40. Of Gold And Moonlight
40
Of Gold And Moonlight
Calliste
She walked beside him as he led her down the Sea Corridor, distracting herself from stealing glances at his profile by fixing her eyes on the searing, dimming threads of orange separating the sky from the sea behind him.
He stopped. “I had hoped to show you the sunset on the way to the supper,” he said, briefly glancing out. “It’s spectacular from here. Too late now.”
Whether he knew it or not, he cut a breathtaking sight against the night settling over the fading hues of orange, cooling them to a glorious purple. The last of the daylight made his face seem like bronze, bringing out golden hues in his eyes.
She allowed herself to be enchanted. “I like what I see,” she said.
The corner of his mouth lifted as their eyes locked, the air between them humming with joyful energy until a melodious tune filled the corridor, making her head tilt in surprise.
He gave a knowing smile. “Eumelia pours her soul into her music,” he said in an undertone.
The musician you favor? She kept her face neutral, her mind still on Melitta’s words wedged under her skin like a splinter.
As they turned the corner to the inside corridor, the music intensified.
Even the sentinels stood in absolute silence, listening.
Captain Lykos waited just outside of the dining chamber, dashing in his black armor, unusually serious. He glanced at Calliste with a distracted smile, and pulled open one wing of a golden door.
The king clapped him on the shoulder and entered, with Calliste following until she paused, speechless.
The walls were seemingly hewn from flawless, lustrous blocks of amber. The creamy-yellow pillars with golden veining supported the ceiling divided into squares, each adorned with an etched, inlaid ivory flower.
Cool, obsidian flagstones lay beneath her feet. The heat carrying from the lit copper braziers with leafy latticing spread out across the chamber brushed against her exposed arms. The braziers enhanced the golden aura with rich light and a warm, smoky scent of cedar and spices.
In the center stood a low marble dais decorated with a gilt pattern around its base, dominated by a large oaken table. Arranged around it were twelve high-backed chairs.
A few steps away, a lyrist sat on a chair, her eyes fixed on her instrument as her hands flew over the strings.
The king led her to the head of the table and waited for her to take a seat on the side before he seated himself. From her vantage point across the table, Calliste watched Eumelia play the lyre, suppressing a quiet desperation, because the girl favored by the king was nothing short of stunning.
Her talent was one of her many assets. Younger than Calliste—in her twenties, it seemed—Eumelia had a keen sense of fashion. Her pearly-graphite peplos robe was complemented by understated rosy-gold accessories: a slender bracelet on her wrist, laurel leaf-shaped clasps keeping the robe on her shoulders, and a golden thread in her jet black, glossy hair. She bowed her head to the king as she played, smiled warmly at Calliste before bringing her piece to a graceful close.
The king raised his cup toward her. “Astounding as always, Eumelia, but I don’t recognize it. Is it new?”
Her hazelnut eyes sparkled. “Yes, Majesty.” Her voice was soft, yet low, intriguing. “Did you like it, Lady Calliste?”
“It stopped my breath,” Calliste said truthfully. “How long has it taken you to achieve this level of mastery?”
A pale flush bloomed on her cheeks. “You are generous. I picked up the lyre when I was a little girl. But it wouldn’t amount to much if it wasn’t for his Majesty’s reforms, allowing me to attend a musical school.”
“I don’t think the school would amount to much if you weren’t so talented, Eumelia,” the king corrected her with a teasing smile.
“Still.” The musician smiled back. “That wouldn’t have amounted to much, if you hadn’t offered me your patronage.”
They are on such good terms.
“Play that new piece again, Eumelia,” the king asked. “I liked it.”
Eumelia ran her fingers over the strings.
The king tilted his cup of wine and let out a few drops as a sacrifice to the gods before sipping from it. “Wine?” he asked Calliste over the music.
“Not advisable for someone who’s about to stay up all night. I’ll have water.” She surveyed the table laden with far more than they could both eat: roasted quail with herbs, grilled fish and vegetable stew, honey-glazed oatcakes, figs and dates. She traced her finger along the edge of her plate. “I like the golden coating.”
