His smile disappears. “Unfortunately.” He explains their complicated relationship and how they’ve been in competition to find a fated queen since his father’s death.
We spend the next several hours talking about his family and his new role as Jara—and my place in all that. About the xenophobia of the religious caste and the hurdles I’ll have togaining their approval and acceptance. About his culture and people...that are nowmyculture and people. About the star goddess Alioth and how she brought us together for a reason.
It’s exciting. Overwhelming. Like I’ve fallen into a fairytale, one where I cross a galaxy to find true love but with all the bizarre dangers along the way. But now, my happily-ever-after is finally in sight.
Over the next several days, as we prepare to make the journey to the cliff city where we’ll rule as king and queen, a few things become clear. Our easy communication doesn’t extend to others. Saana and I still have to speak in hand gestures and broken sentences, although with Oljin to translate, it gets easier and easier. Also, my skin is now full of colorful pigment that changes with my feelings, except I’m terrible at controlling it.
I don’t mind flashing like a malfunctioning traffic light, but Oljin takes it very seriously. He and Saana help me practice calming my emotions so my normal skin color returns. The exercises make me impatient, but they insist that emotional control will help me gain the respect of the Irran people.
“It’s fine if everyone knows how I’m feeling,” I argue at the end of a long session, when I’m tired and worn down by repeated failures. “I have nothing to hide.”
“In private, I want to see all your colors,” Oljin murmurs, pulling me into his lap. His cock swells, nudging between my thighs. Immediately, I turn six shades of red, the color of desire, and Saana scurries outside with an embarrassed excuse.
Oh. Now I get it. My colors shift again, paling with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable in her own house.”
“She’s seen worse with a son like Pravil,” he jokes, trying to raise my mood. “She knows you’re still learning, Alara. She’s not upset, I promise. Even for us, it takes years of study to master our pigment.”
I exhale, and my bright colors recede a little bit. “I’ll be a better student.”
A wicked look crosses his face. “If you can settle your skin, I’ll reward you with a run, pretty scholar.”
That’s all the motivation I need. “A run” has become our code word for making love.
At first, it really meant running. Our long, barefoot jogging loops through the fragrant grasslands helped burn off all the extra energy I have now that my body is strong and healthy. But the remote locations gave us privacy we lack in Saana’s living room, and Oljin has kept his promises to make me sing.
He nips the side of my neck. “You’re only getting brighter. Control your thoughts.”
I laugh, wriggling in his lap, feeling his cock jump beneath me. “Why? You aren’t.”
“Who is testing whom here?” he growls playfully, grasping my hips to still my movements. “Be good for me and then I’ll be good for you.”
He keeps this promise, too. When I manage to get my pigment under control, he takes me out to a bower of efala vines and licks between my legs until I turn to electric jelly.
Afterward, he holds me in the grass, kissing each of my fingers, naming them. Namingme. “My mate. My queen. My blossom. My sweet scholar. My forever.”
I use the same fingers to trace his features that are so alien and so familiar. “I wish we could stay here forever. Just like this.”
“Alioth smile on us.” His joyous pigment swirls into something muddy and complex. “In two days at this time, you’ll sit on the blackrock throne.”
“So will you,” I remind him. “As long as we’re together, our life will be good.”
But it isn’t.
On travel day, it’s like the sun slips away, little by little, the closer we get to the city. And when we finally reach the top of the cliff staircase, where the palace rises above, we aren’t welcomed with open arms. We’re met with guards in black cloaks, long knives bristling in their hands.
Chapter 16
Oljin
Our joining escort is armed priests. And their weapons are drawn.
I force down the pigment that prickles up my spine. This is worse than I expected. Much, much worse.
“Is everything okay?” Rose’s forehead creases.
I smooth the lines away and then fold our hands together. “As long as we’re together, everything is as it should be.”
Pravil’s rasping breaths break the tense silence as he reaches us, panting from his run up the steep cliff, a messenger on his heels. He takes in the assembled escort and his skin flashes—surprise, anger, fear, dread—before settling back to camouflage.
