by Amy Tintera
“I understand you had to stay with Em.”
“Maybe me and Em don’t always need to be together anymore. We want the same thing, and we can do it separately occasionally.”
She nodded. “It’s . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Thank you, Aren. For rescuing me. For everything.”
He noticed she didn’t say It’s all right, because maybe it wasn’t yet. Still, she didn’t seem mad at him. She looked exhausted, and in pain, and he thought that her relationship with him probably wasn’t her first priority at the moment.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “And if you need any help with your foot, don’t hesitate to ask.” He gestured at his scarred hands. “I have experience treating terrible wounds.”
She managed a small smile. “I’ll let you know.”
THIRTY-FIVE
EM PICKED A familiar pink dress for dinner. It was low-cut in front with a million buttons in back, and something about it appealed to her. It was beautiful, but it was more than that. When she pulled it out of the closest she was sure something great had happened the last time she wore it.
Em stared at the dresses for a long time before making her choice. Cas’s mother had picked out every one, and Em could hear the queen’s voice in her head—I have excellent taste—when she looked at them. She wasn’t sure if the queen would be furious or smug that Em still wore them after her death.
But apparently Cas didn’t mind her wearing them, since he’d brought them to his room. And she certainly wasn’t going to waste a huge wardrobe. Someone had worked hard, and quickly, to make all these dresses for her.
She’d told Cas she’d meet him in the private kitchen on the first floor, and she walked out of his room and through the castle hallway. It was still quieter than usual in the castle, but she spotted Mariana turning a corner to the sparring rooms with Mateo and another guard, Gisela following behind with a deeply suspicious look on her face. Em paused at the top of the stairs, wondering if she should go check on them.
No. She couldn’t hover around the Ruined forever, trying to ward off possible conflicts. The best thing she could do right now was to step back and let the Ruined get to know some of the people in the castle.
Two guards stood in front of the door to the dining room, and one opened it as she approached.
“Thank you,” she said as she stepped inside.
She’d never been in this room, even when she lived here before. The rectangular table in the center of the room sat eight, but only two places had been set, right across from each other. The curtains were drawn back from the two large windows, letting in the last wisps of sunlight and showing off a view of the side gardens.
Two people Em didn’t know stood at the end of the table, a tall, slim man and a pretty older woman, each of them holding a basket. They straightened as she walked into the room.
The door to her right swung open and Cas stepped out, changed into nicer clothes than the last time she’d seen him, but already rumpled. One side of his shirt stuck out of his pants. She stifled a giggle.
He smiled at her, then looked at the man and woman. “This is Queen Emelina. Em, this is Kenton and Lucinda. They own the largest bakery in Royal City. They made some cheese bread for me, and they brought you a present as well. I asked them to stay to deliver it personally.”
Lucinda crossed the room. She held it out to Em. “I made you some berry tarts, Your Majesty.”
Em took them slowly. “For me?”
“For you,” Lucinda said with a nervous laugh. “My children love them. I thought you might like to try them, since berries don’t grow in Ruina.”
“I—thank you,” Em stuttered. “That’s very kind of you.”
“They were made in the kitchen here,” Lucinda said. “I know there are strict rules about what you and King Casimir can eat.”
She didn’t know of any rules, but it had already crossed her mind that the tarts could be poisoned. She smiled and thanked them again.
Lucinda and her husband bowed their heads and left the room, a guard shutting the door behind them.
“She made me tarts,” Em said to Cas, holding them up.
“I know,” he said, his voice full of amusement. He crossed the room and kissed her gently.
“Are there rules about what you can eat?”
“Yes, since I was poisoned my food is strictly monitored. So is yours.” He pointed to the basket in her hand. “It was all prepared here, with ingredients from our kitchens, under guard supervision.”
“Wonderful.” She put the basket on the table and tried to suppress a grin as she looked at him. “Come here.”
“What?” He looked down at his clothes.
“You’re all rumpled.” She tucked the escaped edge of shirt back into his waistband. The first time she’d met him, she’d thought it was strange he was so rumpled and dusty, especially compared to his perfectly pressed parents. It had momentarily distracted her from the rage and terror she’d felt stepping out of that carriage as Mary.
Cas looked her up and down. “I know this dress. I unbuttoned this dress for you once.”
Em pressed her hands to the waist of her dress with a laugh. “I thought I remembered something nice about this dress.”
“That was back when you still hated me.”
“You were already wearing me down, honestly.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him. “I hope you’ll unbutton it for me again tonight,” she whispered against his lips.
His hand tightened on her waist. “I certainly will.”
She kissed him again, lingering for a moment. When she pulled away his eyes flicked to her left arm, which bore the scars of the Olso fire.
“Does that still hurt?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good.” He turned and headed back into the kitchen, and she followed him. Meat crackled on the stove, and he turned the two pieces over in the pan. A pot of something sat across from the meat, and she peeked inside. It was a white creamy soup.
“I may have had help with the soup,” he said. “And the bread. But I did knead it myself. I’ll start going down to the kitchen more often and take out my frustration on dough.”
