“Well, then he needs lessons in swordplay as well as having fancy blades,” I retorted. Then I looked up at him. “What did you want to show me?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish.
“It’s in my room.”
I blinked at him. “Is this just an excuse to get me into your room?”
“What? No.” He turned the deep shade of a plum, the flushcreeping up his neck. I was laughing, but at his reaction, my humor dimmed. Suddenly my friendly teasing made my own skin hot. I brushed the neckline of my kurta, as if I could dust off the uncomfortable feeling that I had hit close to a truth I hadn’t wanted to admit.
We’d kissed.
We’d fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around me, his breath on my neck. Sometimes I thought I’d imagined it all. But then he’d look at me with dark eyes, or our fingers would brush and it would become real again.
“What, then?” I heard myself say.
“It’s easier to show you.”
In all the times I’d visited the palace and practiced with him in the training yard, he’d never taken me to his room. The dining hall, the private salon where we would sit with his sister, but never his bedchamber.
Not that going to his room would have been strange before, but now I couldn’t help but feel the heat of his body as he walked in front of me leading the way, couldn’t ignore the rush of excitement in my chest as we made our way up the stone steps.
He opened the door to a large area, larger than I had supposed, with a front room connected to a bedchamber and a verandah overlooking the city.
I whistled long as I surveyed the lavish surroundings. It certainly bested my little room.
“The emperor wanted to ensure his adopted children were well taken care of,” he said a little ruefully. “Anam’s room is down the hall.”
I walked over to the verandah and surveyed the city below. It stretched out like a bloated dust storm, thick and heady in some places, and sparse and grimy at the edges.
“At least you have a good view,” I said flatly.
Mazin cracked out a laugh as he sat on the edge of his bed, rifling through the drawers next to it, looking for something. “You hate the city.”
“True.” I bit my bottom lip, weighing my next words. “So do you,” I said softly.
His head shot up, his expression wary. “I never told you that.”
I shrugged. “You didn’t have to. You always seem so confined here, like your jacket is buttoned too tightly and you can’t take in air. You were like that when I first met you. But in our village, you are more relaxed. Like you take the stick out of your arse when you arrive and put it back in when you are with the emperor.”
He angled his head. “I can’t tell if you are complimenting me or not.”
I snorted. “Neither can I.”
I walked over to the divan and collapsed on the plush cushions.
“It’s different in the village.” His voice was quiet and low, and something made me look up, made me think twice about wrapping myself in the prickly humor that I always did when emotions were too close to the surface.
“There’s not the sense that everyone is watching you, waiting to see what mistake you will make. And no one seems to care about bloodlines, or how my true parentage will come out in the end.” He sighed and walked to the balcony. I watched him, tracing the line of his shoulders with my eyes as they fell with the relief of shedding whatever he had been carrying. “When I’m in your village, when we train, when I’m with you—I feel like the only thing I’m being measured on is my skill with a sword.”
“You are,” I said simply. “That’s the only thing that matters.”
He looked over at me. His dark hair was silhouetted against the deep orange of the sky, and his eyes seemed sad.
“Maz?” I sat up. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s like I said. You don’t care about who my family was, I don’t have to overcome something about myself that I can never change. With you, I feel like I can be myself.”
Something in my heart cracked at the sound of his voice. “Why do you sound so miserable about it?”
