Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE TYRANT GATHERED A massive following, wielders of every sort, swayed by promises of gold and power and prestige, sowing death and despair across the lands —

I yawn, stretching my legs out on the large bed. The book snaps shut in my lap. I should have started with the Arbinji history tome, but I was curious about what story Zev loved as a child. I don’t dwell on that decision.

Instead, I check the time. The sun set hours ago, and I haven’t seen Zev since last night. He was already gone when I woke. Irritation blooms inside me, even as another yawn forces past my lips. I listened to him and didn’t leave our chambers, all my meals delivered here. Eaten alone. Like a tidesdamned prisoner in a gilded cage.

Irritation swells into rage. Tides damn this. I’m determined to remain awake so I can throttle Zev when he finally deems to show his face.

Sleep claims me anyway.

Again, I wake alone the next morning, but it’s clear Zev has been to bed—the sheets on his side are rumpled, his faint, smoky scent lingering in the air. And if I press his pillow over my face and inhale deeply, even as anger roils in my stomach, well, that’s no one’s business but my own.

I head to the washroom for a quick bath—my handmaids have thankfully agreed to ready me only for formal events. After emerging, I sit at Zev’s—our—large wooden desk, rummaging in the drawer for parchment and a quill.

It’s time I wrote home.

Dearest Father,

I trust you are well. By now, you must have heard of my nuptials to Prince Zevayr. I imagine you must be shocked. I was, too, at first. But I realized this was the best decision for both myself and Tundrayn.

You need not worry for my safety. Zevayr has treated me with kindness and respect. He protected me during our journey to Arbinj. I believe he has grown to care for me. I feel safe with him.

I came to Arbinj with the goal of peace and safety for our people—that remains unchanged. I stand in a better place to achieve it with my husband by my side. Please accept my decision.

I am acclimating well to life in Arbinj. I have not seen much of the capital, but I hope my husband will find time to show me. And I will be helping plan the Equinox Festival. I eagerly await your visit and your reply.

Please tell everyone that I am safe and miss them terribly.

Tides protect you.

Your devoted daughter,

Mayah

With sharp, even creases, I fold the parchment into a neat rectangle, sealing it with a drop of wax. I don’t have the Tundrayni royal seal with me, so I let the green wax dry into a sigil-less circle. There’s no doubt in my mind the letter will be read anyway before it leaves the palace.

After handing the envelope to a servant in the hall, I return to our chambers. The dark walls are suffocating. With a sigh, I grab the tome on Arbinji history and settle into the sofa for another day of reading. Alone.

Later in the afternoon, a servant—Farzina—stops by to discuss plans for the Equinox Festival—color schemes, menus, outfit choices.

Riveting. A wonderful use of my time.

Zev doesn’t come to bed tonight either.

I try not to sulk.

The next day drags by much the same—alone in my gilded cage with only my thoughts and books for company. I try to strike up conversation with the servants who come to tidy the room, but they only offer pitying smiles. One of them, for some unfathomable reason, scatters fresh rose petals across the mattress and dresser.

As if it’s still our wedding night.

As if I haven’t been sleeping alone since.

After they leave, I count the rose petals scattered across the vanity—forty-three, all soft as velvet—and I’m dangerously close to counting them again. Outside the large window, the gardens sprawl across the grounds. Eight blue rose bushes. Eleven pink ones. I know because I counted them. Twice. Maybe if I ask nicely, the servants will plant three more blue ones and make it even.

I take a long soak in the bath, until the water cools and my fingers prune, but even familiar, comforting water can’t drown the ache of restlessness writhing beneath my skin.

Now, I lie on my massive bed and stare at the ceiling, debating whether I should cut up Zev’s clothing or fling myself out the window for a change of scenery.

Around lunch time, the door opens slowly as if it’s wary of drawing attention to itself. My husband enters with cautious footsteps. It’s been over two days since I last saw him.

I slam my book shut.

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” I exclaim, hand pressed over my heart, glare fixed on his face. “Is that my husband?”

He stands in the doorway, looking sheepish, a large tray of food clutched to his chest. “I’m sorry, Mayah. I’ve been a terrible husband. Neglected you and broke my promise to have you try mushroom stew on your first night.”

“I’m tired of your apologies,” I snap. “I’m a prisoner, locked within these four walls. Alone. I can’t live like this, Zev.”