The king made a strange face and gave a noncommittal grunt.
It wasn’t until she pulled it closer that she realized. “Oh, these are gold?”
“I wanted this evening to be special,” he replied somewhat apologetically.
Her heart fluttered. “Why?”
“Because you’re doing so much for Kalias, and I don’t know how else to repay you.”
Of course. What answer was I hoping for? She cast her gaze down. “No need to repay me, but if you could consider a small donation for my Sisterhood—”
“I’ve already arranged for permanent support.”
“Thank you.” One less worry on Leontia’s head.
“I am ashamed,” he added. “I didn’t realize until recently that your Sisterhood relied on donations.”
“We help all, those who can afford it and those who cannot,” she said with pride blooming in her chest.
“I know it now, and I’ll personally apologize to Leontia for my stupid threat.”
She remembered how he had blackmailed Leontia with outlawing the Sisterhood. “I can understand it now.”
“Can you?”
“That you’d do anything for your son? Of course.”
He smiled, and they ate in silence, savoring the music Eumelia tirelessly provided until the faraway sound of the wooden clappers announced the second hour of the night. She straightened.
“Something wrong?” The king cast her a glance.
“No. It’s time I went to the prince’s room.” Hypnos will be wondering what takes me so long.
He inclined his head at his musician. “Eumelia? Thank you. Wonderful, as always.”
Eumelia finished her piece, bowed to both of them, and left with her lyre.
Calliste bit her lip as the king watched the musician leave. Young, graceful, talented—she has everything. Fit for a king. And then she stilled as she realized her own jealousy and shifted in her chair, readying herself to leave.
The king glanced at her. “I don’t mean to keep you away from Kalias, but could you stay another moment?” Then he sighed. “I invited Eumelia partly because I don’t remember how to entertain anybody anymore.”
“Entertain?” Memories of their banter by the fire the night he’d taken her away from Mount Hellecon returned. “I thought you were a king, not an entertainer.”
A spark of recognition lit up his eyes. “Sometimes, I’m both. A king must entertain his people.”
“Then perhaps juggling?”
His deep chuckle filled the air—and her heart. “Not unless you want me to make a fool of myself.”
“And would you?”
His gaze lingered on her face. “I’m up for a challenge to entertain you in better ways, Calliste.”
Heat seeped through her chest. His tone was light, jesting, yet had an edge to it she hadn’t expected. She could almost believe he was looking at her in a different way. Then she remembered that he could say things like that to any woman he wished. Don’t be like Pheaton. This isn’t something you can control. She steeled herself and looked away from the intensity of his gaze. “You shouldn’t discount giving me this beautiful time… here.”
His eyes slid over the golden surfaces without emotion. “This isn’t near enough for what you’re doing.” He rose. “Let’s go to the terrace.”
Calliste followed him out of the chamber.
He stopped at the entry to the terrace, letting her go through first.
She stepped into the cool night air.
The terrace walls were covered in blooming jasmine, its flowers resplendent in the moonlight. Small pools of light shone between the flowers at regular intervals, drawing her eye. The flowing cascades of jasmine were arranged to wind around the recesses of the walls, each one holding a flickering golden candle that reflected off the colorful mosaics inside.
A few steps away, a marble balustrade gleamed in the moonlight.
He followed her to the balustrade and stood beside her as she admired the stunning view from the top of the palace: the stretch of sea, the city, and port on the protective arm of the peninsula, aglow with thousands of lights.
“It’s interesting how silence can be just as beautiful as Eumelia’s music,” he remarked.
She nodded. “She’s incredibly talented.”
A proud smile brightened up his face. “Her music helped me through dark times—and I cannot imagine her not being here.”
She swallowed the bitterness. “Has she been here for long?” she asked casually.
“A year or so, I believe. She’s a very good friend.”
She stilled. “A friend?”
“And nothing more.” He cast her a sideways glance. “Even if it may appear otherwise to my court.”
Now she struggled to restrain the ridiculous relief that surged through her. “I loved her pieces. And I love it… here. Now.” Realizing what she said, she added quickly, “I thought you’d ask me about the prince.”
