If he suspects the festival plan, this is a clever move. Offer mercy before I commit the sin. Entrap me into revealing myself.

He waits for a response, but I remain silent.

“Why did you call me Queen Mayah?” I ask instead, crossing my arms and bracing against the brisk wind. “Faramir will be king, not Zev.”

Varad rakes his incisors over his lower lip, and again, the gesture is so reminiscent of Zev that my heart misses a beat.

I hate him.

I hate this man who murdered my mother, yet bears so many similarities to my husband.

“Faramir is … unhinged, to put it mildly,” Varad says, brows knitting together. “It’s my fault. He didn’t receive the same maternal warmth that Zevayr did. My eldest is unnecessarily cruel. Malicious. He’s not the right king for Arbinj.”

Varad’s words turn my blood to ice.

“You want Zev to be king?” I whisper, eyes wide. He nods. “What about Faramir? He won’t just step aside.”

Varad scrubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “No. No, he won’t. If I can secure the alliance with Volca, he might be content to wed their princess and rule their island. If not…” He trails off, a grim look crossing his face.

My blood burns hot. “You’d ruin an innocent girl’s life by marrying her to him?”

Of course he would. He’d been perfectly happy for me to wed his deranged son. Until Zev ruined his plans.

Sharp green eyes cut to me, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I do what I must. You may think me a monster, Mayah, but I do love my sons. Both of them. And as I said—Zevayr loves you. Move on from past wrongs, and think about what you want. It could all be yours.”

I mull over his words. After a few minutes, he rises and returns to the palace.

I lose track of how long I sit there.

My son is in love with you.

I blink back tears. Unbidden, my gaze falls to my wedding ring, a mirror of my mother’s necklace.

With a shuddering gasp, I clutch the pendant tightly, the sharp point of the teardrop digging painfully into my skin. The storm that killed her is still inside me. Nothing can quiet the thunder in my chest.

He might be able to forget the past.

But I cannot.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

ZEV HAS BEEN GONE for a week.

There was a storm last night, and I spent the entirety of it curled into a ball beneath the sheets, hands clamped over my ears, face damp with tears. I either fell asleep or fainted, I’m not sure which—either way, I woke the next morning wrapped in self-loathing.

“Would you like to look at the seating chart?” she asks, breaking me out of my reverie.

“Uh, no, that’s all right. I’m sure it’s perfect.” Her smile widens, until the dimple in her left cheek winks at me.

“Anything else?” Farzina asks. “I’ll retrieve your gown from the seamstress. I can’t believe the Festival is only a week away! Guests should begin arriving soon.”

I can’t match Farzina’s enthusiasm, not when guilt and confusion and indecision are tearing me apart.

“I can’t wait.” I smile at her like everything’s fine, like I haven’t spent the night sobbing into Zev’s pillow. Like I haven’t kissed one man while thinking about another. The lie tastes bitter, but I swallow it anyway.

I’ve become skilled at pretending I’m whole.

It was supposed to be simple.

Infiltrate. Poison. Rule.

So why does my heart twist every time I think of Zev’s smile? Why do my hands hesitate when I touch Daak? It’s like my body has already decided it belongs to someone else—it won’t betray him.

Even though I already have.

The day passes in a blur—I don’t remember what I ate for lunch, what wounds I healed, which guards shadowed me in the hallways. After the sun sets, I trudge through the tunnels. They’re familiar to me now. I don’t even need a torch.

Daak is already waiting for me. He’s quick to pull me into an embrace. It’s not entirely unwelcome—he’s warm and familiar. He cares for me. He loves me. And he’s my friend. It just doesn’t feel right because he thinks I still feel the same.

“Here, try this,” he says, pressing a flaky pastry into my hand. “Arbinjis may be vile assholes, but their food? Delicious.”

I shove the pastry into my mouth with one bite.

Daak chuckles. “Ah, your ladylike manners. One of the things I love most about you.”

I laugh too hard—like if I laugh enough, I won’t notice the cold freezing me from the inside. Does Daak notice my smile doesn’t reach my eyes? I chew and swallow, even as the walls close in.

Daak brushes away a crumb from the corner of my mouth.

“There was a storm last night,” he says softly. “Were you all right?”

“Yeah,” I lie. I don’t want to talk about it.

“You could’ve come down here. I was waiting for you. I thought you’d need me.” Melancholy bathes his words, lines the slump in his shoulders.

“I’ve gotten better at handling it alone.” Another lie. “What did you do during storms after I left? You must have so much free time without me to babysit.”

“You know I didn’t think of it as babysitting,” he says softly, brushing a strand of my hair back. He doesn’t notice the tension in my spine as he draws near. Daak blows a quick puff of air through his lips, contemplating. “Actually, I don’t think there’ve been any storms since you left.”

“Really?” I frown. “That seems … unfair.”

Daak only hums, his blue gaze darkening as he looks at me. He inches closer. “I miss spending nights in your bed.”

I draw back, arms rigid at my sides. “I was passed out for most of those nights.”

“I can’t miss holding you?” He’s looking at me so intently, it makes my stomach churn.

“Anything else you can think of for the Festival?” I ask.

Daak eyes me for a beat before responding, his mouth tightening. “I don’t think so. We’re ready. Just waiting now.”

I rise, brushing my palms against my thighs. “I’ll head back, then.”

“Mayah, wait,” Daak says, standing swiftly. He cups my cheek. “I—you know I love you, right? Even if you and the Commander … even if he’d made you—I’d still want you. I’ll always love you.” His blue eyes are earnest, vulnerable, but my heart feels numb, like it’s been pressed against unforgiving ice for days.

“I know,” I murmur. “I just—things feel different now.”

He presses closer, walking me backward until my back rests against the wall. Daak presses his forehead to mine. “It will get better. Things can go back to how they were. How we were.”

My heart aches in my chest. I want nothing more than to want that. Things would be much simpler.

But I don’t.

“Daak…”

He erases the distance between us, crashing his lips to mine in an urgent kiss. It tastes of desperation. He’s trying to hold onto me.

And I let him.

I let him pretend this is still real, that I’m still his. But part of me already belongs to someone else—and that’s the part I hate most.

I turn my head away, pushing gently at his chest.

“Daak,” I sigh. “Daak, wait.”

“Mayah, please,” he groans against my lips, leaning forward to capture them again. He grabs my leg, wrapping it around his waist. “Just … please.”

I don’t stop him. It’s easier than explaining the storm inside my chest.

So I let him kiss me. A quiet surrender. A parting gift.

He doesn’t know it’s goodbye—but I do.

I close my eyes and let him hold me. Not because I want him to, but because he’s loved me for so long. And I still love him back in my own way. Just not enough.

So this is my goodbye.

The last time he’ll kiss me.

With a sudden jerk, Daak draws back. Confusion clouds his blue eyes, then fear.