I recognize Farzina amongst the servants.
“Wait! Wait,” I call out as embarrassing heat rushes to my face. I push at Zev’s chest, but I may as well have been shoving a brick wall.
My eyes lock with his in a fierce glare. His gaze is dark, swirling with unbridled lust. Reluctantly, he sets me down. My legs wobble, knees nearly buckling, and my husband steadies me with a firm hand around my waist.
Eyes downcast, I scurry out of the supply closet, Zev close on my heels. I can’t bring myself to meet Farzina’s eyes. Quickly whipping around a corner, I stride away, heat scorching my cheeks.
Except Zev’s footsteps thud after me, refusing to let me escape.
“What are you doing?” I hiss. My face is still flaming.
“My wife seems to have misplaced her guards,” he rumbles, giving me a knowing smirk, though it’s edged with something sharp. “I’m ensuring she returns to our chambers safely. And”—he snakes his arm around my waist in a possessive grip—“if she wanted to continue what we began in the closet, I’m happy to oblige her.”
I almost tell him I want nothing of the sort, but the throbbing ache between my thighs calls me a liar.
So I don’t say anything.
We walk in silence, Zev melded to my side, reaching our chambers when I have a sudden thought.
I whirl. “What were you doing in the closet?”
He’s silent for a heartbeat, then says, “I was hiding from my brother, too.”
He braces one arm against the door jamb, towering over me in the hallway. “Have you decided, wife? Can I come inside?” His voice is sinfully low. So deep, so decadent, I nearly say yes.
I bite my lower lip. “You don’t need permission to enter your own chambers.”
He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear, melting the resolve I’m desperately clinging to. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”
I want to say yes. Tides, I want to say yes.
But I shouldn’t. I can’t.
My breath catches. I swallow hard. “Your—your brother is looking for you.”
He blinks. Just once. Then the smile that lit his face dims, and he steps back.
I catch the flicker of hurt, mingled with disappointment, that flashes through his eyes. He gives me a curt nod before walking away.
Something pulls at my heart, sharp and insistent. My hand shoots out, fingers curling around his bicep.
“Wait! I—” His steely gaze rakes over me, and my breath catches. “I want to, Zev. Truly. It’s just … even with our marriage, the situation is tense between our kingdoms. Your family still doesn’t trust Tundrayn. I’m afraid. Of being hurt. Of hurting you. I just need more time.” I press his palm to my cheek, willing him to see the truth in my words.
His eyes soften, lips parting on a deep exhale. He nods once more, brushing a kiss to my forehead before striding away.
CHAPTER FORTY
ZEV DOESN’T COME TO bed that night.
Or the next night.
At first, I assume he’s angry with me, but on the third day, he arrives in the infirmary by early afternoon.
Sauzon quickly makes himself scarce.
“Hi,” I greet tentatively, twisting the sleeve of my gown.
He crosses the room in three long strides and pulls me into his embrace. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Relief floods through me, sharp and unexpected. The fear that I’d pushed him too far, that I’d ruined this fragile thing between us, had wrapped around me like a noose. But here he is—solid and warm. I melt into his arms, trying not to tremble.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, drawing back to look at me. “Do you have time for a walk?”
Sunlight dapples the grass in shifting patterns as we wander through the gardens where we were wed. The air is crisp, leafy trees standing like sentinels around us, their branches heavy with golden leaves that rustle and drift.
“The Rebellion has waged three attacks in three days,” Zev tells me, his face drawn tight. “All on Arbinji bases.” He doesn’t say anything else, but the unspoken meaning is clear.
“Do you think Tundrayn is involved?”
“My father and brother do,” he admits, raking his teeth over his lower lip. “I’m not sure. Your father would be a fool to attack Arbinj while we have his daughter.”
I stiffen, footsteps faltering, and Zev quickly stops, stepping closer to cradle my face. “Hey. You know I’d burn down all of skiesdamned Arbinj to protect you, right?” A tender kiss brushed across my forehead. “But your father doesn’t know that.”
His words soften my heart, but still, my gut churns with worry. If the attacks are the work of the Rebellion, what will they do next? Attack the palace? Attack Tundrayn?
And if my father is involved, what does that mean for me?
“I don’t like being so far removed from what’s going on.” Bright yellow leaves crunch beneath my boots. “I want to attend council meetings with you.”
Zev winces, casting me an apologetic glance. “I swear by the Skies, Mayah, one day you’ll be beside me wherever I go.”
“But?” I prompt with a scowl. I try to unlace our fingers, but he refuses to relinquish his hold.
“But my father and brother already suspect Tundrayn’s hand in these attacks. And if they continue—which I’m certain they will—they’ll see you as a spy, feeding them information.”
I worry my lower lip between my teeth. Tides, he’s right. “What about your brother’s marriage to the Volcan princess?” I ask.
“Still up in the air. Their emissaries left weeks ago, but their queen still seems unwilling to ally with a kingdom plagued by Rebellion attacks.”
“I can’t blame them. Volca actually treats nonwielders fairly. Maybe if Arbinj and Tundrayn did the same, the Rebellion would leave us alone, too.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs. A shadow passes over his face. Zev is silent for the rest of our walk.
I snap Faerahzar shut with a stifled yawn—at last, finally finished. The thought of a young Zev curled on this very sofa beside his mother, rapt at tales of bravery, softens something in my heart.
I stretch, a wince tugging at me as the ache in my legs flares from the long day in the infirmary. My palms hover, glowing faintly, about to press healing warmth into the sore muscles, when the door opens and Zev steps into our chambers.
He stills, eyeing my glowing hands.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. His gaze is sharp, already scanning for injury.
I gesture to my legs. “I’m sore. From, um, standing.”
Tension seeps from his shoulders, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He tsks. “My poor baby healer. Can’t handle a bit of soreness?”
I roll my eyes, but the smile tugs at my lips anyway.
He disappears into the washroom. “Don’t waste your reserves,” he calls. “I’ll be right out.”
When he returns, a small bottle of oil glints in his hand. He sinks onto the sofa beside me and, without waiting for permission, draws my bare legs into his lap.
“Zev—” I start.
He uncorks the bottle with a soft pop. “Relax,” he says huskily, “Let me take care of you.”
Warm oil slicks his hands before they glide up my calves, thumbs pressing into the aching muscles with ease. A soft moan escapes before I can stop it.
“What are you doing?” My voice is already breathy—embarrassingly so.
“Easing your aches,” he says with a cocky smile, as though his hands aren’t undoing me with every stroke. “You don’t have to fix everything with your power. Some of our backwards methods are effective, too.”
He winks, and my heart forgets its job.
His fingers knead slow circles into my legs, working their way higher. Heat unfurls low in my belly. I try to stay focused, to stay rational, but it’s like trying to think through dense fog.
