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“It’s your choice. Why are you blaming me?”
Right. My deranged choice to dream about him and discover his secret. Only once, of course. Since we got married, I never saw anything compromising enough that would give me bargaining power. But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I sit beside him.
“Just call me Astra.”
He eyes me, then looks at his jagged scar and rubs his index finger on it. “Is it that despicable? Being my wife?”
“Well, I’m not. How can I ever know what it’s like?”
He spreads his hands, his mocking tone returning in full force. “Such a mystery.”
Yes, it is a mystery, because I’m never sure why he gets upset at certain things. I try to change the subject, and point at his recent scar. “How did you get this?”
He raises his hand to his eye level and examines it. “I got unlucky.” He turns to me. “Then lucky.”
“That’s not vague at all.”
He chuckles. “Fine, I’ll tell you. I got hit by an arrow and didn’t think much of it, but I had a dream about this woman, who told me I was poisoned and convinced me to get an antidote. She’s stunning. Dazzling like the sun if it didn’t blind you, her voice more soothing than a harp’s song. She’s wise, kind, caring. A true queen. The most fascinating?—”
“You’re married,” I interrupt him, heat rising to my cheeks. He’s mocking me, even though he’s saying it with a straight face. It was me in the dream. Me, not the person he’s describing. “You shouldn’t be dreaming about beautiful women.”
The edge of his lips hint at a smirk. “How am I supposed to control my dreams?”
“Don’t tell me about them. I don’t want to hear them.”
He frowns. “Are you… jealous?”
“I’m tired of the mockery, that’s all.”
“Astra, it was you in the dream. You told me about the antidote. You saved me.”
“Then thank the dream version of me. Don’t make up a story about a mysterious woman saving you.”
He shrugs. “I did thank her. Quite profusely. Ardently.” I remember those dreams, remember his fervor. “She’s quite… lovely.” He looks at me. “Not you?”
For a split second I wonder what will happen if I say it’s me, if I confess I remember saving him, remember the way his body moved when he “thanked” me. I wonder if he’ll thank me some more. I wonder what his skin will feel like against mine, knowing it’s real, knowing it’s true.
But it’s not true, is it? And he’s testing me to see if I confess I’m aware of the dreams.
I roll my eyes. “Obviously not. That’s coming from your mind, Marlak. But I’m glad your dreams about me saved you.”
“Yes. My dreams about you saved me from a poison I wasn’t aware existed. You studied poisons, didn’t you?”
I give up. “Tell me how you know that, and I’ll tell you what I studied.”
He rubs his chin, thinking. “That’s not a good deal. Give me something more.”
“A kiss.” Where did this demented idea come from? All I hear is my heart throbbing in anticipation while I wish I could swallow back the words.
He shakes his head. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you, wife, and I’m not going to force you to do it to get the information you want.”
Well, that’s humiliating, but at least it means no kiss. I chuckle, pretending it’s nothing. “I was joking.”
“See? Look who’s mocking now.” He sighs. “Let’s do this: I’ll tell you how I know about you, and you’ll tell me what you studied, what you prepared for. Is that a deal?”
“Yes, but you can’t tell anyone about the substitutes.”
“I won’t.” He pauses, runs his finger over his curls, and takes a deep breath. “One of the relics, it’s a seeing ring. It’s not… I can’t look at it and ask to see something. It doesn’t work like that. It’s confusing most of the time. But I can get glimpses of things. And I saw this place, like a classroom, where three girls studied. There was this older man, with long, brown hair. It happened only some five, six times, and I could hear them calling you Astra, hear you studying about other kingdoms, anatomy, how to assassinate someone, how to pretend to be the princess. It took me a while to figure out I was seeing Krastel, and it was the princess decoys, especially you.”
