by Jenna Moreci
“You give me chills,” he whispered.
She spoke against his ear. “Good.”
He turned toward Her, his eyes on Her eyes, then Her lips.
He’s going to kiss Me.
He leaned in, a slow-moving second that lasted a lifetime. Her first kiss.
Leila bolted upright. She had no idea what She was doing, would surely muck it all up the moment their lips touched, and that worry latched on tight, taking control. She mentally cursed Herself, until She caught Tobias staring at Her, the grin on his face enough to lessen the embarrassment.
“So tell me,” She said. “What are your plans for the future?”
“What future? I’m stuck in this tournament. Most likely to die.”
“Stop it.”
He shrugged. “It’s true. My future has been determined for me. Even before this tournament, my fate was sealed. I was to labor each day until the end of time so my mother and sister would be taken care of.” Sitting upright, Tobias stared down at his palms. “My life has become a series of…necessary sacrifices. Just one after the next. I don’t resent it…but it would be nice to keep something for myself. Something that couldn’t be taken away. To have—”
“One good thing,” Leila finished. “That would be wonderful.”
“Sounds like you know what I’m talking about.”
“I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
His gaze became too much to bear, and She turned away, studying the ends of Her hair. “So, is that how you see your future? Just a succession of bad things?”
“Naturally. I’ll either die here or marry Cosima, which isn’t exactly a superior outcome. To marry Someone I don’t care for, Someone I’ve barely spoken to.”
“You could be speaking to Her right now.”
“But I’d rather be speaking to you.”
A pang shot through Her. “I’m sorry.” She leaned against his shoulder. “For making assumptions about you. I do that a lot. I really shouldn’t, but I’m so used to disappointment.”
“Leila, it’s long been forgotten.”
“I’m feeling guilty.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate, because I’m feeling incredible—here, with you.”
She bit Her lip to keep from giggling, then snatched up his bandaged hand. “I still can’t believe it. You broke your fingers for me. You’re either extremely romantic or a madman.”
“Perhaps both?”
“Something we can agree on.”
She tasted it first—a cinnamon sweetness on Her tongue—then pink wafted from his flesh, circling them in tendrils and ribbons. Tobias held Her hand gently, as if it were precious, and She relaxed into him as he nuzzled against Her hair.
Kiss Me.
She turned away, taking a seat across from him.
She wanted to. But She couldn’t.
Tobias offered a soft smile. “So, what about your future? What are your plans once all the bloodshed has ended?”
“Would you believe me if I told you that this tournament has made a real mess of my future as well?”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “In fact, I’m starting to think that’s the true purpose of this tournament—to destroy the lives of everyone associated with it. Except for Cosima. She seems to be enjoying Herself.”
Cosima. Leila forced Her sister from Her mind. “Well, I hate this tournament and everything that comes with it. I hate the Sovereign, I hate the labyrinth, I hate the challenges and the entire purpose of this ruse. I want no part in it. Yet it appears I have no choice.”
Tobias’s gaze drifted to the wall, as if Her words weighed on him. She scooted closer. “I have an idea. A game.”
“I don’t know about that.” He held up his bandaged hand. “I’ve already played one game today, and it ended quite painfully for me.”
“We can pretend. The tournament doesn’t exist. All is well in your home and in this fortress. Tell me, what would you do then? If not for the tournament, what would you do?”
Tobias chuckled. “All right. If not for the tournament, I’d go back to Petros. Be an artist again. I’d only come to the fortress if I were commissioned.”
“You would be too. You’re very talented.”
His smile widened. “Your turn.”
“If not for the tournament, I’d leave.”
“Leave?”
“The palace,” She said. “Not permanently. But I’d just…leave. Sometimes. See what’s out there, past the fortress.”
“You can’t do that now?”
Leila shook Her head.
Frowning, Tobias continued. “If not for the tournament, I’d marry who I wanted, when I wanted to, because I wanted to. Not someone I won. Someone who bores me.”
“She bores you?”
“God, yes.” He faltered. “No offense. I know She’s your friend. Or sister. Your sister-friend. This is confusing. God, what a mess.”
Leila giggled, more pleased than She cared to admit. “If not for the tournament, I’d live freely. Make the decisions I want to make without questioning the cost or risk. Without fear.”
“Is Cosima controlling?”
She hesitated before shaking Her head.
Tobias furrowed his brow. “The Sovereign.”
She nodded.
Tobias cleared his throat. “If not for the tournament, I’d die an old man. In my sleep, surrounded by my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”
“That could still happen.”
“Unlikely.”
Leila gave his arm a playful smack. “If not for the tournament, I’d heal people. In the realm. Put my skills to proper use.”
Instantly Her mind was filled with dreams: a life without walls, without Her father. She thought of using Her light beyond the fortress, of fulfilling Her duty. All of it seemed like fantasies—but then again so did this moment, and it was real.
“If not for the tournament…” Tobias said, “…I’d ask to kiss you.”
“I’d say yes.”
Leila turned to stone. She had spoken without thinking, the words tumbling free of their own bidding.
Tobias stared at Her, wide-eyed. “You didn’t say the first part.”
