by Neha Yazmin
He held out his bow for her to hold, threw down the quiver from his back, and pulled his tunic off. Her eyes widened as though they’d been slapped. She swallowed nervously at the hard muscles of his torso. Her hands may have gripped the lantern and Wyett’s bow a little tighter. His body was paler than his face, but just as smooth and clean-shaven. It was a most pleasant sight. It would be pleasant to touch, too...
“You’re staring.”
His words made her jump and she swallowed again. But she was still gawping at his half-naked body. Apparently, the words ‘you’re staring’ didn’t stop her staring.
“What’s wrong with you?” The irritation in his voice forced her to look up at his face. He was frowning.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I’ve never seen so much of another person’s body. Without clothes on, I mean.”
Rolling his eyes, he held up his tunic and said, “Take it.”
Take it? Why was he giving her his tunic? Did he want her to wear it? Why? She was perfectly fine in her black robes. She wouldn’t be able to accept his tunic even if she knew what she was supposed to do with it—her hands were full. He seemed to realise that at the same time as she thought it. Making an exasperated noise, he began rolling his tunic in on itself until it formed a band.
She watched, confused. She even took a step back when he came forward with the strip of fabric raised to the level of her throat. Was he going to strangle her with it?
She had almost started asking what he was doing when she deciphered his intentions. He was wrapping the band around her neck, concealing the cut on her throat. It would also act like a dressing for the wound.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she mumbled when he stepped back.
“You will keep the cut hidden until it heals,” he ordered her. “If anyone asks, you are to insinuate that I’m responsible for it.”
She creased her brow. “I don’t understand—”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” He sucked in an annoyed breath. “I’d find it infuriating if I couldn’t see that you’re genuinely clueless.” He rolled his eyes. “Make people think that what you’re covering with a scarf is a mark left by me. By my teeth,” he added in frustration and she finally understood what he was talking about.
When she nodded, he rolled his eyes again. At least he wasn’t working his jaw anymore. He probably hadn’t arrived in time to hear the beginning of her conversation with Rozlene. If he’d been listening when Aaryana was digging for information on Seth’s illness—something he’d forbidden her to do—he would have taken it out on her as soon as the two of them were alone. He definitely wouldn’t have dressed her wound for her.
“Like Rozlene,” he added in the friendliest tone he’d ever used in her presence, “you got lost when you couldn’t find Father. Luckily, I found you and we returned to the Lake together.”
“A believable alibi, Your Highness.”
“Yes, yes,” he murmured dismissively. “Now, what are you wearing underneath your robes?”
“Your Highness?” Aaryana gulped.
For the sake of their alibi, was he asking her to… what? What did he want—
“I want to wear your robes, you silly girl,” he almost growled. “So, unless you’re naked under your robes, take them off and hand them over.” He exhaled loudly, shook his head. “Well, are you decent underneath?
“Just a blouse and pants, Your Highness,” she mumbled as she lowered the bow and lantern to the ground and quickly unbuttoned her robes. She slipped it off under her cloak, feeling glad that she wouldn’t be exposing too much skin.
“Decent enough,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
When he was dressed in her robes, he swung his quiver across his back again and nocked an arrow on his bow. “Let’s go.”
Aaryana lifted the lantern and followed him into the trees.
“What happened with your father?” she asked as they navigated tree roots and uneven ground. “He obviously hadn’t been chased into the woods like Erisa said.”
Wyett stopped in his tracks, forcing her to halt, too. “Erisa told you to search the forest?”
“Why else would I have come here?”
“I don’t know,” he murmured and pushed forward again. “I thought you’d… I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Father is fine. His guards barricaded him and my siblings inside the worship house. The rebels retreated when they couldn’t get to him. There weren’t any fatalities, on either side.”
Aaryana sighed in relief. “Why didn’t you stay with them?”
