Page 30 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
“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 waslivid. 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 heglanced 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 itcarefully, 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.