“And you still haven’t kissed me.”
Silence hovered in the air, dense and tangible. You don’t know what You’re doing. But perhaps that didn’t matter.
An eternity passed before Tobias closed the distance between them, his fingers threading through Her hair. She gasped at his touch, torn between his potent gaze, his mouth. He took Her chin, guiding Her closer, then pressed his lips to Hers.
It only lasted for a moment—a single delicate kiss.
She wanted more.
Tobias cupped Her cheeks. “Leila, you’re shaking.”
He was right. She tried and failed to still Herself. “It’s just…I’m realizing…this makes things quite complicated.”
“This doesn’t have to go any further. We can stop right now. Pretend it never happened.”
Her nerves spiked. “Is that what you want?” He shook his head, and She let out a breath. “It’s not what I want, either.”
He gazed back at Her for a second longer, then gently kissed Her bottom lip. Again. Goose bumps trailed his fingertips as they slid down the back of Her neck. She wasn’t sure how he did it—how each touch of his hands and his mouth managed to be soft and powerful at the same time.
Tobias came in deeper, his kiss long and yearning. She didn’t need to see his colors any longer. They traveled straight through Her, tasting like sugar and fire.
The next kiss was Her doing; She was hungry for it, his lips everything She needed, yet not enough. Emboldened, She glided Her fingers up his sculpted stomach, taking in blips of his passion. He grabbed Her hand, and as he pressed it to his chest, color exploded behind Her eyelids. Her palm burned, Her senses overflowing with want and heat and a beautiful ache—with everything he felt for Her. His arms wrapped around Her, bringing Her close, an
d She welcomed the warmth of his body and the echo of his heartbeat.
Footsteps. Leila pulled away, glancing at the tunnel behind them. “The first group is coming. I have to go.”
Tobias tugged Her close, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Her ear. “I wish you could stay.”
“Is that so?”
“The moment was too fleeting.”
He kissed Her hard, and She melted into his embrace, soaking him in. Composing Herself, She threw Her cloak and satchel over Her shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel this way tomorrow.”
“You think I won’t?”
“I think men can be fickle in matters such as these.” She gave him a peck on the lips. “I have to go.”
Every impulse within Her rebelled, but She hopped to Her feet anyway, heading across the stone steps and into the labyrinth.
“Leila,” Tobias called out. “I’m not fickle. I’ll still feel this way tomorrow. Nothing will change.”
She smiled. “I hope so.”
She continued down the labyrinth, turning into one of the hidden portals as the other men’s voices bounced off the brick. Grinning, She leaned against the stairwell wall. Nothing will change.
God help Her, She believed him.
16
The Intellect
“He’s a cock gobbler. I’m sure of it.”
Cosima flopped onto the bed, while Leila and the rest of Her sisters sat in a circle around her. It was only a matter of time before Cosima blabbered about her reward with Tobias, and when the moment finally came, the story burst free from her like water from an opened floodgate.
“I gave him every opportunity, welcomed him straight into my arms. I even explicitly asked for a kiss. And still nothing.” She flung her hands overhead. “This man hasn’t an interest in women. He should be barred from the tournament, because whatever his motivation, I assure you—”
“For God’s sake, he likes Leila,” Delphi groaned. “His poem was for Leila.”
Cosima sat up straight. “Are you certain?”
“Of course! He was staring at Her the entire time.”
“You’re sure?” Cosima turned to Leila. “Sister…”
Leila shrank beneath her gaze. “There was a line in the poem. A taste that he’s acquired. It’s from a conversation we shared the day we first met.”
Cosima’s lips parted. “Why didn’t You tell me?”
“You were so excited. I didn’t know how.”
“Well, do You return his affection?”
Heat swirled through Leila’s cheeks. She stared down at Her lap.
“Oh, I know that look,” Cosima said. “That’s the look of a woman enraptured by a man. You little minx, You’re fond of him, aren’t You?”
Leila started. “You’re not upset with Me?”
“Precious dove, of course not! This is wonderful news. We can take down Your father and find You a husband.”
“That’s a premature assumption.”
“And he’s so well-suited for You.” Cosima squeezed Leila’s hand. “Little Leila and the Artist. I’ll stay away from him from now on. How does that sound?”
Cosima’s smile was wide, but her gaze was empty, and Leila could’ve sworn her eye twitched at the corner.
“You’re sure you’re not angry?”
Cosima scoffed. “He’s not exactly my type. Now, the Adonis—he’s my type.” She chuckled. “Just be careful, dove. You might be waiting forever for a kiss.”
Leila’s face burned. “Excuse Me. There’s a Senate meeting shortly.” She darted from the chamber as memories of the previous day sent tremors rolling through Her.
“Leila.”
Delphi’s voice rang out behind Her, and Leila spun around, wrangling composure. “Yes? Did you need something?”
Smirking, Delphi took root at Her side. “Something happened.”
“What happened? Nothing happened.”
“You kissed him.”
“I didn’t—” Glancing down the corridor, Leila lowered Her voice. “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed Me. And I accepted. That’s all.”
“You’re allowed to be excited, You know.”
“Have you found a translation for the note?”
“Dodging the details, are we?”