“When it turned out that you were missing, I volunteered to search for you. After all, I’m supposed to be your lover.” Wyett shook his head. “A guard said he saw you race into the woods, so a few of us came looking. The others headed in a different direction.”
“How did you find us in the dark?”
“I had a lantern,” he told her conversationally. “I blew out the flame when I saw the light coming from the clearing and crept towards you, leaving my lantern behind.”
“Thank you for rescuing me, Your Highness.”
He looked at her over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you had the situation under control?”
“I did, but I wasn’t expecting Rozlene to attack at that moment. I was too confident that I’d be able to keep her talking until you arrived—”
“Why did you think I’d come looking for you?”
She shrugged. “I had a feeling. When she fired her arrow, I thought I’d been wrong—”
“She didn’t fire,” he informed her. “My arrow knocked her crossbow out of her hands before she could do anything.”
Aaryana stopped moving. “Really? I could swear that I saw her finger—”
“She didn’t fire,” he repeated and continued to move forward. She caught up with him easily.
Well, she had heard the sound of wood cracking. Rozlene must have gasped when her weapon went flying out of her hands.
“Once I disarmed her, I went to point my arrow at the man that was holding you. It was a small space, and I had the element of surprise on my side, so it worked out well.”
“But… how did the lanterns go out?”
“What do you think? The wind, of course.”
“But I didn’t feel—there was no wind…”
“There was also no arrow flying towards you. If there was, it would be protruding from your chest right now. And you’d be dying. Or dead. But you’re not, so thank the Sea Goddess for that and get a move on.”
Wyett winked at her over his shoulder.
She laughed from the absurdity of it. Wyett winking…
Perhaps the Sea Goddess had blessed her tonight, blessed them both. She hadn’t made an offering in hopes of melting the Goddess’s heart, but somehow, Wyett’s heart had melted tonight. Dancing with him in the dark had been lovely, and he’d never been as sociable as he was being now.
She didn’t dare imagine how different this walk back to the Lake would have been if he’d overheard her talking about his brother’s illness and his family’s curse. Luck had been on her side tonight, and so had the Sea Goddess.
Myraa’s hands shook as she poured tea for the Queen of Adgar, and she apologised for the beverage that spilled onto the saucer. One of the other ladies-in-waiting brought over a empty cup and clean saucer and took the spoiled one away. Myraa filled this teacup as carefully as she could, keeping her hands steady.
Usually, she didn’t let on that she was listening—very intently—to what Leesha and Parth were discussing. Usually, she acted as though she was only there in body, not in mind. Her features would be blank, her movements efficient and quick; she would even breathe with as little sound as possible. That way, Leesha stopped noticing that Myraa was still in her chambers or serving her meals.
Parth on the other hand, never seemed to forget that Myraa was present. He followed her with the corners of his eyes; she felt his slippery gaze on her at all times. He watched her especially clos
ely whenever it was her turn to serve food to him and Leesha.
The other ladies had recently become aware of his interest in her. One of them had even asked Myraa if Parth had taken her as his mistress.
“I would sooner die than do that,” Myraa had snapped so vehemently that the other woman believed her straightaway.
“I wonder, though,” her fellow lady-in-waiting had murmured, “why Her Majesty hasn’t… dismissed you. She must have seen the way he looks at you.”
Myraa had simply said, “Love is blind. You only see the best in the people you love.”
The truth was that Leesha knew Myraa would never give herself to Parth and was more than happy for her husband to harass Myraa, torture her in a way that she couldn’t. That was, if she did actually suspect her husband of lusting after Myraa. Something in her gut said that the Queen was utterly clueless.
And it wasn’t so much lust as it was… a cold infatuation. He liked to watch her, but he hadn’t tried to touch her. Somehow, that was worse, because Myraa could never tell what he was thinking whenever he looked at her. Was it love or hate? Did he want to kiss her or kill her? What did he want with her?
What he wanted for his cousin, Prince Tyross, was for him to marry the twins, Princesses Sarsha and Ashwa. Marry both of them. At once. On the same day. That was what disturbed Myraa enough to make her hands shake when she was pouring Leesha’s tea.
