, if Sofie and Wendeline are right. I have to assume they are.
At some point, I will have to tell Zander. What will he say, knowing his queen could bring ruin to his kingdom? Is that news better received before or after the wedding ceremony?
I have struggled to find guilt over Princess Romeria’s misdeeds, but these lies are all my own.
We reach our destination a half hour later, as the dense forest opens into a clearing.
I try not to gape. “All this to chase a wild pig?” Elegant marquee tents in shades of ecru, green, and gold stand in a line, servants sweeping through with platters of food and pitchers of drink, preparing for the king’s tardy arrival. Soldiers in full armor mill around the horses at the outskirts. String music and laughter carries. Somewhere within are Lords Sallow and Telor, and unfortunately, Adley.
“The crown hunt is tradition, just as the tournament day, and I wouldn’t discount nethertaurs as mere wild pigs.”