He sits beside me on the sofa, setting the tray down on the small table. He reaches for me, but I jerk away from his grasp. A soft sigh escapes him, his hand dropping to his side.

“I don’t have an excuse, Mayah. I need to find a better way. I’m truly sorry.” He pinches the bridge of his nose tightly. Dark shadows line his eyes, as if he’s not slept much at all.

He looks like he’s aged years in just two days.

And still, I want to remain angry.

“Tell me what’s kept you away.”

Zev plates our food, handing me a bowl of stew before answering. “The Rebellion. They’ve been attacking both Arbinji and Tundrayni battalions stationed along the contested borders. They have more wielders than expected—waterwielders, earthwielders, healers. We’ve suffered many casualties. Sulon is in communication with your father’s generals. We’re trying to devise a joint strategy, but neither side is happy about working together.” He rakes a hand through his dark locks. “If things don’t get better, I’ll have to head to the border. I’ve been trying to manage the situation. Delegate tasks, strategize. It’s why I’ve been absent. I’m trying to stay here. With you.”

My heart softens slightly at his genuine expression, though my frustration doesn’t completely disappear.

“Anything else?” I munch aggressively on bread soaked in stew. Zev was right—fungus or not, it’s delicious. When he reaches to wipe the corner of my mouth, I don’t pull away this time.

“My father is working on securing an alliance with Volca. He’s sent so many gifts for their princess, I’ve lost track.”

“She must be smarter than me if she’s refusing to marry Faramir.”

Zev’s lips curve into a faint smile. “Impossible,” he says softly, his fingers playing with a lock of hair before cupping my cheek. “I’ve missed you. How have your days been?”

“Slow. Boring. Mindless.” I frown, crossing my arms. “I wrote a letter to my father. Finished reading my books. Picked out the menu for the Equinox Festival.” The next time Farzina stops by, I’ll have her add mushroom stew.

“I’ll take you to the library to get more books.”

I don’t respond.

“And tomorrow … we’ll do something special for dinner.”

He gives me a winning smile.

I give him my silence.

“We can explore the capital?” he tries, raking his teeth over his lower lip.

I finally let my lips curve. The stiffness in his shoulders eases.

“All right.”

Maybe I forgive him too easily. Or maybe I’ve just missed him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“WHAT DO YOU THINK about roses and jasmine for centerpieces?” I ask, glancing around the large hall—I snuck out of our chambers with Farzina, the servant responsible for the Equinox Festival, along with a handful of guards.

Farzina blinks, a crease marring her smooth, tanned brow. “What I think, Princess?”

“Well, yes. It’s my first time planning the festival. You have much more experience. I’d rather defer to what you think.”

She looks momentarily stunned, hazel eyes wide and mouth parted. “I—I always thought hydrangeas and daylilies would look nice.”

I smile at her, injecting as much kindness into the curve of my lips as I can. “Hydrangeas and daylilies, it is.”

A brilliant flush colors her cheeks, and she hides a smile whilst jotting down notes.

“What’s left for today?” I ask, pacing through the hall. “Menu, music, guest list … I’m forgetting something.”

She scans her notes. “The wine! Any thoughts?”

“How about zinfadelan? I read about it recently. I think the spicy flavor will pair well with the lamb.”

Farzina chews her lip. “Zinfadelan is a bold choice. It’s quite strong.” I hesitate, fingers curling around the hem of my sleeve, and she quickly adds, “But you are right, Princess, it will pair well. I’ll make a note to order enough barrels.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “We can choose something else. A mellow white?”

“No, no, Princess. Your choice is perfect.”

I smile brightly at her, murmuring my thanks. Farzina bobs a graceful curtsy, her eyes lingering on me with warmth before she leaves.

My guards escort me back to our chambers in time for lunch with Zev.

Except he never shows.

I pace the room until I’ve almost worn a path in the carpet. When I grow weary of that, I sit with my latest book, The Magnificent Palace of Arbinj: Changes Through the Centuries. I thumb through the worn pages, careful not to leave any creases.

Evolution of spires…

Mid-century renovations…

Stained glass windows…

The Tunnels of Davran.

Tunnels. According to the tome, the earliest Arbinji monarchs had earthwielders carve tunnels beneath the palace to use as secret escape routes should the palace ever be under siege. Historians debate the existence of these tunnels entirely and whether they were just a tale concocted over time through rumor and gossip. Some say a monarch escaped through a crumbling tunnel during an attack. Others believe they were used to sneak in illicit lovers.