She peeked into a bowl on the counter. Rolls. Next to it, a bowl of potatoes.
“You enjoy it?” she asked, sitting at the small table against the wall. “Cooking?”
“Yes. It’s relaxing, the chopping and kneading. And it’s satisfying, to put it all together and see it make a meal.” He turned, bracing his hands against the counter behind him. “You don’t like cooking?”
“Not particularly. I prefer it this way. Someone else making me food.” She smiled at him.
He leaned down to kiss her quickly, then returned his attention to the meat.
“Do you think you would have been a chef, if you had been born into a different family?” she asked.
He cocked his head. “Maybe. When I was younger I wanted to be a teacher, but that was only because my tutors came and went from the castle every day. I think I just wanted that kind of freedom. And they told me stories about studying in Vallos or living in Gallego City. It seemed very glamorous to me, to be a teacher. Plus, my father—” He stopped suddenly, his shoulders tensing.
“You can talk about your father, Cas,” Em said quietly.
He reached into the shelf and pulled out two bowls. He didn’t turn to look at her. “It was a nice memory, the thing I was going to say.”
“So? Tell me.”
“I can’t imagine you want to hear nice things about my father.”
“Sure I do,” she said honestly. “I don’t want you to pretend that your father was horrible all the time and you don’t have a single good memory of him. I’m not going to pretend that about my mother. Or my father.”
Cas glanced at her over his shoulder. “You never talk about your father. You always mention him as an afterthought like that.”
“I didn’t know him well. He was uncomfortable around all children, including me and Liv. I th
ink he only had children to make my mother happy.”
He nodded as he put the meat on plates, then ladled soup into the bowls. She took them from him and walked into the dining room, placing the soup on the table. Cas followed with the rest, filling her plate and then his own.
“What do you think you would have done if you had been born to a different family?” Cas asked as they sat down.
“Tell me the memory of your father first.” She took a bite of meat. “This is delicious, by the way.”
“Thank you.” He slowly cut into a potato, his eyes on his plate. “My father liked to read. He’d always spend some time with my tutors, recommending books and discussing things with them. I mean, he’d insist that his interpretation of a book was the only correct interpretation, so perhaps it was more of a lecture than a discussion.” He laughed softly. “But my father had a lot of respect for my tutors, which is perhaps part of the reason I wanted to be one.”
“That makes sense.”
“Now tell me yours,” he said, letting out a breath of air like he was relieved to be changing the subject.
“I would have been an outcast if I’d been born into a different family,” she said. “Since I’m useless. I still was, in many ways, but I was afforded a little more respect, since I was a royal.”
“Are there any other useless Ruined still alive?”
“No. There was one, before, but he died.”
“Were you friends with him?”
“No, he was fifty years older than me. I never even met him, I just heard about him from other people. My mother probably kept him away on purpose. She didn’t want me feeling sorry for myself about being useless, and from what I heard, he was very bitter.” She chewed a piece of bread. “I think I might have been a seamstress, in a different life. I’ve always patched up my own clothes, and I’ve even made a few of my own dresses.”
“Really.”
“They weren’t very good. But I’d like to try again sometime.” Her heart dipped, the way it often did when she thought about the future. She knew it was possible that she didn’t have one, that Olivia could burst into the castle tonight and kill everyone. She’d lived with the very real possibility of death for so long that the word sometime seemed hopelessly optimistic.
“I’ll make sure you get some fabric,” Cas said. “We should set up a room where . . .” He let his voice trail off, his expression thoughtful. “We should move into the royal suite. There’s a lot more room there.”
“I wondered why you hadn’t already, honestly.”
“Memories.” He didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need him to.
“I think it’s a great idea,” she said. She reached for his hand. “I would love to move into the royal suite with you.”
He smiled, tightening his fingers around hers. “Good.”
Em slid her arm around Cas’s waist as they walked up the stairs after dinner. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
They walked through Cas’s library and into his bedroom. Her heart picked up its rhythm, and she pressed her hand to it, hoping he couldn’t tell. He looked calmer than she felt.
He put his fingers lightly on her neck, tilting her head up with his thumb, and when he kissed her, she realized he wasn’t calm at all. She could feel his breath hitch, could feel a little uncertainty when he put a soft hand on her waist.
She leaned into him, her hands against his chest. Some of her nerves settled as she melted into him, breathing into the kiss until her legs felt weak.
She pulled back just enough to talk, his breath warm on her face. “You should unbutton this dress for me.”
His fingers were still tangled in her hair, and they closed around the strands as he kissed her. “I would love to.”
He pulled away and she turned around. He gathered her hair and let it loose over her shoulder. She felt him release the first button, at the base of her neck.
“Did you know I wanted to stay?” he asked, freeing more buttons. “The first time I did this?”
“No. You just left without looking at me.” She turned her head, but she couldn’t see him. “Did you want to stay?”
“I did, a little. I would have stayed if you had asked.” He undid a few more buttons and the dress began to slip down her arms. She let it.
