Chapter 6 #3
For a heartbeat, she stayed there. Floating, their fronts pressed so close. Too close. Her pulse thundered where his hand held her, the water only heightening her awareness, every nerve lighting up with the knowledge of how little space separated them.
“I told him,” she said at last, barely above a whisper, “he would never be king of Azmarin.”
The words trembled as they left her. Her breath caught, the memory flashing sharp and violent in her mind—the fury, the magic, the way the air itself had seemed to recoil. She flinched despite herself, dropping her eyes away from Nakir’s.
He seemed to feel it instantly. Nakir released his hold at once, swimming back through the water as if he’d crossed some unseen line. “My apologies,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean—”
“No.” Alethea shook her head too quickly. “It’s not you.”
And it wasn’t. It wasn’t his touch that had startled her, or the closeness, or the dangerous awareness of him. Nakir’s hand had grounded her; kept her anchored in her body, in the water, in the now. Nothing like what Reingard had done.
That realization unsettled her more than the memory.
A traitorous part of her—reckless, aching—wished the Aeshlien would touch her again.
His eyes narrowed as darkness surrounded him. “Did he...?”
Alethea wrapped her arms around herself, holding tight, as if she could keep the truth contained. She knew what he was asking. There was no point pretending otherwise.
“Just once,” she said quietly. As if the frequency mattered. She hated the instinct to diminish it; to pretend it counted for less if it hadn’t been repeated.
She swallowed, forcing herself to continue.
“And then he never spoke to me again. It became... very clear the engagement wasn’t going to happen.
” The words tasted bitter. She let out a breath that shook more than she meant it to.
“My mother was livid. She said I’d ruined everything.
For our family. For the kingdom.” Her mouth twisted. “Again.”
The memory surfaced unbidden: Queen Zenobia Onasis’s cold stare on the long journey home. Two months of silence. Two months of being looked through, as if Alethea were already a disappointment set in stone.
When she looked back up, Nakir’s expression had gone frighteningly still. Anger burned behind his darkened eyes, sharp and restrained, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. He couldn’t seem to look at her—like if he did, something in him might break loose.
Twice now, she had seen him swallow his fury because of something she’d told him.
And she still couldn’t comprehend why he cared so much.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet—but no less terrifying for it.
“Here is the truth, Alethea.” His gaze never left hers.
“If you remain as my advisor, then accept this as my solemn vow: I will never demand your prophecy. If you deem me worthy of such a gift, you may bestow it at your own discretion. But you will never be asked to give more of yourself again. Not by me. And not by anyone in my court.”
The words struck her harder than any threat ever had.
She went still, lips parted in stunned silence, her mind scrambling uselessly for something—anything—that sounded like adequate gratitude.
He seemed to sense the weight of it then. His shoulders eased, the darkness around him retreating just enough as he added, almost dryly, “Also, your ex is an asshole.”
A breath of startled laughter escaped her before she could stop it, thin but real, and she managed a crooked smile as she cocked a brow at him. “What about you? Is there someone special out there waiting for you?”
Nakir’s own laugh echoed across the peaceful shore as he glanced up at the night sky again, studying that same starscape she had earlier.
“No. I’ve never made time for such things. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had lovers... Only one of them for any considerable length of time, but it was quite clear that was all it would be.”
Alethea wondered how that even worked. She knew her heart was far too sensitive for those kinds of arrangements. “Was that difficult?”
“Not as much as you might think. She’s an Aeshlien, and an orphan too—at least, as far as she knows. A priestess of Aevensor... I don’t think she’ll ever love a mortal more than her god.”
Alethea had never met a priestess of the reclusive, mysterious Primal god of Death.
“This was years ago now, and it ended amicably. We still keep in contact, and I greatly value her counsel, but that part of our lives is long past. She was the one who finally convinced me to join Goran’s efforts. I wouldn’t be here without her.”
Something uncomfortable settled in Alethea’s chest. She wanted to dislike this priestess for some reason, despite never having met her.
“Do you always go by Alethea,” he asked after a few measured breaths of silence, “or do you have a shorter name you prefer? Allie, perhaps?”
