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“I do not know if anyone has ever told you, but you are quite a beautiful person.”
This time it was Radu’s turn to laugh, though his was sheepish. “I have heard that on occasion. Though the term more preferred is ‘Radu the Handsome.’?”
“Radu cel Frumos,” Cyprian murmured, using the Wallachian words. His own language had never sounded so lovely to Radu. Even the name that had been used as a taunt sounded new and clean when Cyprian used it. It gave him hope that his past would not haunt him forever. He had not done or experienced anything he could not recover from—not with Cyprian at his side.
“It is such a relief to be able to touch you,” Cyprian said, brushing his lips across Radu’s throat. Radu’s pulse strained with the effort of keeping up with his emotions. He had imagined how these things would feel, but he had never come close. Every part of his body was alive in a way he had felt only in battle. But instead of feeling disconnected and merely reacting to things around him, he felt completely and utterly connected to himself. Every touch, every move was deliberate.
“It was not easy in Constantinople,” Radu said, “trying to hide how you affected me. And trying desperately not to be affected.”
Cyprian laughed. “I am glad you suffered, too! Do you know how often I tried teasing some sort of reaction out of you?”
“That night in the forge…”
Cyprian slid his hand along Radu’s waist, letting it rest where Radu’s hip bone jutted out. “I would have leapt over the table at the slightest indication from you.”
“There is a reason I kept the table between us! I was trying so hard not to love you.”
Cyprian nodded, his face still against Radu’s neck. “It was an impossible situation.” Someday they would talk more about it; they had time. Right now what they needed was closeness.
“I always feared that this,” Radu said, kissing Cyprian’s forehead, “was an impossible situation.”
Cyprian scooted back, taking Radu’s face in his hands and peering at him in the dark. Radu could just make out the details of his expression. Cyprian looked worried. “Is it? For you? Orthodoxy is my religion the same way my father is my father. Distantly, and only because I was born to it. In Constantinople I saw too much damage done by people wielding the will of God like a weapon. But in Islam, can we…can you…”
Radu smiled. He had agonized over these things enough. “I believe that God is merciful and great and beyond our comprehension. And Nazira always told me she feels closest to God when she feels love. I think she is right. In a way, love is the highest expression of faith—in ourselves, in others, in the world. I can expand my faith to allow myself happiness in this life, and trust in God’s love and mercy after this life.” He paused. “Though…I would like to follow as many rules as I can. The structure of Islam is important to me. It has been a scaffold of protection and comfort.”
Teasingly, Cyprian lowered his hand, tracing his way down Radu’s abdomen but stopping just shy of…where Radu would have liked him to continue toward.
“So what you are saying is that we need to be married very soon,” Cyprian said, his lips right against Radu’s ear.
“Yes,” Radu gasped. “Very, very soon.” His marriage to Nazira was legal. Her marriage to Fatima was spiritual, but even more binding. Radu would do the same with Cyprian.
Cyprian moved his hand back up, resting it over Radu’s heart. It was both a relief and a disappointment. But as Cyprian moved closer and they breathed together, drifting toward sleep, Radu knew they had time to explore desire. There was no fear or desperation here. Only happiness and the incredible grace of loving and being loved.
All his life, it was the only thing he had ever truly wanted. He had found it in Islam. He had found it in his connection with Nazira. And now he had found the fullest form of it here. He rested his head on Cyprian’s chest, falling asleep to the music of the heart that beat with everything Radu needed in this life.
Hunedoara
TWO WEEKS INTO HER captivity, Lada was fairly certain Matthias was poisoning her. She could barely eat what they gave her. As often as not, she threw it up. Though why he was choosing poison, she did not know.
No, she did. It was a coward’s way out. She only wished he would increase the dosage and finish her off instead of this lingering torment. Perhaps it was God’s punishment. She had given him the tools to take the throne, and he had poisoned the sickly child prince to get there. Now she would die the same way.
Though if God were interested in punishing her, she had a great many sins worse than enabling Matthias. Had she reached too far? Killed too many? Disregarded the advice of those who truly cared about her?
Sometimes she felt them, here, with her. Nicolae in particular. He said nothing, but when she awoke from her dreams of the bloody banquet when she had killed all the Danesti boyars and begun the journey that led to this cell, she could only remember the way he had looked at her. The way he had watched.
He had known, even then. And he had warned her. Radu had warned her, too. Everyone had warned her, and she had defied them. And she had won!
And now she was here.
All her rage had bled away, leaving her perpetually cold. She followed the small patch of sun that made it through to the floor. It was her only companion. She tried to move as much as she could, afraid of losing her strength and fighting ability, but a heavy lethargy of both body and soul pulled at her.
The eighteenth morning she lay on the floor, curled into a ball to fit as much of her body in the square of sunlight as was possible.
“Child, why are you in your underclothes?” Oana exclaimed.
Lada stood and rushed to the door. Oana stared back at her through the hole.
“You are alive!” Lada grabbed the bars. She had lost track of her nurse when they had been ambushed in the throne room. She had not allowed herself to dwell on that, but her relief at seeing Oana’s wrinkled and worn face was almost overwhelming. Now that she knew Oana was not dead, she felt how deeply that death would have wounded her. She took a deep breath, pushing her fingers over her eyes, then reaching back to the window.