“I hope you plan to stay this time,” she said.
He chuckled, air sweeping across her back as he undid the last of the buttons. The dress slipped down farther, and she pulled her arms out of the straps, letting it settle around her waist.
His fingers trailed down her spine, and a moment later, she felt his lips against her skin. He burned fire across her back, his fingers slipping down until they met the dress.
He used both hands to push it down, and the dress crumpled to the floor. He slid one hand around her waist until his palm was flat against her stomach. She leaned against him, taking in a sharp breath as he pressed his lips to her shoulder, then her neck.
She turned, her eyes flicking over his body. He was still fully dressed, which she had known, but was suddenly disappointed about.
She reached for the buttons of his shirt and unfastened them. He grabbed her around the waist before she could push it off, picking her clear off the ground. She laughed, wrapping her legs around him as he took a few steps and dropped her on the bed.
He shrugged out of his shirt as he climbed onto the bed, only to reveal another thin white shirt underneath.
“You have on so many more clothes than me,” she complained, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. He ducked his head to let her pull it off.
“Better?” he asked with a grin, bracing his hands on the bed as he gazed down at her.
“Not really,” she said, tugging on his belt loop.
He was still smiling as he leaned down to kiss her. She ran her fingers through his hair, the lightness of the moment fading as she wrapped her legs around him. Her breath was stuck in her chest, her hands grabbing at him to pull him closer.
He freed himself from her grasp long enough to sit back and reach for his belt. His gaze flicked over her as he did it. She’d never seen that particular look from him before—his lips curving up, a hint of mischief in his eyes—and she wanted to see it every day for the rest of her life.
She sat up, throwing an arm around his neck and kissing him. A few minutes ago she might have laughed about how she hadn’t even let him get his pants off, but her heart was pounding too wildly for laughter.
He pulled her into his lap, his hands warm against her back. His fingers curled against her skin, like he was trying to pull all of her closer to him. She wanted to let him.
She let go of him long enough for him to shed the rest of his clothes, and to let him pull off the last of hers. He climbed back on the bed, his lips finding hers again. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed across her cheek, her neck, down her jaw. His breath was against her ear, then he said her name, a whisper so soft she barely heard it.
“Em.”
THIRTY-SIX
GALO CAUGHT AREN glancing at him for the tenth time that day. They were in Lera, only an hour or so from Royal City. Aren and Iria rode on the horse next to him, Iria’s arm occasionally circling Aren’s waist to steady herself.
“What?” Galo asked.
“I didn’t say anything,” Aren said.
“You keep looking at me.”
“You look nervous. Is it because of Mateo?”
“Mateo? The guard?” Iria asked.
“His boyfriend,” Aren said. “He didn’t tell him he was going to Olso before running off with me.”
“What?” Iria let out a laugh, perhaps the first genuine one Galo had heard from her since they’d left Olso several days ago. “You didn’t tell your boyfriend you were crossing enemy lines?”
“It was a last-minute decision. Besides, he wouldn’t have liked it.”
Aren threw his head back with a laugh. “I’d come up with a better excuse than that.”
“Seriously,” Iria muttered
.
“He’s going to be mad,” Galo said.
“That goes without saying,” Aren said. “But! You’re not dead. I bet he’s going to be excited that you’re not dead.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.” But nerves still swirled in his gut. It was very possible that Mateo was mad enough to want to break up. Perhaps they’d already broken up, and Galo just hadn’t been informed yet.
“I’d be happy to see you, then I’d whack you over the head,” Iria said.
“I feel like that would be the best-case scenario,” Galo said.
Aren stiffened suddenly, his head whipping to the right. He pulled on the reins of his horse, indicating for Galo to do the same. They both came to a stop.
Galo heard the murmured voices a minute later. Aren had warned them of every nearby human the past few days, steering them to a different area if he sensed a large number of people.
Today, he stayed still, which meant he sensed only a small group. Sure enough, Galo spotted a group of four older men through the trees. They carried bags on their backs and traveled by foot. One looked to his right and spotted them, his eyes resting on Galo first. Then he spotted Aren and went completely still. He could clearly see the Ruined marks on Aren’s neck and arms.
“It’s all right,” Galo called, quickly dismounting his horse. He walked to the men with his hands up in the air. “We’re on our way to the castle. You’ve heard there are Ruined there?”
The man with a thick, dark beard stepped out of the first trees. He eyed Aren warily. “I heard it, but I wasn’t sure it was true. We just saw Ruined yesterday, killing people.”
“You saw Olivia?” Aren asked from behind Galo.
“I guess,” the man said. “We took off before anyone spotted us.”
The other three men cautiously stepped forward, one of them staring at Galo’s arms intently.
“I’m not Ruined,” Galo said quietly. “I’m a former Leran guard making sure these two make it to the castle safely.”
“We’re headed to the castle too,” the bearded man said. “The Ruined—” He stole a glance at Aren. “Well, some of the Ruined, I guess, are following the Olso army. We’re going to tell the king.”