“No.” His gaze flickered to hers. “I can see you’re giving it all and this is enough for me. But I failed on one account.” He reached inside his robe. “This is for you.”
She glanced at a small, square box swathed in sumptuous black fabric and tied with a white ribbon lying in his open palm. A gift. Gently, she untied the ribbon, placed it on the balustrade beside her, and unwrapped the cloth.
Two silver earrings with pear cut emeralds sparkled against the black fabric like the heart of her healing power captured in moonlight.
“I hope you like it,” the king said quietly. “Even though this isn’t what I wanted to give you originally. That will take longer to obtain.”
Gently, she lifted one earring, watching the perfect green facets. “What will take longer to obtain?”
He gave a mysterious smile. “Something that you’ll like much, much more.”
She wanted to press him for more, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the earrings.
“Not to your liking?” He seemed strangely still.
“They’re beautiful. And… extravagant.”
“Calliste.” His resonant voice sent shivers down her back. “This is nothing. There are simply not enough riches in my kingdom to ever repay you. Please accept this until I get hold of something that truly shows my gratitude.” He brought her hand to her ear. “Will you wear them for me?”
She nodded, threading the silver stud through her earlobe, feeling the weight of the stone, repeating for the second earring. “Are they straight?”
In a lingering move, he brushed a strand of her hair from her face. His face came closer than usual: a study in chalky moonlight and charcoal shadows, his eyes narrowed as he focused on the task of adjusting her left earring. “Perfect,” he whispered.
Her skin tingled under his touch. She thought of all the times they had been close: in the tent near the forest lake, when he woke her up for the first time, on the hills of Anthemos when he asked her to swear loyalty to him and keep her secrets, and every morning since as he carried her to bed.
What kind of lover would you be, Theron?
At this exact moment, their gazes met.
His hand slid down her arm, leaving a warm trail, until he held her hand. “I wish you told me more about yourself, Calliste.”
His hand felt like the whole world. She wanted this world to wrap around her, surround her. Own her. I don’t have the right to that anymore. Because of what I’ve done. She glanced down at the ring he gave her at the top of the hill. “You allowed me to keep my secrets.”
“True,” he said, uneasiness stealing into his voice. “But secrets can be burdens. You don’t have to carry yours alone.”
“I’ve carried it alone for long enough.”
“I know some of what lies behind your scars. But I’d like to know it all.”
For a heartbeat, she wanted to pour it all out: all the pain and misery that had been her life before she escaped it, allowing it to burn to the ground. But it was pointless, because what she’d left behind was a shell she didn’t want to revisit. It was emptiness and pain, and bleakness such that she never wanted to feel again. “Is it just curiosity?”
“More than that.”
More? Again, he’d drawn her to the edge of confession. Then she glanced down at her pendant, an emerald teardrop in the night, reminding her of every sacrifice she’d made to own it. And if his court already gossiped about her, there was no reason to add fuel to that fire. She didn’t know what more meant to him and was afraid to ask.
Since his more might not be enough.
Stay true to your chosen path, Calliste. True to me. Hypnos’ words whispered in her mind, reminding her how she served one of the gods the king hated. She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
A cool breeze drifted in from the sea, stirring the white ribbon she’d left on the balustrade.
They both glanced at it.
For a moment, the ribbon wound on the balustrade, then it swept between them and stopped across their clasped hands, as if tying them together.
She stared at the dancing ribbon, then looked up at him—at the stark, desperate longing rippling in the shadows of his face.
She allowed him to see hers: the same wrenching hunger that twisted her inside out. I want you so much. “Thank you for tonight,” she said aloud, but didn’t move her hand away until he caught the ribbon and held it in his fist.
His face was a mosaic of moonlight and shadows as he watched her, his head tilted to the side. “Can you let down your hair?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your hair,” he repeated. “Could you let it loose for a moment?”
She reached up to it. “Melitta pinned it up. I’m not even sure”—she laughed—“where to start to undo it.”
“May I?” His voice took on a husky tone.
His request silenced her for a moment before the hunger for him overtook her. She no longer questioned it. “Yes.”