It was a Sunday, and on certain rainy weekend mornings such as this one, Leesha and Parth took their breakfasts in their chambers. Apparently, the bad weather put the Queen in a depressing mood and she didn’t want her Court to see her like that so early in the morning.
Even Myraa hadn’t felt like leaving her bed today; it looked that miserable. Honestly, it was as though waterfalls were lined up one after another outside the window rather than rainfall. Why was it raining more and more heavily and getting hotter and hotter when autumn had officially come?
“I’m sorry, dear husband, but that is preposterous,” Leesha scoffed now.
She shook her head and took a sip of her tea. Myraa took the customary step back and stood as still as possible. She knew the other ladies were paying just as much attention to this conversation as she was.
Parth smiled mildly at the Queen. “Anything that saves our sisters from heartbreak can’t be preposterous. I believe it is worth considering,” he said, friendly as ever. “After all, you haven’t been able to choose which twin to propose the suit for, and I haven’t heard back from Princess Malin as to which twin she recommends—”
“You asked Malin?” Leesha sounded surprised, though not in a negative way. Parth could do no wrong in her eyes.
“I wanted to see what she thought,” Parth said with a shrug.
“It doesn’t matter what Malin thinks,” Leesha said dismissively but not rudely. “I don’t think it’s something I’d feel comfortable suggesting to Queen Noora.”
“My aunt is a visionary; she’d definitely give it thought. I think Ty wouldn’t want to separate the twins—”
“But would he want to marry them both, during one ceremony?”
Leesha picked up a coconut slice, nibbled a little off, and chewed. Those things used to be Myraa’s favourite confectionery, but she loathed to eat them these days. It reminded her of the day she’d fought with Princess Aaryana for keeping a chest full of poisons under her bed. The Princess had placated her with succulent coconut slices that she’d swiped from the breakfast table. She was a fool, behaving like that with a Princess that treated her so well.
“It’s highly unconventional,” Leesha added before taking another bite of the coconut slice.
“The twins wouldn’t mind…” Parth smiled cheekily.
“Of course, they wouldn’t mind! They went through a phase when they vowed to marry brothers so they wouldn’t have to live apart.” She rolled her eyes. “Come to think of it, they also went through a phase where they said they’d be joint Queens if they won The Contest.” She shook her head indulgently. “I think they thought they’d be joint winners…”
“Well, Ty will be King of Khadak one day, so the twins will become joint Queens.” Parth’s smile faded when Leesha gave him a stern look. “Alright, I will drop the matter for now.”
“Thank you.”
“However, I would urge you to give this proper thought, dear wife. Kings have taken more than one wife. It’s not unheard of.”
“Yes, but most of the time, those Kings took a second wife some time after marrying the first,” Leesha pointed out. She sipped some tea before adding, “And they had good reasons, such as their first wife being infertile or not bearing them sons, and so on. Some Islands don’t approve of such acts.
“In fact, in the northern Islands, I believe they value marriage so highly that people, Royalty, included, are prohibited from taking mistresses, secret or otherwise. Even Kings can’t marry a second time unless they’ve been widowed.”
“Indeed. But we’re more liberal in the south, aren’t we? Queen Noora is one of the most forward-thinking rulers I’ve seen. She’s practical and makes decisions based on what will benefit her Kingdom the most. Strengthening our relationship with Khadak through a Royal marriage would be incredibly beneficial for Adgar—”
“I know,” the Queen almost snapped, clearly feeling the sting of her husband’s words. “That’s why I’m going to write to Queen Noora and propose a suit for Prince Tyross. As soon as I decide which sister would be the best match for him.”
Parth mirrored her indignation, but didn’t go too far as he remarked, “You haven’t been able to make a choice yet—”
“But I will.” Leesha sat up straighter.
Myraa was praying for a squabble to ensue.
