Zev watches me with open, unapologetic pride etched across his handsome face, ensuring I eat enough between patients.
Nights blur together in cramped rooms with paper-thin walls, too-small beds, and scratchy sheets. We’re all sweat-slicked skin, tangled limbs, and teasing touches. Zev muffles my breathy moans beneath his large palm, whispering, “Quiet, baby. Those sounds are just for me.”
As we near Tundrayn, civilization thins and the air turns sharper. At the first sight of snow, my stomach stumbles with a wave of homesickness so fierce, my hands tremble in my lap. Zev halts the carriages without a word, and we walk until the cold bites at my ankles and my snowballs leave him glowering.
We spend most nights curled beneath thick blankets in the royal carriage, but one evening, I coax him into the woods, guards left behind. I start a small fire while Zev hunts snowshoe hare, and we share a meal beneath the stars, like we’d done countless times, except now I sit in his lap and he feeds me pieces of charred meat, demanding a kiss between every other bite.
Later, beneath his smoke-scented cloak, Zev makes love to me, slowly, reverently, swallowing each gasp of pleasure, and worshipping me the way I’d imagined a thousand times over.
I fall asleep cradled in strong arms. Safe. Happy.
His.
A week later, my legs are shaky as I exit the royal carriage, a thick cloak thrown over my shoulders.
The cold air hits my face like home.
Let’s hope my people still see it that way.
Hand in hand, Zev and I walk through the snowy courtyard, flanked by our guards, who still pointedly avoid my gaze. I’m not sure they’ll ever look at us the same way again after this passion-filled journey.
My heart stutters as the towering ice doors, ones I’ve crossed countless times, open before us. Zev squeezes my hand.
Together, we enter.
Sorka stands ready to receive us. A good sign, I hope. Beside him, Vy watches us warily, hands settled protectively over her round belly. Behind them, standing with the waterwielders, are Sura and Tumaas. Both wear bright, encouraging grins. Other warriors stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them, a sea of blues and whites, icy eyes fixed on Zev.
“Mayah. Commander,” Sorka greets softly.
“Sorka.” I school my tone into smooth diplomacy. “Thank you for overseeing the kingdom in our absence. I trust the food stores are full? The people, content?”
A beat. Then, a nod.
“Wonderful. My husband and I are ready for the discussions you mentioned in your last letter. I don’t wish to take Tundrayn by force. But make no mistake—I am its queen.”
Silence ripples through the room.
“Yes. About that,” Sorka says slowly. “I’ve discussed with our advisers at length. Tormik’s treachery, your mother’s murder. The storms. Your attack at the camp. And well—perhaps it’s easier to show you.”
He gestures us forward.
Through the familiar icy halls, homesickness swirls in my chest like a restless tide. The Great Hall rises before us, vast and glittering beneath frozen chandeliers. At its center, a circular dais gleams like glass. Upon it, rest two intricately carved ice thrones.
They’re larger than the ones from the betrothal ceremony.
Regal. Unyielding. Permanent.
I cut Sorka a sharp glance. In answer, he gestures for us to ascend.
Zev and I climb the dais, taking the offered seats. My betrothal ring gleams in the bright light.
“There’s much still to mend,” Sorka says. “Wrongs to be righted. But one thing has been decided.” He glances around the hall. “Tundrayn welcomes you home, Queen Mayah.”
THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading Between Tides & Thunder! I hope it broke you apart and put you back together in all the best ways. Reviews go a long way in helping authors, and it'd mean the world to me if you took the time to leave one:
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BEFORE BECOMING AN AUTHOR, I never paid much attention to the Acknowledgements section. I either had a book hangover or I didn't, and I moved on. Now, I read them low-key obsessively because, knowing how much work it takes to create a novel, I want to know who helped the author along the way. Because it is not easy. It is not pretty. It's a grueling, blood-freezing labor of pure love. So, dear reader, I hope you'll take the time to read about who helped me, because I can guarantee I wouldn't have been able to publish this book without them.
To my husband—somehow I have tricked you into loving me, and oh my Tides, the way you love me is perfect. I spontaneously decided to change our lives a year ago by deciding to publish my story. Now, I demand more time to write, more hugs, and more humoring when I'm in a mood. And, my love, you deliver. Every. Single. Day. You do whatever you can possibly do to take care of me, to put me before anything and everything else. I love you so much, my bones ache with phantom pain if I dare imagine a life without you. You are the most incredible husband and father, and I am by far the luckiest woman in the world to call you mine.
To my sister-in-law—I am so grateful for you! You showed so much excitement and enthusiasm for this book, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate you. Imposter syndrome strikes down the best of us, and you were right there with your praise and positive feedback when it came for me. You were one of the first seven people in the world to read BTaT, and the first person in the entire world to read it a second time (not counting me). I can't imagine writing anything without you first reading it! I feel blessed to have a sister like you.
To my sister—you are the best aunt the world has ever seen. I've never met kids luckier than mine, or a sister luckier than me. And I feel really proud that BTaT made you tear up. That in itself is the biggest accomplishment I could've hoped for. Thank you for always having my back!
To my writing soulmates—you know who you are. I'm in your DMs everyday with unhinged voice notes. I am so incredibly lucky to have met you. You changed my life, and it feels impossible to imagine life without your support and love! Thank you for alpha reading, consulting on art commissions, MAKING MY MAP, spiraling over covers, and EVERYTHING in between. We may be separated by miles, but you're in my DMs, my Google Docs, and my heart.
To my street team—I am beyond grateful to have such an amazing group of people supporting me! Thank you for all your time and love and enthusiasm for my stories! I feel lucky to call you my friends. I'm honored to have you in my corner.
And, lastly, to you, dear reader—thank you for reading Between Tides & Thunder. This story was born from the depths of my heart, and it took a lot of effort and love to shape i
LEENA KAZAK HAS BEEN spinning stories since she was ten years old, when she wrote her first short story and never looked back. A lifelong reader, she's devoured everything from fantasy and thrillers to historical fiction and contemporary romance—but these days, she's happily tumbled down the romantasy staircase and shows no sign of climbing out. (Send help).
She writes fantasy romance with fierce heroines, impossible choices, and immersive worldbuilding. When she's in the thick of drafting, Leena wakes up between 4:30 and 5 a.m. to chase that magical, half-asleep window when words flow freely and the world is still quiet.
