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“You made an offer of marriage to Tariq without consulting me or your father?”
“Yes. And I meant every word of it.”
He patted my arm and smiled. “You can still surprise me.”
I shrugged. “He turned me down flat.”
He laughed, but a yawn suddenly overtook him, and he sank down on the side of my bed. “Don’t tell your father, but I think he was right. That flu really did kick my ass. I’m so tired I feel like I could lie down right here and sleep for a week.”
“Go ahead then and stretch out. That bed is huge and I’m going to read for a while, I think, here by the window.”
He snuggled down on the feather mattress and into the pillows—Omak loved a soft bed when he could find one. The Tygerian beds had never been comfortable enough for him, even when my father ordered bedding from Earth. He always managed to get it wrong somehow, and we’d been hearing about hard mattresses for as long as I could remember.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I might lie here a minute and warm up before I go out into that cold hallway and find my room.”
I knew he’d soon be asleep, and that was fine with me. I had no intention of bothering him if he did. He looked far too pale and tired, and it wouldn’t be the first time we’d shared a bed, if the king’s loud complaints were true. When I was little, I’d been notorious for climbing in bed with my parents. Besides, the bed in my room was huge.
“Try to get some rest, son. Tomorrow is a big day,” he murmured, already half asleep. “I’m just going to close my eyes…” Soon I heard his soft snores.
As for me, I kept sitting by the window, lost in thought.
Was I really going through with this wedding if Omak managed to arrange it in the morning? I doubted if my parents would give me much choice. Just the mention of Father had been enough to put the fear of the gods in me, but did I really want to live my life knowing my mate didn’t really love me? When he claimed over and over that his feelings for me were just “biology.”
I’d grown up with my parents’ example in front of me my whole life, and I didn’t know if I could settle for anything less. Or even if I should.
I must have dozed off at some point, sitting upright in my chair, because I woke up not long past midnight feeling stiff and groggy. And cold. I was about to get up and get in bed when I heard a slight scratching sound outside my door and then I turned and watched in amazement as my door slowly and silently swung open.
The corridor beyond was dark, which was unusual in itself. The sconces on the wall were still burning, but it made the hall shadowy and dim. A figure was standing poised in the doorway, clothed all in black. My first confused thought was that I was dreaming, because as the figure took a quiet step into the room, the light from the sconces in the hall showed just the slightest glint of swords crossed on his back—like an Imperial’s ceremonial short swords.
All the Imperials I knew wore their swords at their sides when they were working, along with various daggers strapped to legs or hidden in boots. Blades were weapons of choice for an Imperial. The short swords were thick and very lethal, somewhere between the length of a dagger and a sword. They may have looked good in formation or during formal events, but carrying and unsheathing a sword from your back wasn’t very practical, and they could also be uncomfortable to wear that way for long periods of time.
Imperials only wore them like this when they were participating in a ceremony as a rule or had some other reason to really dress up. For example, Tariq had worn his to the palace that first night. I got to my feet, feeling confused, and the figure whirled to face me.
“Tariq?” I said softly, but there was no answer except for the sibilant sound of one of the swords being drawn from its scabbard. “W-what are you doing?”
There was no answer, but the figure began walking slowly toward me with his sword in his hand. He was wearing a black mask over the lower part of his face, but as he drew closer, moonlight bathed the rest of it, and I could see the upper half of his face.
I knew right away it wasn’t Tariq. I took a quick, backward step again, but I was nearly at the wall with no place to go.
“Who are you? How dare you come into my room like this?” I said in a loud voice, as challenging as I could make it.
“Be quiet,” he hissed. “If you bring your guards in here, I’ll kill them right in front of you.”
“I think you must have already killed them, or you wouldn’t be in my room.”
“Clever boy. Always thinking you’re so smart.”
I knew that voice from somewhere, but I couldn’t quite place it. Who was this?
“Smarter than you if you think you’re getting away with this-this whatever it is,” I said. “Get out of here while you still can.”
“Not yet. Not until I’ve done what I came here to do,” he said and raised his sword, as if to strike me.
A voice rang out from the bed. “Take one more step and I’ll blast you into next week.”
We both whirled around and saw Blake, kneeling on the foot of the bed with a huge disruptor in his hand, trained right on the intruder. I knew he had started carrying a weapon years ago—in fact, it was after the very first time someone tried to kill us both when I was a baby. It had been at Nicarr’s wedding, and someone had broken into the bedroom that time too.
Since that day, he’d learned to never be without a disruptor, and he kept one hidden in his robes. I thanked the gods for it, but I wasn’t sure he’d actually use it.
