“And?” I prompt, my lips curving into a wide smile.

He tickles my ribs, and a breathy laugh escapes me.

“You’re being cruel. You already have me on my knees.” His voice is soft with affection. “I’ll work less, I swear it. I’ve been putting off going to the border, thinking it was enough. But I realize now, even with me here, we spend too much time apart. I’ve been a fool, Mayah.” He presses a lingering kiss to my temple. “But I’ll learn. Have patience with me.”

“All right,” I say softly. “One more chance.”

He holds me tightly, inhaling deeply as if memorizing my scent. Without a word, he leads me to the blanket, and we eat our dinner beneath the stars.

“Any movement with the Rebellion?” I ask between sips of wine—a mellow white.

Zev grimaces. “They set fire to a large farm two days ago—destroyed food for a large battalion.” A deep sigh slips free. “But let’s speak of something else. How are you liking Faerahzar?”

“You mean Faerataak. It’s the same story. But the book is wrong. He was a waterwielder first, not a stormwielder.”

Zev rolls his eyes. “Does it matter? In the end, he wielded everything.”

“Of course it matters!” I exclaim, pounding my fist on the blanket-covered ground. “Arbinj can’t claim Faerataak. He’s ours.”

“All right, wife,” he acquiesces, a small smile ticking up his lips. “He was a waterwielder. Tell me more of what you’ve been up to.”

I tell him about the infirmary patients, my conversation with Sauzon, and my progress with the Equinox Festival. Zev listens attentively, always finding some way to touch me. A casual brush on my arm, an errant strand tucked behind my ear.

“Will your father and brother disapprove of me healing in the infirmary?” It’s been weighing on my mind.

“Don’t worry about them,” Zev says. A faint crease mars his brow. “I’ll handle them. You do as you please.”

He runs a gentle hand over my hair, playing with the dark strands. “I have something for you,” he murmurs. “It’s long overdue.”

Zev leans back, retrieving a small box from his pocket. Without a word, he flips it open—and my breath escapes my lungs.

Nestled inside is a stunning silver ring, the band delicate but strong. Simple. At its center sits a brilliant white diamond, cut into the shape of a teardrop. Flickering light from the candles dances off its facets, scattering rainbows across the box’s velvet lining.

My fingers instinctively rise to my clavicle, brushing the cool stone that rests there.

It’s a perfect match to my mother’s necklace.

“I had it made for you,” Zev says quietly, shifting closer. “It took longer than I expected.”

For a moment, I can’t speak. My throat tightens, a storm of emotion catching in my chest. I blink rapidly, trying to force back the tears, but one slips free anyway.

Zev’s expression falters. “You don’t like it?”

I shake my head, swallowing hard. “It’s perfect.”

For a beat, he doesn’t move, just watching me closely. Then, he exhales in relief and gently takes my hand. His fingers brush over my knuckles—slow, reverent—as if committing every line of my skin to memory. Then, with a tenderness that nearly unravels me, he slides the ring onto my finger.

I stare at it, chest aching. It glints in the candlelight like a drop of clear, pure water—like something sacred.

I lift my eyes, only to find him already watching me.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, caressing the bare skin of my wrist.

I don’t answer. I can’t. There’s a heavy weight wedged against my ribs.

He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm, then holds it to his cheek, closing his eyes. “I know this doesn’t make up for everything. But I hope it’s a start.”

I can’t speak past the lump in my throat.

Then he opens his eyes—and I swear the look in them could undo kingdoms. Undo me.

His gaze drops to my lips, and for one breathless moment, I think he’ll kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. Our breaths mingle, warm and uneven.

The ring shimmers between us, a promise too beautiful to be real.

But Tides help me, I want it to be.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

AWEEK PASSES QUICKLY, THEN another, like the rapid current of a rushing river. The leaves on the trees are edged with gold, and the warm wind has a cooler bite, hinting at the change in season to come. It’s strange—in Tundrayn, we only have one season.

A routine slowly emerges, one where I find actual contentment—I spend mornings with Farzina planning every detail of the fast-approaching Equinox Festival. Healing in the infirmary dominates my afternoons and often stretches into the early evening when the patient load is heavy.

Word spread quickly of the Healer Princess performing miracles—Sauzon grumbles that the daily patient count has almost tripled, but the brightness in his eyes tells me he’s pleased. I suspect he’s grown to like me.

I avoid Faramir and Varad like I would a contagious illness. I’m mostly successful, except for the occasional breakfast or formal dinner where my presence is required. Zev always attends and keeps his brother in check, thunder rumbling and threats growled low in his throat.

Zev.

My heart flutters.

True to his word, Zev has made the most of his second chance. Our bed is cold when I wake in the morning, but he never misses lunch with me. Most nights, he comes to bed early, the hours melting away as we talk in the hush of darkness until sleep claims us both. We’ve yet to explore the capital, but he’s promised to take me once things settle down with the Rebellion.

“Soon,” he murmured as we lay in bed last night, facing each other with scarcely half a foot between us. “I’ll take you to my favorite tavern. They have the best mushroom stew in all of Arbinj.” I had laughed at him and his obsession with mushroom stew, trying to mask the effect he was having on me.

Even now, desire curls low in my belly at the memory of his voice—deep and rough and sinful enough to melt the iciest resolve. Each night stretches the fraying edges of my control. I start on my side of the bed, determined to resist him, but as the hours slip by, I find myself drifting toward him like a moth to flame. And when his fingers trace my jaw or his hand tightens around mine, tension ripples through him, barely restrained desire vibrating just beneath the surface.

I know he’s just waiting for me.

I hide a smile, pulled from my thoughts as a young woman walks into the infirmary. She’s a new face—Sauzon says the number of women seeking care has almost quadrupled.

A swell of pride warms my chest.

She offers a tentative smile and shuffles over.

“Y-your Majesty. Princess. Um, hi,” she stammers, tucking a lock of chocolate brown hair behind her ear before falling into a deep curtsy.

I try to ease her nerves with a warm smile. “Hello. What’s your name?” I gesture for her to sit on the neatly-made cot before me.

“Lunayra.”

“That’s beautiful. What is troubling you, Lunayra?”

She bites her lip, eyes flicking to Sauzon standing at the infirmary desk a few feet away. “It’s my monthly bleeding,” she whispers. “It’s extremely painful. Sometimes, I can’t even get out of bed.” She clutches her lower stomach, grimacing. “I’m sorry to trouble you for something so trivial … you treated my friend last week for a broken finger. She said you’d understand.”

I place a hand on her shoulder. “Lunayra, if something is causing you pain, there’s nothing trivial about it. I’m glad you came to see me.”

Debilitating monthly bleeds are not uncommon. I could place a temporary block that would prevent a cycle altogether—I performed it on myself years ago. I worry my lower lip. But if something were to happen to me—if I couldn’t heal anymore or if I left Arbinj … or if an assassination attempt were successful—Lunayra would be left unable to conceive unless she found another healer to undo the block.