“Delphi—”
“No translation yet,” Delphi said. “Did you know the Kovahrians have hundreds of dialects? One for royals, another for the eldest royals, another for military codes—”
“Let Me try.” Leila waited as Delphi handed the note over, then shoved it into Her pocket. “I have to go.”
She rushed down the hall, losing Herself in thoughts of Tobias’s touch.
“Was it at least good?” Delphi called out.
This time, Leila couldn’t stifle Her grin.
The black door to the Senate room appeared before Her, and She opened it wide. Only five men were seated at the round table: Romulus, Wembleton, Erebus, Kastor, and Brontes. It shouldn’t have surprised Her, but the emptiness was loud and triumphant.
“Let’s be quick, shall we?” She took a seat, folding Her hands on the table. “There’s a challenge in a short while, and I mustn’t be late.”
Brontes didn’t look Her way. “Who calls this meeting?”
“I do.”
“Second.”
“First matter of discussion,” Brontes said. “Any word from the royals?”
“All have confirmed attendance for the finale of the tournament.” Kastor flipped through a few parchment notes. “Trogolia, Ethyua, and Kovahr.”
Kovahr. Questions flooded Leila’s mouth, but She kept Her lips clamped shut, waiting for answers or information—something—that never came.
“Second matter…” Brontes unclasped a ring from his belt, tossing it onto the table with a clank. “Erebus. Your keys.”
Ten or more keys of varying design hung from the ring, splayed out in a pile. “What are these for?” Leila said.
“I am the Vault Keeper, Your Holiness.” Erebus gave a slight bow. “Have You forgotten?”
He drew the keys from the table—one piece of weathered steel after the next, save for a single key with a perfectly polished finish as if it never saw age or wear.
“I didn’t realize the vault required so many keys,” Leila said.
“Now that Phanes’s and Qar’s bodies have been discovered, it’s logical to assume the others met a similar end by the same party.” Brontes’s one eye narrowed. “Someone with sinister intentions, no doubt.”
“I’m amazed by your bravery. If someone were picking off every person of My station, I would be trembling in fear.”
“We seek comfort in our aid to Your reign, Your Holiness,” Kastor added.
“Given the circumstances, we thought it best to have the most sensitive items guarded by Erebus, the most acclaimed soldier not only at this table, but in the whole of Thessen.” Brontes glowered. “Any fool who crosses him will no doubt meet a slow and excruciating end.”
“Do You agree, Your Holiness?” Erebus said. “Am I capable?”
His deep-set gaze pierced through Her, but She forced a sneer. “No need to seek My approval. Have confidence. I’m sure your sword work is adequate.”
Erebus clipped the ring to his belt without breaking their gaze. It was Leila who finally looked away, eyeing the keys a moment longer—a bridge She’d cross another day—but that single silver key held Her attention, so luminous She could’ve sworn it glowed.
The room around Leila faded into the background of Her mind, making way for much more pleasant thoughts. She recounted the warmth of Tobias’s lips, the thrilling juxtaposition of his hard body and soft caress. As each moment played over and over in Her mind, She sank into Her seat, contented.
“Your Holiness?”
Leila started. Kastor was staring at Her from across the table.
“I said, no objections, Your Holiness?” he repeated.
Brontes huffed. “You’re in rare form today.”
Lei
la frowned. “And what form is that?”
“Silent.”
“Would You prefer to sit these meetings out, Your Holiness?” Kastor said. “This isn’t the first time your attention has strayed. Perhaps You’re overworked?”
“The tournament has been occupying much of Her time,” Wembleton cut in. “We’ve been keeping Her very busy with the dramatics.” Hesitating, he bowed to Brontes. “Your Shepherd continues to outperform the others, naturally.”
“And what of the Artist?” Brontes said. “How is he performing?”
Tension shot down Leila’s spine. “You mean the loser of yesterday’s challenge? Poorly, if that wasn’t indication enough.”
“You must be disappointed.”
“I haven’t thought much of it, to be frank.”
Brontes gestured toward Romulus and Wembleton. “Keep me abreast of the Artist’s performance. If he’s the man my daughter favors, we must pay him special attention.” He met Leila’s gaze. “Does this please You?”
“It makes no difference to Me. As I’ve told you, I have no interest in him.”
He held Her gaze for an eternity longer. Perhaps if he was the smiling sort, he’d be doing that as well, smug over his upper hand. No doubt he thought he could unnerve Her with a single mention of Tobias. And he was right.
“Who calls to end this meeting?” he said.
“I do.”
“Second.”
As the men filed off, Leila perked Her head up. “Romulus. You have news of today’s challenge, yes?”
Nodding, he watched with beady eyes as the others left the room. He closed the door behind them, judgment plastered across his face. “Distracted?”
Leila dug through Her pocket, tossing the Kovahrian note his way. “Translate this.”
After a glance, he handed the parchment back to Her. “I cannot.”
“You dare to defy Me?”
“I dare to admit I cannot read Kovahrian.”
“Who can?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps Erebus, though asking for his assistance isn’t exactly an option.”
“Who is the powerful figure Brontes has aligned himself with outside the fortress?”