He pulled off his shirt and threw it aside. The key hung free now, dangling between them. Roa reached up to touch it, tracing the knotted dragons, until Dax lifted the cord over his head and dropped it on the floor.
His fingers slipped hooks out of eyes. Her breath sped up as his hands skimmed down her stomach and hips, then slid beneath the silk of her kaftan, setting her nerves on fire. When his palms glided up her bare thighs, though, Roa tensed and sucked in a breath.
Dax went very still, watching her.
“You’re afraid,” he realized, pushing himself up onto his hands. Cold air rushed between them as he stared down at her.
“It’s just that... I know what to expect.” Her cheeks burned. “I know there will be pain.”
His face softened, then. “Oh, Roa, no. It doesn’t have to hurt.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I told you I would never hurt you.”
She thought of the night she gave herself to Theo.
“You might not know,” she whispered.
He frowned hard, his gaze flickering over her. “Of course I will.”
She should have stopped him then. Should have told him everything.
But if she did, she would never save her sister. She needed to play this game through to the end, or Essie wouldn’t just be punished, she’d be lost forever. And despite the war waging in Roa’s heart, she loved her sister more than anything or anyone.
It should have been Dax who died that night eight years ago, not Essie.
Roa needed to make it right.
She needed her sister back.
But deeper than all of these things was a much simpler truth: now that it was far too late, now that it was entirely out of reach, Roa wanted this. Wantedhim. Wanted to be loved by the king.
And so she was.
Afterward, Roa listened to the sound of his breathing, trying not to memorize it. Trying not to need the beat of his heart against her spine or the weight of his arm curled securely around her, even in sleep.
As she listened to him breathe, she tried to push this bright new wanting back down from where it had come.
Roa shut her eyes tight, trying to remember her purpose. Trying to sharpen it inside her like a knife.
Essie.
The key.
Midnight.
Untucking herself from Dax, she pushed herself to the edge of the bed. Casting her gaze over the floor, she found his shirt. And then the key.
Her eyes burned as she picked it up and slipped its cord over her head.
Outside in the night sky, the moon had almost reached its zenith.
Roa quickly dressed. But just before stepping into the passage, she looked back to the bed, where Dax slept, oblivious to her treachery. Her gaze traced the gentle curls of his hair, the ears that stood out a little too far from his head, the solid line of his shoulders.
She turned away from the sight, then took the passage. When she finally came to the locked iron gate, she lifted the cord over her head. Her hand trembled as it slid the key in. Her stomach twisted as she turned it.
There was sharpclick—like the sound of Roa’s heart breaking—and the gate swung open.
She should have felt triumphant.
Instead, she wept.
