Page 75 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
It was difficult not to think about the ways their bodies were pressed together like this. She could feel every one of the muscles of his chest and his stomach against her back. And then his hot breath against the back of her neck...
She was almosttoowarm.
“We’re not going to get any sleep unless you keep still, Alethea.”
She froze, hardly realizing she was moving at all.
“Close your eyes.”
How did he evenknowher eyes were wide open?
Her eyes fell shut. A breath came, slow and long, and her body followed, sinking into Nakir and his warmth until exhaustion erased everything else her body was begging her for.
“Revels are the only courts where princesses and sellswords drink from the same bowl.
Rank melts; appetites do not.
Remember that when you step into the firelight.”
—LETTERS FROM THE ROAD BY THERYN MYR
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hunter’s Moon, Day 30.
The days before the Revel blurred into motion. Crates hauled, ropes knotted, fires banked. By the morning of departure, the camp had transformed: carts and wagons lined the edges, packed tight, the usual sprawl of daily life compressed into tidy rows ready to move.
Once more, Alethea immersed herself in the various tasks that needed attention around the camp to the best of her ability. By now, she’d met so many soldiers she could hardly keep everyone’s name straight. She found joy in hearing their stories and listening to them lament about the cold northern winters. Each one understood their purpose in the rebellion, ready to take up arms in defense of their champion.
As she dressed for the evening with Emi, the soldiers’ tales lingered in her thoughts. While the people in the camp made up only a small fraction of Nakir’s forces, they represented a powerful microcosm of the entire rebellion. In their eyes, Alethea saw the flicker of hope and the brave spark of defiance.She’d never been a part of something larger than herself in this way before.
As she fastened the clasps of her gown, Alethea considered her own mother’s sadistic scheming, remembering the way she’d been so eager to watch her citizens suffer under her oppressive rule. How had the queen come to resent her people so deeply? The contrast between her mother’s cruelty and the bravery of the soldiers struck Alethea like a bolt of Emi’s lightning. It was a stark reminder of why they were fighting. Her mother, the very person who should have been most interested in protecting her people, had become their greatest adversary.
The sun was dipping just below the horizon when the six of them arrived in the gardens of the castle. Alethea wasn’t surprised to see the Imanrases had spared no expense this evening. She could already see displays of magic and several huge bonfires spread out across the grounds. Despite the fact the gardens were entirely surrounded by massive stone walls and armored guards, Alethea still had difficulty swallowing her nerves.
Emi’s burgundy dress shimmered in the full moonlight, its fabric catching the silvery glow and casting a soft, ethereal aura around her. Her chestnut hair cascaded in waves, framing her face and dancing on the night breeze.
Balthasar was dressed in all black, as usual. The ebony ensemble seemed to absorb the moonlight, creating the illusion he was part of the night, a silent observer in the midst of revelry. His blond locs stood out like a halo, catching the moonbeams and shimmering with a pale glow.
Kerrigan had somehow found a pantsuit with sharp lines and subtle details that looked like it had been made specifically to intimidate. Her fire-red hair swept to one side above a shaved undercut, one ear studded with an array of gold bands. Despite her casual demeanor, there was an undeniable intensity in hergaze, a burning power simmering just below the surface, waiting to be unfurled.
Dawes cleaned up nicely in a black tunic and leather breeches, his attire tailored to complement his rugged demeanor. The sleeves of his tunic were pushed up to his elbows, revealing a pair of thick forearms etched with scars and traces of battles fought.
Nakir was every bit the dark prince in a black jacket and trousers that hung from his lithe, powerful physique. The fabric accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and the defined lines of his chest, sculpted from years of training and battle. His soft raven hair was brushed back out of his face, behind his horns.
“I knew the blue dress was the one,” Emi professed, entwining their fingers sweetly as they approached the entrance to the festivities. “You look incredible.”
Alethea muttered her gracious thanks as she pushed a loose strand behind her ear. Emi had been persistent, convincing her to wear her hair down and let the golden-blonde curls fall as they willed. She’d become so accustomed to braiding it or binding it behind her head that the sensation of the curls cascading freely down her back was unfamiliar and unwieldy. She knew she’d end up regretting leaving it down. Now that her hair hung past her hips, it constantly snagged on the fabric of her dress or got caught in the clasps of her jewelry. As she moved, she felt the weight of it shifting and tangling, reminding her of why she’d always preferred it bound—why her mother had insisted upon it, despite never having allowed her to cut it. Yet even she had to admit there was a strange beauty in the chaos; a wildness that mirrored the rebellion stirring within her own heart.
She felt her companions’ eyes on her the same way she looked at each of them, seeing them in this new light as they approached the Revel.
Balthasar bowed low to her, his movements fluid andpracticed. Alethea, though she was accustomed to such formalities, couldn’t help the flush that crossed her cheeks. In response, she offered a small curtsy, her skirt fluttering around her as she acknowledged his gesture. Even Kerrigan shot a grin in her direction, flashing her a quick wink before they set off.
Dawes acknowledged Alethea with a polite nod, his attention momentarily diverted from Emi to offer her a fleeting smile. However, it was evident his focus remained fixed on the lightning mage. Alethea could hardly miss the longing as he watched her twirl about in her new dress on their way to the gardens.
Nakir’s gaze, unlike any other, pierced through the heart of her being. Those pools of molten amber haunted her, burning with a fire that left her breathless. It made her want to hide—not out of fear, but a profound vulnerability. He silently offered her his arm, and she took it, if only to escape the intensity of his gaze.
They were each thoroughly searched for weapons before they were permitted through the stunning floral arches marking the entrance. The moment they stepped into the garden, the temperature rose several degrees.
