Page 29 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
She thought of the dozens of letters tucked away beneath her bed, each one pulling her deeper beneath the surface of Reingard’s honeyed promises. She remembered her days in the silver palace, surrounded by all the Delaney princes and princesses—so many voices, so much movement, a constant press of life she’d never known in Lenorea.
There had been galas and feasts that stretched late into thenight, wine poured freely, laughter echoing through marble halls. She had been swept along in it all, dazzled by the ease of belonging; by the novelty of a court that never seemed to sleep. For a time, she mistook the noise for warmth and the attention for affection. She’d let herself fantasize about a life there; of being accepted into a giant family. Of never being alone again.
Nakir relaxed, his eyes softening. “You cared for him.”
She wished her eyes wouldn’t betray her as they filled with tears. “Enough to think he would understand I... struggled with my mother’s demands.” She drew a steadying breath. “Instead, he told me—very clearly—I had a duty to my kingdom. That I was being childish for complaining.”
The words still stung.
“Azmarin is secular,” she went on, quieter now, “but the Delaneys are pious. He said my powers were a gift from the gods, and that refusing to use them for my kingdom was a sin.”
She admired faith. She always had. But she also knew where conviction, left unquestioned, could lead. The Hasan family had paid for it in blood.
“Zealots,” Nakir said, the word low and sharp as if it tasted bitter. “So you rejected him.”
Alethea shook her head as her voice thickened with shame. “Worse. Ibelievedhim. I figured if anyone understood the pressure of my situation, it was him.” She rubbed the back of her neck as she tried to turn her gaze to anywhere but Nakir. “He actually rejectedme.”
“I find that hard to believe.” His conviction was so strong her heart skipped a few beats.
“Why is that?”
“Many reasons.” Nakir’s amber eyes burned as he watched her, a single brow rising as if she should already know the answer. The temperature of the water seemed to rise several degrees. What did it say that she wanted Nakir to believe she wasdesirable, even if only because she was a princess? “What reason could he possibly have to reject you?”
Alethea tried not to think about how Reingard’s temper had flared when she voiced his prophecy. The way he’d wrapped his shaking hands around her throat and threatened that if she uttered another word, he would choke the very life out of her.
“People always say they want the truth,” Alethea told him, her head tilted back to look up at the stars. “They think it will set them free, or help them reach enlightenment, or bring them closer to the gods. They think they want to know the truth when they ask me about their future or the past. They’re looking for their greatest hopes to be spoken aloud. Why not ask the Oracle, they think? I told him the truth, and he hated me for it.”
“What truth?” Nakir inched closer, dragging her attention from the stars to the chain around his neck—anywhere but those molten eyes. She stared at his bare chest, his silver pendant, the dips of his collarbone, his dark horns, distracting herself for a moment while she searched for her elusive courage.
“It just came out. I don’t always have control.”
Nakir was close again—too close. Close enough she could feel the warmth of him through the damp air. Close enough that looking up at him felt like a mistake she’d been circling for days.
When she finally did, his brow was furrowed, dark eyes searching her face with an intensity that made something inside her buckle. It was too much. The concern etched into his expression. The way he was waiting. All of him.
Her foot slipped on the slick stone she’d been balancing on precariously, and she nearly plunged further into the water.
Nakir caught her instantly. His hand closed around her elbow beneath the surface, warm and bare against her skin, steady and sure. She reached for him without thinking, fingers sliding over his bicep, water beading and slipping between them as she held onto him to regain her balance.
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 thenow.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.
