Chapter 6 #4
“No,” she said quietly, meeting his eye again. “You’re not a monster at all.”
“I take that as high praise from you. Maybe one day, I’ll earn such an accolade.”
As they walked through the encampment, Alethea couldn’t miss the way the soldiers responded to Nakir.
No one scattered at his approach. No one shrank or averted their gaze the way they did in her mother’s presence.
Instead, there were subtle nods, murmured greetings, a raised hand here and there—small acknowledgments offered with care, as though they were mindful not to intrude upon his evening.
It unsettled her more than fear ever had.
She found herself wondering what she looked like, walking at his side as if she belonged there, next to a man who seemed larger than life; who commanded loyalty without demanding it.
She’s never seen power wielded like this before.
Not even her father, respected as he was, had inspired this kind of quiet devotion.
Nakir spoke to her as an equal. He listened. He’d made it unmistakably clear he had no intention of using her as a weapon or a prize.
In a single day, he’d shown her more respect than her mother had in her entire life.
The thought tightened something in Alethea’s chest.
This—this—was the kind of ruler Lenorea deserved. The kind she would choose, if she were ever allowed such a choice.
Was this what Emi, Balthasar, Dawes, and Kerrigan had seen all along? Was this why they followed him so fiercely?
How could she deny it, seeing it now, with her own eyes?
Even if Nakir were only pretending, her mother had never even bothered with the illusion.
They stopped before his tent, its canvas pale against the dark. Alethea hesitated just outside the entrance, the quiet suddenly loud in her ears.
“Do you... want your tent back?” she asked, uncertainty threading her voice.
“We won’t be staying long,” he replied easily. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can find you another tent-mate.”
“No.” She shook her head a little too quickly. “No need to trouble anyone.”
He gave her a faint, knowing half-smile and stepped aside, holding the tent flap open for her. But she didn’t move.
“Alethea?” he prompted gently.
She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself. Be brave. When she spoke again, she forced authority into her voice, even as her heart raced.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “I’ll join you.” The words settled heavily between them. “Whatever I have to offer you—my gifts, my knowledge—it’s yours. And when the war is over,” she continued, meeting his eye, “and I crown you King of Lenorea... then I can begin my new life.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then Nakir turned to face her fully, stepping back out of the tent.
He placed a hand over his heart, the gesture deliberate, solemn...
binding. “You honor me with your bargain,” he said quietly.
“In return, I vow this: I will protect you in every way I am capable of. And when the time comes,” he added, his gaze unwavering, “you will be free.”
Free.
The word rang with a promise neither of them could take back.
“One more thing,” she added. “I want you to call me Thea.”
The last time someone had called her Thea, she was free to be herself, whatever that looked like.
Her father had stood by her side as she discovered her terrifying new power, and when he died, it felt like he’d taken that part of her with him.
But perhaps she could get it back. Perhaps she could take it back.
“Deal,” Nakir agreed.
Relief flooded her, and Alethea couldn’t stop the smile that broke free. For the first time she could remember, she had a future.
Nakir returned her smile, unmistakably impish. “Shall we seal it with a kiss?” he asked.
Her heart stuttered—then very nearly stopped. The invocation of the old tradition was clearly meant to tease, to provoke, and it worked. At her sudden fluster, he let out a low chuckle and began to turn toward the tent’s entrance.
On impulse, she caught his hand.
The contact sent a jolt up her arm. Before she could think better of it, she drew him back, her other hand sliding up to curl around the back of his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair as she pulled him down toward her.
She froze.
They were suddenly breath to breath, the space between them charged and fragile. His eyes darkened, glimmering with challenge and invitation as he waited, utterly still, letting the choice be hers.
Her heart hammered in her throat.
Alethea rose onto her tiptoes and closed the distance.
The kiss should have been chaste. Brief.
A point proven and nothing more. Anyone could have been watching.
She hardly knew this dangerous, mysterious man whose sole purpose in life was to take his kingdom back from her family.
This man who smelled like cedarwood and spice; whose very presence felt like standing too close to a flame.
But the moment her lips touched his, restraint unraveled.
His fingers laced through hers and slid to her back, firm and unyielding, drawing her closer as if he’d been waiting for permission.
She gasped softly into his mouth as heat coursed through her, the kiss deepening with a slow, devastating certainty that left her unmoored.
She melted against him, every thought scattering as sensation took over, fire racing through her veins.
When they finally broke apart, it was only because breath became necessary.
She opened her eyes, chest rising and falling as she struggled to steady herself, the night spinning slightly around them.
He let her go gently, and she felt the loss of him like a held breath released too soon. His hand flexed once at his side before he stilled it, jaw tightening just enough to give him away before he wordlessly held open the tent’s entrance for her.
Alethea followed him into the dark tent without another word. She slipped under the covers fully clothed and lay there as silence stretched and filled the tent, while he blew out the lantern and settled into his own cot.
Had she just made a fool of herself? Could he see her flushed cheeks now from across the room, even in the total darkness? She had her back to him, her eyes wide open as she wondered what in the world had come over her.
It could have been hours that ticked by as she lay there, heart racing in her ears.
She couldn’t stop thinking about how the kiss had seared her, or the way his fingers had held her own, bolstering her against him.
Something like that probably meant nothing to him—he’d had lovers, he’d told her.
She didn’t imagine he had any shortage of people who threw themselves at his feet, and here she was, doing more of the same.
Alethea wanted to groan in frustration as she spiraled into her own thoughts, night threatening to slip into morning before she could finally stop chiding herself for her foolishness and convince herself to sleep.