Page 31 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
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 yourdangerous rebellionthan 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 asmonstrousas 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.
“No,” she said quietly, meeting his eye again. “You’re not a monster at all.”
“I take that as high praise from you. Maybe one day, I’ll earn such an accolade.”
As they walked through the encampment, Alethea couldn’t miss the way the soldiers responded to Nakir. No one scattered at his approach. No one shrank or averted their gaze the way they did in her mother’s presence. Instead, there were subtle nods, murmured greetings, a raised hand here and there—small acknowledgments offered with care, as though they were mindful not to intrude upon his evening.
It unsettled her more than fear ever had.
She found herself wondering what she looked like, walking at his side as if she belonged there, next to a man who seemed larger than life; who commanded loyalty without demanding it. She’s never seen power wielded like this before. Not even her father, respected as he was, had inspired this kind of quiet devotion.
Nakir spoke to her as an equal. He listened. He’d made it unmistakably clear he had no intention of using her as a weapon or a prize.
In a single day, he’d shown her more respect than her mother had in her entire life.
The thought tightened something in Alethea’s chest.
This—this—was the kind of ruler Lenorea deserved. The kind she would choose, if she were ever allowed such a choice.
Was this what Emi, Balthasar, Dawes, and Kerrigan had seen all along? Was this why they followed him so fiercely?
How could she deny it, seeing it now, with her own eyes?
