“Considering you’re human?” He gives me a sly grin. “We must.”

Chapter

Forty-Six

It doesn’t matter how good I feel after my delicious orgasm or how convicted I am of my path. I have nightmares that night, of King Lionel dragging me from the tower for betraying my people. Of my sister spitting on me, her child in her arms, as the stone tower is destroyed with Nemeth still inside. Of being dragged through the streets of the capital and my people throwing rocks at me.

Vestalin whore, they cry.

I want to protest that I’ve always been free with my affections, that it’s only now that they have a problem because of who my partner is. But dreams are impossible things and my mouth won’t work. I can only scream silently as they stone me and call me names, and somewhere behind me, the distant tower is being destroyed with a broken Nemeth buried alive in a sea of rubble.

Vestalin whore!

I gasp awake, my body bathed in cold sweat. It’s pitch-black in our chambers, and I can’t see anything. My breathing rasps hard in the silence, and for a moment, the tower feels oppressive. My skin crawls with the need to escape, to drink in the sunlight, to be free⁠—

“Candra?”

A hand strokes my arm. Nemeth’s sleepy voice instantly reminds me of his presence. I look over and see two glowing green slits of eyes, the only light in the darkness.

I swallow hard. I want to marry him. I do. So why is my head full of dragon shite?

I curl up against him, letting him loop a comfortingly heavy arm around me. “Bad dream,” I manage. “Just a bad dream.”

“I have you. Go back to sleep.”

I can’t sleep, though. I don’t want to dream about my sister, or Lios, or that I’m betraying them. Why is it so wrong to want to marry a kind, loving man? Does it truly matter so much that he’s Fellian? Is my happiness not the most important thing?

Unfortunately, I suspect I already know that answer. My happiness counted for nothing the moment Meryliese died. And her happiness counted for nothing at all.

Even after Nemeth returns to sleep, I stare into the darkness at nothing. The tower feels incredibly vulnerable with the loss of the bricking outside that barricaded the door. While it was up, I only thought of how it kept me in.

Now it’s far more important that it keep the rest of the world out.

I slide out from under Nemeth’s arm. He immediately stirs, reaching for me, protective even half-asleep. “I’m all right,” I tell him in an easy voice, finding his hand and squeezing it. “I’m headed to the garderobe.”

“Take a lamp,” he tells me sleepily.

I find one in the darkness—Nemeth always keeps them in the same spot for me so I don’t fumble like a child hunting for one—and hold it against my sleep-chemise as I step into the hall. Tapping it once to light up, I don’t head for the garderobe after all, but down the stairs and towards the door, the flimsy barrier that keeps the world out.

It doesn’t feel like enough. Not nearly enough.

Standing in front of the door, I raise the lamp and eye our efforts. The knives wedged into the doorjambs. The wood wedges at the bottom and down the middle of the double door. The broom slid through the handles to act as a bar. The ropes tying the two handles together. Nothing has been disturbed, but on the other side of the doors, in the sand, are two sprawled bodies. Someone’s going to see them and come ask questions, surely.

Or someone else will be curious.

Or someone will think we are an easy target to rob, a princess and a Fellian alone in a tower.

I think of the men with their pickaxes. How they’d attacked Nemeth. My cheek still smarts from where I was backhanded, and there’s a bit of a bruise on my face, but I’ve been using a hint of cosmetics to keep Nemeth from noticing. He’s taken enough of the brunt of things. I think of his wing and how it dripped blood everywhere. I should clean the floors, I think absently.

Clean the floors and then pull down some of the junk from the third floor to pile against the door. Barricade us in.

I walk away from the doors, musing at how much I’ve changed in the last year. Back at court, I would have never cleaned a floor, much less tended to someone else’s wound. I would have cried and fussed dramatically over my own small bruise until I was certain everyone knew of my pain and was feeling it with me. I never would have married a Fellian. I don’t even know that I would have married. Perhaps I would have spent my days carousing in court, the drunken wastrel aunt of Allionel and Erynne’s upcoming child.

As I head for the stairs, I pass the forgotten altar of the Golden Moon Goddess. At least, forgotten by me. There are remnants of incense and herbal offerings that show that Nemeth hasn’t forgotten the goddess, at least. “Was this your plan?” I ask, as if the goddess will somehow answer me. “To change us down to our very beings? To make us forget where we came from?”

There’s no answer.

I’m wrong anyhow. I might be changing, but Nemeth is as steadfast as ever. I’m the only one who is being made anew.

I sleep late the next day, though it’s impossible to be certain of the time. All I know is when I wake up, there’s a scent of baked sweets lingering in the air and Nemeth’s face is buried in one of his books. One of the lights sits near his feet, giving off a gentle glow that illuminates his strong, harsh features. He looks up as I stretch, a warm smile moving across his face, and I instantly feel better. Dreams are just dreams, nothing more. I smile at him, rumpling my tousled hair. “You should have woken me up.”

“You seemed like you needed to sleep, milettahn.”

That’s a new word. I pause, tilting my head at him. “I haven’t heard that before. What does that mean, milettahn?”

To my surprise, he looks a bit taken aback. “Mate,” he manages after a moment. “It means ‘my mate.’”

Such a shy man. I beam at him. “Today’s the day. You’re not going to back out on me, are you?”

“Never.” The look he gives me is full of intense longing, his shoulders immediately tensing. “Have you changed your mind?” I shake my head, and he relaxes again. “I have already baked the cakes for our ceremony. Do not touch them when you go downstairs. We must save them for the ceremony.” He turns a careful page in his book. “And I have readied your bath by the fire. All you have to do is add the warm water I’ve prepared. It’s still on the hearth.”

Oh, how thoughtful. I know a bath is a lot of work. I get to my feet, padding across the cold stone floor, and slide into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You are most kind.”

“I am determined,” he corrects, sliding one arm around my waist as he closes his book with his other hand. “I shall have you tied to me before the gods quickly, so you cannot change your mind. To that end, I am ridding us of any chance of delays.”

I chuckle. Who knew such intent could be so damned sexy? “If you’ve drawn a bath for me, I can’t possibly refuse. I’m sure that’s in the vows somewhere.”

Nemeth rubs a hand up and down my back, watching me. “No more nightmares?”

“None. I slept quite well after I got to put my feet on you.”

He grunts, his hand straying to my backside and rubbing. “You make it sound as if you don’t put your feet on me every night.”

I slide a little closer, my breasts loose under my sleep-chemise. With my hair tousled and the fact that I’m almost naked? I feel quite frisky this morning. The bath can wait. “You don’t mind.”

“I never said I did.” His voice lowers, grows husky as I lean in. “Go take your bath, Candra. Once the ceremony is completed, I’ll be rutting atop you for hours. Save it.”