A shout outside her tent drew my attention. The soldiers were likely beginning preparations to leave for the palace.
It was early enough that I could slip away now, and the soldiers wouldn’t see me. The last thing I wanted was to give Reza something else to use against me, as I remembered his words from the night before.
You’ve grown so close to the human girl, I assumed you’d need a more base punishment.
He already suspected I liked her, was drawn to her. I wondered how obvious I had been.
As far as he knew, I had nothing I cared about, and nothing he could take from me. I looked down at Yaseema, who had begun to snore softly.
Nothing he could take.
That had to remain true. Even with her.
I leaned over her one last time, my skin drawn to hers like she was warmth and sun and earth, and I pressed a kiss to her hair.
I could almost hear Tal’s voice in my head.You’ve grown sentimental, brother.
But it was as if my body craved sentimental. Craved her.
My footsteps were soft as I walked toward the entrance to her tent, but as I lifted the flap to exit, something caught my gaze.
Her brown skirt was slung over a chair in the corner of the tent. She’d thrown one of her white blouses over the top of it, but it had slid off, and the skirt bulged oddly at one side.
I glanced over at Yaseema, but she still slept, clutching the covers to her chest as if they were an anchor.
My skin tingled with awareness, the deep certainty that I needed to look inside her skirt.
She saved you.She trusts you.
I stared at her clothes, the twisted way the fabric bunched.
She wouldn’t.
I picked her skirt up, the pale brown canvas like butter in my hands. I could smell her on it, parchment and ink and lemons. The soldiers were gathering outside, the clang of their sabers and mutters about the rebels reaching my ears. Without further thought, I slid my hand inside the pocket of her skirt.
It was empty.
I pulled the lining of the pocket out, revealing nothing. But the skirt was heavy, much heavier than I would suspect from the fabric. Frowning, I turned the entire skirt inside out.
There.
There was a hidden lining.
I felt along the lining, finding the edges of a seam and slipping my fingers into a hidden pocket.
I nearly dropped the skirt. My heart leapt to my throat, a roar sounding in my ears.
Queen Azari’s crown glinted up at me from the secret pocket in her clothes.
The crown we all thought the rebels had taken when they’d stolen Yaseema’s bag.
The magical object he’dtortured meas punishment for losing.
She’d had it all along.
No wonder she’d healed me; she’d been the reason I had been tortured in the first place.
The guilt that had plagued me at going through her things evaporated. She knew she had the crown and said nothing.