“Turn around.”
She hesitated. Last time he had said those words was in the lake, when he was determined to see her scars.
His eyes glinted with recognition. “Please.”
There was no flare-up of panic. She had no urge to reach for her knife or step away from him, and that in itself was telling. I trust him. Exhaling, she turned her back to him, facing the wall of jasmine blooms. After a moment, his fingers sank into her hair, feeling for the pins.
“The thread,” she whispered.
“I see it.” With careful precision, he removed each pin one by one and set them on the ledge beside them. “It was so tight. Must have been uncomfortable.”
She wanted to deny it, but as soon as he unraveled the thread and let her hair fall free, she could feel the difference.
Still, he wasn’t finished yet—his fingers continued to comb through her locks, as if arranging them to his liking.
Heat spread through her chest and face. It was easy to imagine his mouth leaving hot imprints on her neck, his fingers closing over her breast, teasing her nipple behind the material, his other hand tracing a path to her thighs, caressing her through the fabric, until she craved for him to rip it all off so she could finally feel him—
A soft sound escaped her lips, and for a moment, she couldn’t even tell if it was her own smothered moan or not. She kept perfectly still behind the curtain of her hair.
His voice seared through the silence. “Let me see you.”
She had no idea what he thought of her involuntary moan, but her face would betray her right now. She shook her head.
“Do you know why I wanted to see you with your hair down?” He rested his hand on the ledge beside her. The heat of his body so close was a torment.
“Why?”
“To have something to think about when we’re apart.”
For a moment, she let his words wrap around her heart. Then she turned around only to walk past him, back in the direction of the dining room.
He caught up with her. “Calliste?” When she didn’t reply, he stepped in front of her.
She halted.
“What’s wrong?” He blocked the entrance to the dining room, his hand firm against the stone.
Heat coursed all over her. “It’s flattering that you want to commit me to your memory. But also impractical. For both of us.”
“Call it what you like.” His raw, throaty tone sent shivers down her spine. “It’s true and you know it.”
She stepped back. A part of her wanted him, right now. But her fear kept pulling her until her back sank into the soft jasmine beside one of the recesses with glittering candles. She held still as he closed in on her, his eyes sweeping all over her.
“Now you look like a true nymph,” he said slowly. “And I hope you don’t turn into a laurel tree to get away from me.”
She searched his face for a hint of playfulness. But he was serious, his eyes narrowed and inscrutable, hiding the rest of his thoughts from her as he came closer.
And closer.
And then he caught a strand of her hair, lifting it and resting it against the jasmine. He repeated for another strand. “Perfect,” he breathed. “A nymph emerging from a waterfall of flowers.” The darkness in his eyes sparkled. “Too perfect. Too addictive.” He took his hand away. “I’ve never been one for addictions, Calliste. Some use distractions to soften the harshness of life, but I’ve always known myself too well to fall into that trap. Except lately, I’ve found myself fixated on a certain someone. On you.” His gaze was direct. Earnest. “I am perhaps a little too obsessed. Yet I don’t mind it at all.” He paused, studying her carefully. “My only worry is that it could be one-sided, in which case—”
She reached out, resting her hand against his cheek.
He stilled.
She traced the outline of his jaw beneath the neatly cropped beard, gliding over the soft stubble. Her thumb grazed against his lips before she pulled back, watching the starlight in his eyes.
“What did it feel like?” he asked.
The tips of her fingers tingled from the softness of his mouth. “Nowhere near enough of what I want.”
“Precisely how I feel.” He rested his hand against the wall, his face swamped in shadow, eyes full of glinting darkness. The moon silvered his outline. He leaned in even closer, just like he had in the room in Hellenixia. “The truth is”—his breath was warm and laced with a hint of sweet Hellenixian wine—“that I’m getting tired of my self-control.”
The overpowering rush of desire almost made her moan again. “You don’t know everything about me.”
His hand moved to her neck, embracing it gently. “Hmm…” He slipped his other hand into her hair. “You don’t know everything about me, either.” He gave her a half-smile. “But we have more in common than you think. How about we meet halfway?”
