Page 32 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
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 saidquietly. “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 couldtakeit 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.