I snap the book closed.

Still no Zev. And still no lunch.

I bite back the growl of frustration clawing at my throat. My husband said he’d try harder to balance his responsibilities and spending time with me. The isolation is suffocating.

But it’s not just the isolation—I hate to admit it, even to myself, but I miss Zev. I miss his handsome face and twinkling eyes and the smile he saves only for me. I miss his teasing and his laughter—often at my expense.

I miss the way he flirts with me. The spark that skitters across my skin whenever he traces my jaw or clasps my hand.

I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t also admit it hurts that he doesn’t seem to miss me. How else could he bear spending every waking moment away from me? Does the same ache not grip his chest?

Foolish thoughts. I’m a fool, sitting here, yearning for my husband’s attention.

I am a tidesdamned princess. A proud Tundrayni. A healer.

A healer.

I quickly change into a comfortable tunic and leggings and leave my room. The guards startle when they see me, but I ignore them, briskly gliding down the hall.

“Princess!” one of them calls. “You can’t leave unattended!”

“Attend to me, then,” I say, not breaking stride. Behind me, boots scramble against stone as they rush to follow.

Before I even turn the corner, the sharp scent of antiseptic breaches my nostrils. I wrinkle my nose, entering the infirmary, six guards trailing me. There are only two medics—Sauzon, the lean, bespectacled middle-aged man with pure white hair that I met before, and a younger, dark-haired apprentice, perhaps a few years older than me.

Both of them freeze, tasks forgotten, as I enter.

“I will be healing patients today,” I announce, rolling up my sleeves before standing beside the first cot.

The medics frown, exchanging a bemused glance. The older one clears his throat. “Princess, I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

I ignore him, greeting the young woman lying on the cot. “What is troubling you?” I ask with a smile.

“Princess, please,” the bespectacled medic says woodenly as if I’ve committed some egregious sin. “This is highly unusual.”

The woman on the cot glances between me and Sauzon. She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut.

“You’ve never had a healer in the palace before,” I say, turning to the scowling medic. “Of course, it’s unusual.” I gesture to the crowded room, nearly every cot occupied. “These patients need help. I healed my people in Tundrayn every day.”

“This isn’t Tundrayn. If word of this spreads…” The stubborn medic shakes his head. “Apologies, Princess. I cannot allow this.”

I bristle. “Allow? I don’t need your permission. How do you think my husband will react when he learns I was disrespected in his own palace?” Sauzon’s scowl deepens, but he doesn’t respond, uncertainty flashing through his dark eyes. “The infirmary would be reduced to ash,” I supply. “Perhaps, the medics, too.”

He holds my gaze a beat too long, jaw clenched tightly. But in the end, he gives a curt nod and storms off.

Without his watchful eye, the woman in the cot is quick to tell me of her severe stomach pain. I send a rippling wave through her body—a large ulcer, easily healed.

The two medics whisper amongst themselves. Sauzon regards me with hard, narrowed eyes, but the younger one seems more curious than anything else. I ignore them and focus solely on healing.

Thirty minutes and three patients later, the hair on the back of my neck prickles. The air shifts—charged, tight. My pulse quickens.

I don’t need to turn. I already know.

My husband is here.

And Tides, he is furious.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

HIS GAZE SEARS INTO my back, but I refuse to turn. My hands glow softly as I heal my current patient’s broken leg—but with the way the middle-aged man’s pulse is thundering, Zev might give him a heart attack.

A beat passes, then another.

Zev breaks the silence, his voice tight with anger. “Mayah.”

My hands freeze. He’s only said my name—two scant syllables—yet somehow managed to make it sound like a reprimand. Slowly, I face him, chin raised in defiance.

Let him be angry.

Let him yell.

But if he tries to send me back to those chambers, he’ll have to drag me there himself.

“Are my eyes deceiving me? Again?” I bite out. “Is my husband truly here?” I bare my teeth in a snarl. “He has meetings to attend. Princely duties. All manner of important things besides me.”

The room had already been quiet, but it’s as if I sucked all the air out. No one moves. No one even breathes. Zev’s gray eyes are stormy, furious, and they darken further during my tirade. I’ve seen him angry, but never at me, not like this. With that wrathful expression, he looks so much like his father—my mother’s murderer—that I have to tear my gaze away.

I focus on my patient whose wide, fearful eyes are riveted to my husband.