“And if the twins don’t support your decision?” Parth challenged. “The two of them are extremely close; what if the one you pick says she can’t hurt her sister in that way?”
“Then, neither of them will marry Ty.”
Myraa sighed inwardly. She didn’t know how she would have reacted if Leesha had given in to Parth’s suggestion. She hoped that the twins rejected the suit, just so Parth wouldn’t get something he wanted so very much.
Hardly anyone in the dining room spoke as they ate their meals on Sunday and headed back to their chambers afterwards. The Court was too shaken from last night’s rebel attack to notice Aaryana’s scarf-wrapped neck. She had kept the wound dry, not letting it come into contact with the water when she’d bathed.
When Aaryana and Wyett had returned to Moon Lake on Saturday night, only the Crown Prince’s bodyguards stood waiting for them; everyone else had gone home. The two of them had navigated the jungle in silence following Wyett’s uncharacteristic wink and she was stunned that he didn’t even frown when she held them all up to make an offering to the Sea Goddess. She let one of her knives sink into the water.
“Come with me,” he’d said to her in a firm tone upon returning to the Palace.
He placed his hand on the small of her back and gently guided her along. His heart has melted more than I thought, she’d mused to herself as they walked side-by-side to Wyett’s quarters. The guards strode behind them and accompanied them inside the Prince’s familiar apartment. Of course, some of his bodyguards were already positioned by the interior doors.
“Leave us,” he ordered them all. After a short silence, they slowly left the room.
Aaryana’s cheeks had warmed at the thought of what her former colleagues would make of the situation. Under her short cloak, she was in a revealing blouse—low neckline, no sleeves—and tight, cropped pants exposing her toned calves. The Prince was dressed more respectfully, but her black robes were a little short on him. Looked wrong on him. It was obvious that he’d donned her festival robes. And why did he do that? the guards must have asked themselves. What happened to his own clothes?
“Sit,” Wyett told her, pointing at the chaise.
Without checking that she’d obliged, he went to his bedchamber. He returned around t
en minutes later, in a parchment-coloured tunic and brown pants, and clean arms and face. He was barefoot, his dirty boots discarded somewhere in his bedroom. Her skin had flushed for a few heartbeats. Seeing Wyett’s bare feet felt strangely intimate.
“My apologies,” he murmured as he sat on the small table opposite her, their knees just an inch apart, “I only went to change and wash my hands, but it made sense to clean up properly.”
All Aaryana had been able to do was nod. That was when she noticed the wooden box in his hands. It looked like a shoebox. Wyett sat the box on the table next to him and lifted the hinged lid. Snuggled inside were small bottles, muslin cloths, and thin strips of cotton folded or rolled up. Because she was examining the contents, she didn’t realise that the Prince was reaching for the makeshift bandage around her neck.
Ignoring her gasp of surprise, he started unwinding the gold fabric from her throat; her eyes followed his arm as it circled her head. His eyes, for some reason, were watching her. His gaze didn’t leave her face as he dropped the soiled tunic on the floor by their feet, didn’t waver as he dug his hand into the wooden box and retrieved one of the small bottles and a piece of muslin. Only when he unscrewed the cap of the bottle did he look away. The potent smell of alcohol wafted out. Stoppering the bottle with the soft cloth, he tilted it so that the liquid soaked into the muslin.
“This might sting a little,” he told her as he leaned forward and pressed the damp cloth to the cut on her throat.
He was cleaning the wound with alcohol to disinfect it. He worked carefully, slowly, his touch gentler than she would have thought.
“That feels nice.”
Myraa used to do this sort of thing for her sometimes; her friend treated her like she was a precious flower when she tended to Aaryana’s wounds, fragile like thin glass. Wyett was doing the same.
“Nice? Most people flinch just a little…” Wyett paused to raise an eyebrow at her.
It took Aaryana a few seconds to garner that she’d actually said the words ‘that feels nice’ out loud without meaning to.