She slipped her hands onto his chest, feeling the steel beneath the silk, remembering the map of nicks and scars. “Where is halfway?”
“One kiss,” he said quietly.
She stared at him. “A kiss?”
“Just one taste before you go.” He pressed his thumb against her lips. “And before you say anything about your husband or your order, remember that you swore loyalty to me. And right now, you’re in my power, which means I’ll selfishly put myself above everything else.” He lowered his face to her. His hot breath curled in her ear. “Imagine there’s nothing else. No laws, no gods, nothing. Just you and me.” From so close, his intensity seemed like a wave waiting to crash down on her and sweep her away with it. “Can you do it?”
Holding his gaze, she moved her lips against the pad of his thumb, then let her tongue flick against it. “Sometimes, I’m very good at imagining there are no consequences, Majesty.”
“Theron,” he supplied, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Theron.” She savored the powerful syllables, breathless at the fire sparkling in his eyes at his name on her lips. She seemed to be out of breath, somehow. “Theron?”
He palmed her cheek. “Yes?”
“I’ve… never been kissed. Truly kissed. Not by a man who cared about me.”
He watched her for a moment, mysterious emotions flitting in his eyes. “Do you want me to show you what it feels like to be coveted?”
“Yes.”
He waited.
“Yes, please?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up.
“Please, Theron.” She closed her eyes.
His lips brushed against hers, their breaths mingling. In a heartbeat, he sealed her mouth with his and began a languid exploration with his tongue, until it met hers and then—
It was like a spark falling on sun-scorched hay.
Fire swept through her veins. She kissed him back, her hand tightening in his hair as her tongue sparred with his.
A soft growl vibrated in his throat as he pinned her against the wall. He no longer held back, demanding, impatient, his kiss deepening.
She drank him up, drowning in his spicy and fresh scent amongst the jasmine blooms, shocked at the raw hunger he roused in her, making her moan into his mouth.
His hand tightened at the back of her neck.
The intense, exhilarating energy that always sparked between them seemed uncontrollable now, swelling and humming, their skins singing to each other.
She kissed him until her lips were raw and they both gasped for air, forcing them to break apart.
Dazed, she stared at the bewilderment in his eyes.
He still held her against the wall. His breath was uneven, his shoulders rising and falling.
Her head still swirled. If this is what I feel kissing you… a night with you would be my undoing.
The moon behind him sailed a few fractions before he reached out to her hair again. “You have petals in your hair,” he said hoarsely, gently plucking one out and letting it fall to the marble floor.
“Do I?” She ran her shaky fingers through her hair, feeling petals and leaves, too.
He reached out to help. Their hands collided. “Your pardon.” He withdrew his.
“It’s fine,” she replied in a neutral voice, already adjusting the pins on her collarbones to straighten them. “Let me—”
“I’ll do it.” He took over, smoothing down her robe.
She waited for him to finish, gathering her composure to prepare to leave.
But then he placed his hands over her collarbones, his thumbs against her neck.
She shot him a surprised look.
“If we hadn’t stopped,” he said hoarsely, “it would have been far more than just a kiss.”
“I know. But you said…”
“I know what I said.”
The finality in his voice made her take a deep breath. “Then let’s keep to what we agreed.”
“Is that what you want?” He tilted her chin with his thumb, not letting her look away. “Because if that’s the case—”
“No. Is it what you want?”
His intense gaze burned into her as he released her chin and pressed her against the wall once again. “No. It’s not. I’m not letting you run away after this .”
“Who said I would?” She slid her hands down the disciplined, defined muscles of his back, inhaling his scent.
“By the Pits of Tartarus,” he murmured straight into her ear. “Do it again.”
“Do what?”
“Run your fingers down my back. But harder, so I can imagine—” A stifled, ragged sound reverberated deep in his throat as she did what he asked.
She stilled, incredulous at his reactions. “What did you imagine?”
“You.” He fixed his eyes on her. “Bare underneath me, arching and coming wildly with my name on your lips. What else?” His eyes narrowed. “You look shocked.”
