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“Are you being safe?” I ask, interrupting her.
“Of course.”
“Is it what you want? You don’t feel pressured or anything?”
“It’s what I want more than anything. I love him.”
“You hated him just the other day,” I point out.
She quirks a smile. “I loved him then, too. That’s why I was so mad. But we had a talk last night, and we have an understanding.”
“Which is?”
“If he lies or hides anything from me again, we’re done. He needs to trust me to be smart and make good choices when I have all the information.”
“That’s good. You do deserve someone who trusts you to besmart.” I know that, even if I want to control her choices sometimes. I brace myself for the next question I should ask her. “Was it—was it your first time?”
She catches my eyes, quirks her head. “Yes. Would it have mattered if it wasn’t?”
“I would have been disappointed that you didn’t tell me if it wasn’t. Do you want to talk about it?”
She smiles. “Maybe later, once it’s not so new.”
“But you’re okay? No regrets?”
“None.”
My heart hurts because for some reason I’m thinking about my mother. I wonder what she would say to her, what she would do. I can’t do anything at all to help her, and I have no advice to give, because I haven’t had that first.
Yet.
Damn that word.
“What did you think of Marossa and Skiro’s decision?” Temra asks in a poor attempt to change the subject.
I let it slide this time. “Which one?”
“Using Ashper to send someone to each of the territories to rally the other royals for support.”
“Who’s Ashper?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Were you not listening?”
“I was distracted.”
“Of course, by all the people,” she says. I don’t correct her. “Ashper is the magical painter. He’s going to paint new portals here, and then we can travel to the other territories to talk in person with the other royals.”
“Oh, that’s smart.”
Temra crosses her arms. “Petrik said he found you in Kellyn’s bed this morning.”
She’s hardly in a place to judge. “I was overcome with thoughtsof the battle. I needed someone to talk to. I went to your room first. You weren’t there.”
A look of guilt crosses her face. “You only talked?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” She fiddles for something under her mattress, then hoists it up. “Does that mean you don’t want any of this?”
