“Tensions are high with Tundrayn. The Rebellion is growing stronger. We can’t afford delay. The sooner we stand united, the better. Keep the wedding simple.” Zev waves a dismissive hand. “You can spare the opulence for the second son.”

He’s interrupted the king twice now. My father would have reprimanded me thoroughly. Varad looks displeased but has said nothing.

“Tomorrow, then,” Varad acquiesces. My lips part in surprise. “I suppose we can find someone to perform the purity test tonight.”

The air leaves my lungs. I had forgotten about that impending indignity.

“There will be no purity test,” Zev declares, his face stony. His grip around my fingers turns to iron.

“Zevayr,” his father reprimands, leaning forward on the throne. “If you suspect the princess is impure, I cannot allow—”

“I took the liberty of … inspecting Mayah’s purity. During our journey.”

The silence that falls over the room is deafening.

Humiliating.

My stomach drops, hot embarrassment flushing my cheeks. I can’t decide if I want to kiss Zev or slap him.

Two sets of green eyes fix on me. Tides, I wish the earth would split open and swallow me whole.

“Took many liberties with my betrothed, did you?” Faramir croons menacingly. His eye twitches.

“A happy coincidence that Mayah is my betrothed now,” Zev shoots back. “No harm done.”

“She is now, but—”

“Enough.” Varad raises a silencing hand, and Faramir falls quiet, though I don’t miss the outrage flickering in his cold, green gaze. “Zevayr, get your betrothed settled, then return here. At once.”

Zev ushers me from the hall, his hand warm on my lower back. He calls over the nearest servant, giving her instructions about which rooms to prepare for me.

Then, he pulls six guards from their posts. “If so much as a gentle breeze dares to touch her, if even an invisible splinter pierces her skin, you will each suffer a slow and brutal death. Your screams will echo for weeks. Your families will have nothing to bury. Do. You. Understand?” he snarls, eyes blazing with violent promise.

The guards nod frantically, slack-jawed with equal parts shock and horror.

“I’ll keep you safe, Mayah,” Zev promises. One more squeeze to my hand, and then he disappears back into the throne room.

It’s the most distance we’ve had between us in over a month.

And even with six guards sworn to my protection, I’ve never felt more vulnerable.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

HOT WATER LAPS AT my skin, and it feels like heaven.

The water, at least—the three handmaids scrubbing the grime from my skin feel like a punishment. Since we arrived at my guest chambers, I’ve been stripped, scraped, and scrubbed of my dignity.

The water has turned a disgusting shade of brown, the color of snow after a herd of musk ox have trampled through and back.

But at least I’m clean.

One of the handmaids drains the large tub, and I try to rise, but another one guides me back down with a firm hand on my shoulder.

Not clean enough, apparently.

There’s a sudden, loud crack of thunder, its muffled echo rattling the ornate mirror above the sink, and I gasp. The handmaids don’t seem to notice, though. They must be accustomed to unexpected storms—or Zev’s outbursts.

They refill the tub, and this time, perfume it with rose petals. A sweet-smelling oil is massaged into my scalp, and a contented sigh escapes me. One of the handmaids smiles, but none of them will meet my eyes for longer than a fleeting second. The bathwater is clean now, perfumed and rosy, but the unease in my chest lingers.

Do they avoid my gaze because I’m a royal? Or is it because I’m a Tundrayni royal?

I doubt I’ll get an answer out of them, but the women seem pleasant enough, quiet though they may be.

When the longest bath of my life is over, they dress me in an indecently short black nightgown, with nothing but a matching silk robe over it.

I’m practically naked. In Tundrayn, I wore thick wool pajamas to sleep—it was too cold for anything else. Before I can request different sleep attire, the women file out of the large washroom.

I don’t leave right away. The room is elegant—spacious and luxurious. The ornate stone tub sits in the center. The walls are painted a soft, calm lavender, and the white tile is cool beneath my bare feet as I circle the room. My fingers trail against the walls—seamless purple paint, not a single crack marring the finish.

A frown pulls at my lips. On the opposite side of the bathroom is a large mirror, hung over a massive sink. For a heartbeat, I don’t recognize myself in the reflection. My dark hair is longer, curling in loose, damp waves over my shoulders. My once-pale skin has a healthy tan, a light pink flush painted across my cheeks and nose, darkening the light smattering of freckles. I’ve lost weight—my cheeks are hollowed, my collarbones protruding.

My eyes are the same, though—bright blue.

Determined.

Untamed.

With soft steps, I leave the bathroom.

I stop in my tracks.

Zev’s standing in the middle of the bedroom. Waiting for me, apparently. His molten eyes rake over me. Slowly. Deliberately. My skin burns under the heat of his gaze as it lingers on my bare thighs, where the hem of my too-short nightgown brushes my skin.

I cinch my robe tighter around myself.

He doesn’t move, smoldering gaze riveted to the naked expanse of my legs. I shift my weight, and his eyes flick to mine as he rubs his neck.

“Are you all right?” he asks hoarsely. He clears his throat, and his eyes wander to my bare legs again.

“The bath was nice. Aggressive, but nice.”

He frowns. “I can assign you different handmaids, if—”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “They were fine, truly. And so are the guards outside. Thank you.”

Zev chews the inside of his cheek, his heated gaze pinned to my face. Is he waiting for me to say something? My brain is exhausted after the ‘change of plan’ his father announced. His eyes fall to my thighs for a third time, as if he can’t help himself, and a startling thought flits through my mind.

Is he here to…?

“We’re not married yet,” I say, clutching my robe tighter. “So, um…”

His eyes widen, and he takes a half-step back. “I’m not here for that, Mayah.” He clears his throat again, pointedly staring at the wall above my head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why are you here, then?” I demand.

“If I know my brother, he’ll pay you a visit tonight.”

“Oh.”

He’s protecting me.

He doesn’t expect me to lie with him. Tonight, at least.

I hate the vulnerability in my voice when I ask, “And tomorrow? Will you expect … that … from me tomorrow?”

His eyes soften, his hand wavering at his side, as though he wants to touch me.

“I’ll never force you to do anything, Mayah,” he murmurs. “I’ll only come to your bed when you invite me.” He gestures to the bed in question. “Throw me a pillow. I’ll find an extra blanket and sleep on the floor.”

And he does exactly that.

Zev takes a bath, too, emerging with damp hair and fresh clothing. After a month of seeing him cloaked in dark leather and armor, the soft shirt and sleep trousers look strange on his large, muscular frame. He settles on the floor beside the bed as he promised.

Even in the dark, I’m aware of his presence. After all the nights spent in his arms, my body has grown attuned to his—from the steady hum of his breathing to the emotion driving every twitch of his lips.

“This is stupid, Zev,” I mutter, cocooned in soft blankets, staring at the dark ceiling.

“Hmm?”