Lyssena hummed thoughtfully at that. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one changing.
She found that she enjoyed learning Erevos. Not merely his body, though she certainly enjoyed that as well, but the subtleties of him, the strange, unexpected moments that made something ancient and otherworldly feel almost . . . human.
She would never forget the way he had lounged across the princess’s bed, long limbs sprawled in a posture so scandalous it would have sent half her village into hysterics, entirely oblivious to how indecent he appeared.
The memory tugged a smile from her lips, there in the steaming water. But her smile faded as she realized she had asked him so little about himself.
Since arriving in his realm, she had spoken of her village, her fears, her aches, her customs, her body, and he had listened,endlessly patient, endlessly curious, as though every small detail she offered was a treasure worth studying.
Yet she had rarely turned that same curiosity toward him.
She had made everything about herself.
The thought pricked at her chest. There, with steam curling around her shoulders and Erevos’s large hand still entwined with hers, Lyssena decided that she wanted to do something for him.
He had built her a home from shadow and will, and had warmed water for her without being asked.
Oh, she loved planning things.
The realization sent a spark of excitement dancing through her, warming her more than the bath ever could. She had always been the one to imagine festivals larger than the harvest warranted, to suggest ribbons where none were necessary, to arrange flowers simply because they were beautiful. Her mother used to sigh at her dramatics.
But here? Here, there was no one to tell her she was too much.
She could plan anything from a small, intimate banquet lit by floating orbs to an entire day devoted to the two of them, filled with whatever delights she could devise. She could decorate the main hall with fabrics in deep jewel tones, drape garlands along the darkened walls, scatter cushions across the floor so he might recline as he pleased. Perhaps she could even craft something by hand. A garment, a token, something beautiful that would belong solely to him.
Oh, there was so much she could do.
Her mind whirled with possibilities, images layering over one another in a rainbow of black and imagination.
Although . . . She did not know where the shops were in this place. In fact, she did not know if there were shops at all.
She had not seen taverns, nor merchants, nor market stalls brimming with fabric and fruit and chatter. This realm did not echo with bargaining voices or clinking mugs.
Did gods even require such things?
She glanced at Erevos through the drifting steam, studying the broad line of his shoulders, the shadows that curled toward him.
She knew he never ate. Because . . . well, he was a god.
And why would gods eat?
Perhaps demons did, but she had never seen him consume anything. Not fruit, not water, not even a bite of bread or meat. As far as she knew, he simply existed.
“Tell me,” she said, swaying their joined hands left and right above the surface of the water, watching the dark liquid ripple around their fingers. “Is there a place . . . to buy things here?”
“There is,” he replied, drawing Lyssena closer until her body was flush against his. “There is a market in The Void.”
The sentence alone sent a thrill down her spine.
Looking up at him now, she found herself pressed fully against his torso, her breasts brushing the firm plane of him, the heat of his body radiating through the thin barrier of water. The waves around them responded to his movement, rising and curling.
“And . . . ” she continued as she traced the tip of her finger over the defined lines of his abdomen, following the ridges of muscle. “How did you pay when you went there last time?”
His shadows stirred at her touch.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Bubbles of Betrayal