“I am.” She blinked, recovering from his unvarnished honesty.
“Huh. Little do you know me, Calliste,” he chuckled under his breath.
“Is that what you imagined when I massaged you in Aganeeios?”
“No.” He braced his forearm against the wall over her head. “This is… similar to what I imagined during my sleepless night in Hellenixia.”
She scraped her nails down his back again. “In Petrakelis Passage,” she breathed against his neck, “after the fight, when you gave me back my knife, I wanted you to take me somewhere and…”
His eyes blazed. “And?”
She faltered under his sudden, scorching scrutiny.
“Say it,” he demanded, his voice huskier. “What did you want me to do?”
“I wanted you to take me somewhere, even if it was rough and quick and…” She couldn’t finish her thought, lost in the sensation of his body pressing against hers.
“I would never be rough with you,” he said quietly, stroking her cheek. “Unless you ordered me to.” He inhaled the scent of her hair. “And I had many thoughts about you in Hellenixia, after you left my room.”
“What kind of thoughts?”
His eyes glittered. “Thoughts that tortured me nearly every morning after I carried you to your bed. That’s what you do to me,” he added before capturing her lips once more.
This time, they took their time exploring and savoring. It was a slow, lazy kiss, unlike the first one. It seemed to go on for what seemed like forever, with its own rhythm, as if they were in perfect alignment.
Light-headed and unsteady despite being caught between the wall and his body, she silenced a distant voice reminding her of how their lives were otherwise disastrously misaligned.
He let the kiss expire ever so slowly, opening his eyes to watch her from close. “I know we don’t have time for this now. But when we do find the time…” Again, his eyes promised so much more than his lips. He waited until she regained control of her breath and helped her straighten her clothes. Then he watched her for a couple of moonlit moments. “Calliste?”
She met his gaze.
“You look even more stunning tonight than when I first met you.”
“I thought you didn’t even notice me that day.”
“Not until you glared at me and defied me.” His smile was playful as he traced her cheek with his finger. Then he took her hand again and slipped something into it.
She blinked, feeling the familiar feel of the ivory handle in the leather scabbard. My knife? She looked at it, incredulous, then at him again. “I thought you said I didn’t need it under your protection.”
“I thought you knew it was just an excuse,” he replied. “An excuse of a man exhausted with constant worry.”
She drew the knife from its scabbard. It gleamed. “You polished it for me?”
“I always take good care of what is entrusted to me, willingly or not.”
She re-sheathed her knife and felt the unfamiliar softness of the scabbard. She turned it over to inspect it. “And this?”
“A bit of extra padding so it’s more comfortable to wear.”
“You know how to do this?”
“Of course I do.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Little do you know me.”
She ran her fingers over the neat, strong stitches where he had added the extra padding. “I’m still surprised that you’re giving it back to me.”
“It’s hard to explain,” he replied quietly. “But I can try if you want.”
The look in his eyes told her that he would. “You don’t have to. Thank you.” She turned the scabbard in her hands, wondering if she should strap it on right away.
“Let me help you,” he said, getting onto one knee. “You can put your foot here. I’ll look away.”
She stared at him at her feet and then shifted some of her weight against the wall before placing her foot on his thigh.
He wrapped his hand around her ankle and looked away.
Even kneeling, he wasn’t a presence to be ignored. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair again.
His hand flexed around her ankle. She stilled, fixing her eyes on his averted profile. A muscle twitched along his jawline.
She bent over, pushing the side of her peplos robe apart and securing the double strap around her thigh. The sheath had been made to her requirements, but now the straps seemed too tight. “Oh,” she chuckled to herself. “For a moment, I thought I had gained weight. But it’s just extra padding.”
He snorted. “Is that a problem?”
“Neither is a bother to me, but I can’t seem to tighten it on my own. Can you help me?”
“I can’t do it looking away.”
She stifled a snort. “Then I suppose you’ll have to take a look.”
Slowly, he turned his head to face her, his eyes trailing up to her dagger. “What do you want me to do?”
“Hold it in place, so I can adjust it.”
