My gut tells me no. Zev doesn’t expect me to lie with him—in that way—until I’m ready. If I’m ever ready. He told me as much yesterday. If he found me asleep, he’d drape a blanket over me, then chastise me in the morning for overexerting myself.

A small smile tugs at my lips. Rose petals scatter to the floor as I peel back the covers, revealing yet more petals strewn across the sheets in a velvety sea, and crawl into a bed that smells of smoke and pine.

The mattress dips beside me, and I shift slightly.

A mumbled groan.

A quiet laugh. “Sorry, baby. Go back to sleep.”

The cool press of rose petals against my bare shoulders, my legs.

Eyes closed, even in this floating state, I’m aware of him. His smoky scent surrounds me, and I breathe easier knowing he’s close.

But not close enough.

I reach out and find air instead of muscle, empty space where I want his body beside mine.

I want. I want. I want.

A hushed whimper.

A deep, pained sigh.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmurs, affection threading his deep voice. The bed shifts again. “Come here.”

Familiar warmth as muscled arms cocoon me, my nose pressing against a bare chest.

I never want to wake up. It’s safe to dream.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

A contented hum. Reverent lips brushing my forehead.

Mine.

Sunlight coaxes me awake as it filters through the large windows framing the bed. My arms are pinned to my sides, Zev’s strong embrace holding me captive.

He isn’t wearing a shirt. Tides, why isn’t he wearing a shirt?

Tanned skin everywhere I look.

A smattering of fine hair darkens the planes of his chest. I have the sudden urge to brush my lips over it, see if it’s as soft as it looks.

Heat coils low in my belly, spreading in a violent tide through my limbs, between my legs. My cheeks flush with damning color, and I burrow my face into his chest, unable to resist inhaling more of his familiar, soothing scent.

“Good morning, wife.” His voice is sinfully low, rough with sleep. I want his deep timbre against my ear, whispering all the things he’d do to me if I just ask.

Tides drag me into uncharted depths.

I need to get my raging desire under control. I may be his wife now, but nothing else has changed. I squirm out of his arms, throwing him what I hope is a baleful expression.

“You didn’t have to hold me in your arms like that.”

His lips quirk into a half smile.

Tides damn him. My glare is having no effect.

“No,” he says easily, lips still tipped up. “I didn’t have to.”

He watches me like I’ve already said yes to something I haven’t yet decided.

“What happened after I was sent to bed?” I can’t help the bite that seeps into my tone.

His lips press into a thin line, and a shadow darkens his face at the reminder of last night. “The guards interrogated the guests. It appears he was acting alone.”

“Who was he?” I pluck a rose petal from the bed, absently rubbing it between my fingers. Zev’s gaze darkens as he tracks the movement.

“A nonwielder from a noble family. His brother was a moderately powerful stormwielder. He was killed in battle a few months ago.” His eyes soften. “I’m sorry for what he said to you.” Zev pulls an errant rose petal tucked between the strands of my hair. His knuckles are bruised. I part my lips to ask about his injury, but the words vanish when he drags the petal in a feather-light path down my bare shoulder. Slow. Deliberate.

A shiver ripples down my spine, leaving my toes curled. I gather power in my palm, pressing it to his bruised knuckles, but the act is a distraction, flimsy armor against the desire in his eyes. When I’m finished, I fold my arms over my chest, as if that might conceal the storm of my body—the pebbling skin, my racing pulse.

Breathe, Mayah. Focus.

But focus is impossible when his stare is all heat and hunger, and I know one word from me and he’ll have me on my back.

I swallow hard.

“And the servant? Is he all right?” My voice is too breathy, too low.

“Who wouldn’t be all right after you healed them?” He clasps my hand, tugging it away from my chest before running his thumb over my knuckles. “I checked on him after I finished in the dungeon. He was already awake. You’re unparalleled.” My cheeks warm.

“What happened in the dungeon?”

A beat.

“I questioned the man that attacked you.”

I worry my lower lip between my teeth. “Is he alive?”

“Barely.”

He presses his lips into a thin line, but there’s something unspoken in his gaze.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“My father and brother are … displeased that you healed a nonwielder in full view of the entire court. They suspect you might be a Rebellion-sympathizer.” He sighs, deep and long suffering. “I should’ve known they’d twist it into something ugly,” Zev mutters. “You saved a life—a nonwielder’s life—and that makes them uneasy.”

“But—but I have no ties to the rebels!” I exclaim, leaning up on my elbow.

“I know.” His tone is soft, placating. It unravels the knot of worry tightening in my throat. “We’ll figure this out, all right? I’ll protect you. From anything. From anyone.” He squeezes my hand as if to seal his promise.

With a heavy sigh and one more lingering glance steeped with intention, Zev flops onto his back.

“We should get ready.”

I arch a brow.

“We’re having breakfast with my father and Faramir.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

MY HEART BEATS IN my throat as we walk through the long halls. Can’t I just have one day where I’m not someone’s pawn?

Zev’s grip is steady on my lower back.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, molten gaze raking over me. My handmaids dressed me in an ice-blue gown, embroidered with gray lace over the bodice and hem. Zev’s eyes keep wandering—to the dark spill of loose curls over my shoulders, the curve in my waist where my dress flares, the dip in my collarbones where my mother’s necklace rests—as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

His heated gaze warms my blood, but there are more pressing concerns.

“What if they ask me about the Rebellion? Or insult Tundrayn? Or my father. Should I be nice? Or be myself?” I crane my neck to look at him as we walk, a flurry of nerves tangling beneath my ribs.

He chuckles. “Always be yourself. But they won’t ask. I drilled it into them last night that I’ll be extremely … displeased if either of them is rude to you.” My heart softens at his admission. I can defend myself just fine, but there’s a quiet comfort in knowing he has my back. I shoot him a bright smile, one he returns in kind before it dims. “My brother will still find a way to be an ass, though. I’m sorry in advance.”

We arrive at the dining hall where Varad and Faramir are already seated at a large rectangular table, Varad at the head and Faramir to his immediate right. Zev takes the seat directly across from Faramir, pulling out a chair for me to sit beside him.

“Morning, brother. Sister,” Faramir greets. He wears a perpetual secretive grin, as if he’s the only one privy to a hilarious joke. “What an interesting evening! I hope your wedding night still lived up to expectations.”

A distant rumble of thunder.

I don’t even flinch—I was expecting it.

“Stop needling your brother, Faramir,” Varad says tiredly. Dark bags shadow his green eyes as he takes a deep swig of steaming black coffee.

“It was an interesting evening,” I say, lacing my hand with Zev’s. “One spent in the best of company.”