51
In the end, Malik paid with the truth that his father had his first lover whipped for finding them fooling around in the royal baths, the former king having lived a lie when he claimed he sought equality for all. But for none of the “deviant” behavior when displayed by his son. Malik’s father thought it was fine for others to be intimate with those of the same sex, but it was immoral in the king’s eyes for his kin to do the very same.
It wasn’t just the lack of tolerance his father had for the relationship but the revelation that he’d forced Malik to enact the punishment, therefore defiling Malik in the eyes of his lover. Forevermore, he’d see the former prince and see the person who’d whipped and bled him.
Valine’s heart panged when she realized how much of Malik’s father’s disgust affected him still today. How much of Saalim’s hate-filled views drove Malik to the darker side of ruling.
She wondered if he killed his father, too.
Despite the revelation tearing a hole in Malik’s chest, the truth only treated them to two rooms, one of which Hanish’s family shared and Valine and Malik the other. The rest of their retinue remained onboard the ship or in stranger’s beds for the night—aside from their guards. Their room was a small, cramped space with simple, rough-hewn furniture and sun-faded fabrics. The windows were open to let in the balmy night air, the single moon illuminating the one bed. It was generously sized and enclosed with a finely woven mosquito net; the sheets starched white.
Malik walked over to the basin of water on the pedestal, scrubbing the grime of travel from his face, while Valine stumbled to the wooden chair. She pulled off her boots and wiped her feet with a damp, citrus-scented cloth and took out a vial of lavender oil, massaging it into her aching soles.
They were quiet as they washed, unwilling to break the silence between them that hinged on the reluctantly revealed trauma and admission of love. It wasn’t just their wounded truths; it was the brusque refusal of allyship that burned the king. He hadn’t even gotten the words out and Thiandra had shut him down. It stung, and the embarrassment likely lingered.
Malik reined in a deliberate draw of air and rested his hands behind him on the pedestal, leaning back, buttons on his shirt open to his abdomen. “We need to talk about Thiandra.”
Valine shuttered her eyes. “Yes, but not what they forced us to reveal. Not yet.”
Malik was silent, and Valine saw the war wage behind his eyes. She admitted she loved him, and it was the truth. Now, he knew it. Now it was out in the open, and she couldn’t snatch the words back.
“Then what are we talking about?”
“Maybe about how they shut down an alliance. You can’t tell me that didn’t piss you off.”
Malik averted his gaze, his sharp jaw working beneath his short beard. “Of course it did,” he bit out. “Acquiring Cuuevota’s allegiance was part of my plan, and now I feel like it has shattered in my hands, and I’m stuck looking stupid and staring at the pieces.”
“Malik,” Valine said softly, rising and crossing the room, her hands shiny with oil, the scent of lavender and jasmine pervading her steps. She paused directly in front of him. “We can never expect everything to go according to plan. We must always have backups and contingencies for those backups and even more reserves. Things will always go wrong, but we will fix it.” She put her palms on his chest, tracing the hollows, watching the glide of oil on his skin. It was mesmerizing, and her fatigue made everything dreamy and slow.
“You make it sound so simple,” he grumbled, his eyes shuttered in pleasure.
Valine continued gliding her fingers across his pecs, her fingers tracing the lines of the damaged Veritasium Medallion. She wondered which of the patron’s medallion he possessed. Perhaps Aaseayah’s? What if it was Mrithun’s?
“I’ve always had to be adaptable,” she murmured as her hands crept up his throat. He let out a sound that was half moan, half growl. She let one hand creep up into his hair and tilted his head back, kissing his whiskery jaw. “This is new for you, but I will guide you through the process.”
“Can we talk about what you—”
“No,” she shut down the train of thought immediately, squeezing the hand that was still on his throat. “Not when you’re frustrated with the sovereign and not when I am so tired.”
“Soon?” he pressed.
“Soon.”
Valine kept her hand in his hair, working through the styled waves. Malik kept his hands trapped behind him.
“I know it has always been the way of Cuuevota, but why must things stay for the sake of tradition?” Malik asked. “I can offer the black market a new kind of stability and legitimacy.”
“I doubt they want legitimacy when I’m sure parts of it thrive on the human slave market.”
“Speaking of,” Malik began, eyeing her with curiosity. “Did you happen to sink a certain Yarl’s ship?”
“Perhaps.”
“I heard whispers here that the trafficking market has slowed with a loss of the captain that pioneered it.”
“Pity.”
“Yes, it seems to be so.”
There was a pause. “I want to ask you something,” Valine began.
“You are the only person free to ask me anything.”
“If you had acquired an alliance with Cuuevota, would you still allow trafficking and slaves?”
“No,” Malik said immediately and firmly. “But saying I abhor it isn’t that simple. People will still do it in the dark and in secret no matter how illegal I make it or how severe the consequences of such actions would be. People will still operate rings with schemes and for those who have coin. I might abolish it, but I am not so disillusioned to think that it would not exist after the fact.”
Valine was equally saddened and relieved by the answer. It was more along the lines of what she had hoped he would say, but in the same vein, the reality of it frustrated and infuriated her. She was so tired of this fight—she was tired in so many ways.
“How do you think Thiandra manages it?”
Malik sighed. “Thiandra allows it only with indentures, the problem with that is that papers can be forged, and people can be coerced. Not to mention, Thiandra’s power is precarious. They are young and mostly untried, and Cuuevota’s ruling does not come from bloodlines or votes, it comes from killing the previous sovereign.”
“So, what would have been your plan?”
“Install a new system of election, allowing certain trades to continue and restrict others, hiring a team of mages to make travel to the island safer, integrate a new import of goods and wares between Enneive and Cuuevota, among other things.”
“What about independence?” Valine asked as she swayed, her eyelids drooping. A headache from earlier was making itself known, and the throb of it was making the moonlight flare blinding white.
“Valine, are you okay?” Malik asked, hands on her hips, tightening. There was a thin lace of panic on his words.
“I just need to lie down. I’m still drained from the kraken attack.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Malik swept her up and carried her to bed. She couldn’t summon the words to refuse, and her head was lolling against Malik’s freshly oiled chest. Her signature scent of lavender and jasmine mixed with his tobacco had something primitive and feral rising in her. She wanted to sink her teeth into him and stake a claim.
Malik brushed away the netting and set Valine down. The bed was downy and soft, and she immediately melted into it. She was half dazed as Malik sank down beside her, draping a blanket across them both. He was on his side, propped on an elbow and staring down at her while she fought to keep her eyes open. She was blinking the fog from her vision while staring up at the canopy above her, trying to figure out how to string words together.
Malik brushed her hair back from her brow, stroking through the locks while her hands stayed glued to his skin, savoring the sensation and scent. She wanted to get beneath his clothes and mold her body to his. She wanted to be held and consumed.
“You’re not a failure,” she managed.
“What?” Malik asked, confused. His hand paused its gentle ministrations, and she made a noise of distress, which caused him to continue again.
“You’re not,” she repeated. “I know you won’t say it, but I know you’re thinking it. This is a setback, that’s all. I believe in you. In us. You can’t let this hang over you. Don’t let Cuuevota be your guillotine.”
She was speaking nonsense, but she could no longer control it, and guillotine was the last word she remembered speaking before she fell into slumber with a pounding headache.