His hand slid to the scabbard, fingers splayed in a steady grip.
She continued to struggle and let out a frustrated sigh.
“I may need to support your thigh as well,” he said, his voice hoarse once again.
Meaning, he would have to place his other hand over her inner thigh.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she met his gaze. “Now I’m wondering if you added this padding on purpose.”
“I’m wondering the same thing,” he chuckled, then narrowed his eyes. “May I?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t want to test your self-control.”
“I still have plenty.”
“You said you were tired of exercising it.”
“I enjoy new challenges, Calliste. What about you?”
“I like to present a challenge, Theron.”
“Huh. One could say we’re well-matched.”
“Let’s see if that’s true,” she replied, smiling but feeling the warmth and firmness of his hand on her lower thigh. She did her best to ignore it as she adjusted the straps. “Done,” she said, at length.
He took his hands away and rose, light skipping in his eyes.
“You restrained yourself,” she teased, though her cheeks flushed with heat.
“Unlike my thoughts,” he murmured.
Her cheeks grew even hotter, but she didn’t ask.
After a moment, he let out a breath and offered her his arm. “Let me accompany you to Kalias’ chamber.”
She slipped her hand on his arm. “Is there anyone out there?” She touched her loose hair. “This is too revealing.”
He stared at her for another moment, his eyes inscrutable. “Leave it. I don’t care who’s out there and what they make of it.” And then he pulled her with him, through the golden chamber with flickering braziers, into the cool inside corridor.
Captain Lykos leaned against the wall opposite the entrance. There was no escaping his incisive gaze.
Her cheeks flushed.
“Still on duty?” the king said casually. “I thought you’d be gone after escorting Eumelia.”
The captain gave him a heavy look, his jaw ticking. “Now I can go.” He saluted and marched away.
The king sighed and motioned her to go.
“He guessed,” Calliste whispered.
“Of course he did.”
“You’re not worried?”
“He knows where I stand.”
She didn’t ask any questions and savored the warmth of his skin, inhaling his presence until the words he never spoke rang in her mind again: Never without you, Calliste. Come, my fearless queen.
She slowed down.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She frowned down at her pendant.
“You look troubled, Calliste.”
She met his dark eyes and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
He turned a corner to his son’s chamber. Argyros stood watch, saluting as he opened the door for them, his expression unreadable.
Gaiane rose at their sight, her eyes taking them in before sliding away. Her face showed no reaction as she walked out.
The king perched on the edge of his son’s bed and stroked his forehead as she settled in her armchair. Then he turned to her, the golden glow of the braziers picking out the planes of his face.
Calliste glanced around the chamber at the constellation of toys spread out on the carpet: all the clay-and-string warriors and their carved horses. “When I first came in here, Gaiane apologized for leaving his toys lying around. Why?”
Sadness glinted in his eyes. “He’s always tidied up after himself, but that day when he fell asleep for good, he didn’t. It could be stupid, but I asked Gaiane to leave it, hoping…” He scrubbed his hand down his face.
“I understand,” she said quickly.
He glanced at his son. Then he looked at her.
It was hard to watch both the dark sadness and the bright hope in his eyes as he reached out for her hand and brought it to his lips.
Even that gentle, soft kiss left her breathless.
He let go and rose, glancing down at her for another moment.
“Sleep well,” she said. “You were supposed to go to bed early tonight.”
“I still have work to do.”
“You’re not going back to your reports, are you?”
His face hardened. “There’s just one I need to look at again. The one that made me late in the first place.”
The sudden chill in his voice took her aback. “Is it that important?”
“It concerns a certain citizen of Anthemos who’s out of my reach. For now. But once I get hold of him for his crimes, I want to have it crystal clear in my mind whether I want to let him live or have him executed.”
Gone was the relaxed man who spent the evening with her. In his stead stood a dangerous king who had stormed her temple and brought her here.
She shuddered, wondering what crimes that man had committed. “I didn’t know you made such decisions alone in the evening.”
“Not usually. I have councils and courts for that. But in this particular case, I’m happy to make an exception.” His face softened again. “I can’t wait to see you again in the morning.”