Chapter 21 #2
As she stepped out of the bath, the cool air of the room embraced her, making her skin prickle with goose bumps.
Wrapping herself in a plush, oversized towel, she hesitated before the wardrobe’s mirror, catching a glimpse of her reflection.
Her cheeks were still flushed, and her blue eyes held a mixture of uncertainty and desire—a reflection of the conflicting emotions churning within her.
She thought of her life before this: of her handmaidens, whom she spent so much time with and barely knew; of being summoned by her mother to use her gifts until she nearly burned out.
The mere thought made an image form of Nakir showing up to remind her she was a human being, worthy of protection and care.
By the time he’d returned, she was already dressed in one of her new traveling outfits and lacing her boots.
His smile was soft as he took her in, her hair still damp from her bath.
The way he regarded her made her stomach flip again, and she bit the inside of her cheek.
Nakir pressed a languid kiss to her lips, which she returned eagerly.
Despite the way they were unable to keep their hands off each other, he dragged himself off to clean up as well, not taking nearly as much time as she had to luxuriate in the warm water.
In the soft morning light, Alethea allowed her attention to linger on his form, illuminated by the gentle rays filtering through the curtains.
She could see each of his scars so clearly.
They weren’t just along his chest and his arms—several ran across his back, even across his thighs and his calves.
She wanted to count them all. She guessed there were more than three dozen of them.
One day, she’d make him sit down and share the story of how he got each and every one.
He didn’t seem to mind her watching. In fact, his eyes danced and a smirk toyed with his lips as if he enjoyed her study of his body.
Nakir lazily dried himself off in front of her, his gaze not leaving hers in a way that seared her.
It was criminal, the way he dressed, covering each part of himself up in his usual black trousers, shirt, and jacket.
She’d never seen someone wear the color so well until Nakir Hasan. Her dark king.
The thought of him being her anything stirred something unsettling within her. She couldn’t afford to think of him that way, as hers. She was supposed to be leaving when this was over, wasn’t she?
Nakir’s smooth voice drew her from her troubling thoughts as he approached, his damp hair still glistening. “I want to talk to you about something.”
He led them to the small armchair and sofa beside the fireplace, only pausing to bring over the tray of food that had largely gone untouched.
Alethea glanced at the assortment of finger foods that had been prepared: small sandwiches, sliced pears and apples, various cheeses, and a small bowl of honey.
It was clear the people here ate well, and not just in the castle.
The market had been full of vendors selling ready-made food at low prices.
She tried to focus on that instead of worrying about whatever it was Nakir wanted to discuss.
“When this is over, assuming we are successful... your bargain will be honored. You’ll have enough gold to live whatever kind of life you’d like. I’ll even build you a manor in the countryside if that’s what you want.”
Her stomach twisted as she imagined what it would be like to live in a large, empty house by herself.
The reality of their bargain began to settle in her mind like a heavy stone. She wondered if Nakir would even spare her a passing thought during his days as king. Would he think of her when important decisions hung in the balance, or when the weight of the crown pressed heavily upon his brow?
As she chewed mechanically on a slice of pear, her gaze unfocused, she contemplated the future that lay ahead.
Nakir would continue his duty to his country while she faded into the background, a mere footnote in his rise to power.
He would marry, have children, and forge ahead with the legacy of the Hasans, while she would.
. . What would she do? Freedom was now a double-edged sword.
She nodded blankly, still focusing on the tray of food before her. Alethea selected a few more pear slices, her motions automatic as she reminded herself this was what she had wished for all along.
“Also,” Nakir continued carefully, leaning forward on the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Myron brought up something I failed to consider during our negotiation. Hyelea is your home.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me speak plainly.” He came to kneel in front of her, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “When this is all over... you could stay,” he said. “You could stay with me.”
Alethea became acutely aware of her own skin; of the sudden uncomfortable warmth creeping up her neck, painting her cheeks with a rosy hue she couldn’t control.
“Oh.”
A deep urge to flee surged within, a primal instinct urging her to run and escape the intensity of the moment. There was a war taking place within her. It wasn’t dissimilar to what had caused her to run right into his arms that fateful night.
“You don’t have to decide now,” he assured her. “In the grand scheme of things, we barely know each other. But I would regret it if I didn’t tell you I would welcome any way you desired to have a more permanent place with me.”
“We barely know each other.” If it was the truth, why did it sting?
Alethea’s lips parted to speak, but she couldn’t find any words to give him in return.
How did she explain that she was suddenly terrified of losing him?
How did she explain how all she’d ever longed for in this world was freedom from the chains that bound her into a life she hadn’t chosen?
How did she tell him he was asking her to willingly shackle herself to that life again?
She would never be the leader Nakir was.
He was brave and determined and skilled, and people admired him.
He would be an incredible ruler—that much was evident to everyone who beheld him.
People didn’t just follow him; they believed in him, admired him, and trusted him with a loyalty that ran deep.
Every day of their journey, Alethea had quietly observed him, often from the periphery, her eyes tracing the contours of his character.
Instead of the monstrous figure her fears had painted, she’d found someone deserving of her profound respect.
And she was falling in love with him.
The realization was a pit in her stomach, as though she’d swallowed an entire boulder. As she rose slowly, she couldn’t even bring herself to meet his eye, afraid of witnessing the disappointment etched across his face. Even in this moment, she recognized she was letting him down.
A soft knock echoed through the room, prompting Nakir to gently press his lips to her fingers before he reluctantly withdrew. In the corridor, she thought she recognized Balthasar’s voice, and Nakir cast a reassuring glance over his shoulder before exiting the room.
“I’ll return shortly,” he assured her as he left, his voice a soothing balm.
Alone in the silence that followed Nakir’s departure, Alethea’s spiraling thoughts threatened to consume her.
She had momentarily allowed herself to dream of a life beyond her designated purpose. A life where love and freedom were not just far-off fantasies.
But reality, as cruel as ever, pulled her back, reminding her she was merely a tool crafted by fate.
The universe had shaped her into a vessel, a means to an end, and her mother had been all too willing to wield her like a weapon in pursuit of power. It had left her broken and helpless, a piece of flotsam to be thrown about in the crashing tides of players so much larger than herself.
In a fleeting moment of vulnerability, she’d dared to imagine a different fate; a family born from unconventional bonds.
But what was she to do when they were moving in opposite directions?
She would never be able to live up to what Nakir and his new court would need.
She was still little more than a helpless princess—a fragile, weak girl left to guard an incredible power she hardly understood.
Her mother was right about her.
Alethea’s heart hammered in her chest as she approached the door, her movements quick and deliberate.
With cautious hands, she opened it, allowing herself just enough space to peer into the deserted hallway.
Finding no one, she seized the opportunity and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.
Her breath came in quick huffs as she rushed out the side exit of the keep, desperate for escape.
Outside, the courtyard was bustling with activity, a chaotic symphony of soldiers and servants.
Alethea scanned the crowd for any sign of Balthasar or Nakir.
She couldn’t afford to be seen by either of them—not now.
Not in her current state of turmoil. Every fiber of her being urged her to flee, to escape the confines of the keep and the overwhelming emotions threatening to engulf her.
She hardly knew where she was going, driven by the same panic that had sent her fleeing from a different castle not too long ago.
The city’s winding streets stretched before her, a maze of unfamiliar alleys and crowded markets.
She pulled her hood low, concealing her features, as she pressed forward.
Her steps were hurried, guided by an unspoken impulse.