She scrunched her nose in distaste. “No. Reingard called me Allie. And my handmaiden, Millicent, before... before we had a falling-out.”
He inclined his head once, the faintest acknowledgment, and let the subject pass without comment.
Alethea finally released the tight hold she’d wrapped around herself and let her arms move freely in the water again. She bit the inside of her lip, hesitating—then spoke, softer. “My father called me Thea. It’s a family name.”
Nakir didn’t respond at once. His gaze drifted, unfocused, as though he were turning the name over in his mind, weighing it carefully, reverently. “Thea,” he repeated quietly, testing it. Then, after a pause, he looked back at her. “You were close?”
“Yes,” she said.
When her father was alive, she’d lived the life expected of a king’s daughter—ceremonial, watched, weighed.
And yet he’d doted on her all the same, as if none of it mattered half so much as she did.
Even now, thinking of that time threatened to pull her under, grief rising like a familiar tide she’d learned not to fight too hard.
“Then I am very sorry for your loss,” Nakir said.
The sincerity in his voice—quiet, unguarded—slipped past her defenses before she could stop it.
“It was a long time ago,” she said, reaching out to splash away a drifting leaf, as though the small, pointless motion might anchor her to the present.
The quiet that settled between them grew unexpectedly comfortable. Alethea eased herself back into the warmth of the water, letting it cradle her as her breath slowed. Her gaze drifted upward, following his, drawn to whatever had captured his attention in the vast sweep of stars overhead.
There was a disarming simplicity to being with Nakir; a sense of ease she hadn’t anticipated.
The sharp edges of him had softened with familiarity, his presence no longer intimidating, but grounding.
She felt it in the way the water steadied her; in the way the night seemed to hold its breath around them.
When she looked back at him, she found his amber eyes already on her. No scrutiny. No demand. Just a quiet understanding that passed between them.
The realization settled deep in her chest, warm and unsettling all at once.
She had never felt this safe. Not like this. Not with anyone.
“You’re certain you don’t want me to take you back to your castle, Alethea?” Nakir asked, his voice low in the hush between them. “It’s dangerous in a rebellion.”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I don’t know what my future looks like... but I would rather join your dangerous rebellion than spend another day with her.”
Nakir regarded her then, his expression unreadable. She was tired of always trying to decipher his cryptic looks; of trying to peer behind the mask he wore to figure out whatever was going on behind those startling eyes.
“What is it?” she pried.
“Nothing,” he tried to say, shaking his head. She wished he was cursed the way she was. How unfair was it that she could not tell a lie but could easily be lied to?
“Tell me,” she urged, swimming closer.
He looked down at her through long lashes, his lips curving faintly, something dangerous and thoughtful flickering there. “It’s just,” he said quietly, “you have a lot more in common with us than I realized.” Nakir glanced around in the darkness. “Let’s head back. We have an early morning.”
He turned away without another word, offering her his back—and her privacy.
Alethea took a steadying breath before rising from the water.
She dried herself with his towel before folding it carefully and slipping her plain dress over her shoulders.
She was still damp, the autumn air raising gooseflesh along her skin, but the chill felt distant with the lingering warmth of the springs.
She let her hair down, her curls having fallen into a tangled, wavy mess from traveling.
When she was dressed, she returned the courtesy, turning her back to Nakir.
She was acutely aware of every sound behind her—the soft splash of water, the scrape of boots on stone, the quiet efficiency of his movements. He dressed quickly, and when he was done, she sensed it rather than saw it: his stillness; his restraint.
They set off toward the encampment without a word, the rows of white tents slowly emerging from the darkness ahead.
“You’re not what I was expecting,” Alethea said at last, the confession slipping free before she could second-guess it.
He glanced at her, curiosity flickering across his face.
“You’re not exactly what I was expecting either,” he replied.
His lips curved into a smile that caught her entirely off-guard—soft, wry, and dangerously disarming.
“What did you think you’d find?” he asked lightly.
“Am I as monstrous as the rumors claim?”
Her gaze betrayed her before she could stop it, flicking briefly to the horns crowning his head.
They were still strange—still other—but she realized she could not begin to imagine him without them.
Her fingers twitched at her side, the urge to reach up and trace their edges sharp and entirely unwelcome.