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“You and Rhyan,” she hissed.
“Morgs!”
“I know,” she said. “I know I can’t tell anyone. Myself to Moriel. But…fuck,” she whispered. Her dark eyes ran up and down my body before she laughed. “Did you ever find your underwear?”
Fuck you.
She cackled. “Perfect Lady Lyriana Batavia, losing her undergarments in the bed of her forsworn bodyguard. Scandal.”
“Morgs, stop.” I couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t deal with it. I felt awful. Awful it had happened, awful it had stopped, awful for wanting to throw my life away so it could happen again. But above all, I was scared and confused…and still so Godsdamned turned on. I buried my face in my hands. “I don’t know what to do.”
She sat on the bed beside me, giving me one of her rare hugs. “Don’t worry about it,” she said.
“Great advice,” I said.
“No,” she said. “I mean it. Everything’s fucked right now. Don’t feel guilty. Don’t feel guilty for even a moment for allowing your heart and body some amount of pleasure when you spend so much of your life denying it.”
I sniffled.
“Myself to fucking Moriel,” she groaned. “Don’t cry. It’s Days of Shadows. Of all nights, tonight is the one to let loose, have some fun. Get a little drunk. You need it.”
“What do I do about Tristan?”
“What do you want to do?”
I hadn’t thought about what I’d wanted to do in years. My thoughts were always consumed by what I had to do, what I should do, what I needed to do. How to sway public perception, how to hide our secrets. Nothing I did came from a place of what I wanted. Acting on desire…I didn’t know what that was like. Except for this morning…
“I don’t know,” I said at last. My mind felt foggy. “I’ve never been with Tristan for the right reasons except maybe the first day. And it’s not like ending it will make it any better or allow me what I want. But with everything that’s happened, and how everything is and how he’s been, I don’t know what my reasons are anymore.”
She took my arm in her lap, her fingers tracing the outline of my tattoo, of the Valalumir stars running up and down my inner forearm. Then she pressed her fingers above my wrist, easily finding the invisible marks of the blood oath—the unseen, mutilated skin, the mark of my promise to protect not just Meera but her.
“You have one reason,” she said. “To protect Meera. It’s always been to protect Meera.”
And you.
Morgana gave me a sad smile. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. You’ve had to do too much. I see that now.”
“And it’s still not enough,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I can’t end things. Even if…if my relationship isn’t protecting our family, ending things could put the spotlight on Rhyan now. Tristan’s jealous. I don’t know what he suspects, but I’m afraid. What if I put him in danger?”
“There may be other things we can do,” she said. “To keep her safe. To keep everyone safe.”
“Like what?”
Morgana shrugged. “Who knows. I’m just saying, the first answer isn’t always the best one.”
“You’ll let me know when you find one?” I asked.
I was met with a smirk and a mischievous look in her dark eyes before her nostrils flared. “I need another drink.”
Let’s go.
Morgana plastered a smile on her face and slammed my door open.
“Gods! Do you ever do anything quietly?” I yelled.
“NO!”
When the hour rang out, we were ready, our hair curled and pinned back. We traded our golden diadems for black masks—masks of akadim.