“Is this your way of getting my attention?” Zev grits out from behind me. The air crackles around him.

“Not everything I do is about you,” I huff, not bothering to turn around. “But maybe a little. If I knew this was all it took to summon you, I’d have barged in here days ago.” My patient looks helplessly at the older medic. The injured man clears his throat, but I set my glowing palms to his leg again, making sure it’s properly healed.

I shoot my husband a scathing look over my shoulder. “This gives me purpose. I’m a healer, Zev. I heal. Without it, I’m missing an integral part of myself.” He opens his mouth, but I barrel on, finally facing him. “I’m tired of being alone, trapped in our chambers. I need more than just planning a party. You said you’d want your wife to be your equal. I certainly don’t feel equal, Zev. I know you’re worried for my safety, but what about my sanity?” My voice cracks, and Zev’s eyes lose a bit of their flint.

The man I just healed coughs awkwardly, and I gesture for him to stand. He rises smoothly, bearing weight on his newly healed leg, an awestruck smile brightening his face. It fades when he catches Zev’s thunderous expression. With a murmured thanks, the man shuffles away.

Zev scans the room—the two medics are clearly eavesdropping, but when his stony gaze finds them, they suddenly busy themselves with organizing cabinets.

My husband turns back to me. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and warring emotions clash in his eyes. Anger still reigns—but something softer is fighting to surface. He reaches for my face, and I flinch. His hand freezes midair—he looks gutted, and for a breath, I forget why I’m angry.

A deep sigh slips from him, his shoulders sagging. He reaches for me again, his palm cautiously cupping my cheek. The hesitation in his touch feels like a question, like he fears I’ll break if he presses too hard.

“You haven’t eaten.” His voice is gruff, but his fingers are gentle as he examines my face. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself.”

I give a small shrug, refusing to meet his gaze. “My husband forgot to bring me lunch.”

He sighs again, his face pained. “Look—we’ll talk about this later.” Reluctantly, he drops his hand and stalks toward the two men.

“Sauzon,” he snaps, and the two men startle. “Make sure my wife eats something after every second patient. If she doesn’t, I’ll bind you to the stockade. Ten lashes for every miss.” Sauzon’s wide eyes cut to me, before he turns back to Zev and nods stiffly.

“Graman.” The younger medic stands up taller. “Ensure my wife has everything she needs.” Without a backward glance at me, Zev strides from the room.

As soon as he leaves, both medics’ eyes flit to me. Graman seems ambivalent, but Sauzon’s dark gaze glitters with contempt.

I purse my lips. That could have gone better.

Zev’s certainly not winning me any friends.

I spend the next hour healing as many patients as I can, starting with those with the most severe injuries. Internal wounds, broken bones, extreme pain with no obvious cause. As I work my way through the patients, I marvel at Sauzon’s methods—slings and poultices and tonics and herbs. I’ve always taken healing for granted, but the Arbinji people have harnessed a completely different approach to the human body.

Sauzon follows me diligently, ensuring I eat a few bites of roasted meat or tart berries after every second patient. At first, Graman also watches closely, his eyes bright with wonder at my glowing hands. Sauzon dismisses him soon after.

The older medic doesn’t say a word to me, standing stiffly, though as the infirmary cots empty and patients return home, the contempt slowly seeps from his gaze.

I lose myself in my passion, in my patients.

Their pain is real.

Their suffering is real.

And for the first time in days, I am real.

Every time my power stitches flesh, the throbbing ache in my chest eases slightly. This is who I am. Not a princess in a gilded cage, but a healer, elbow-deep in the work of soothing pain and saving lives.

After another hour, only a handful of patients remain, all with minor flesh wounds. I wish I could heal them, too, but tell-tale fatigue weights my limbs, even after eating. I need to rest—if my reserves fall too low, Sauzon will pay the price.

I take a deep breath and turn to him.

The older man reluctantly meets my gaze.

“I want to apologize,” I start. His mouth drops open. “I didn’t mean for you to get caught in the middle of my … disagreement with Zev.

“I’m trying to find my place here. Healing others has always brought me peace. It’s a responsibility and privilege I don’t take for granted. I’d love to return tomorrow and continue.” I inhale deeply, squaring my shoulders. “But I won’t come back unless you wish it.”

Sauzon stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.

I gesture around the stark white room. “This is your infirmary. I don’t want to overstep. I can find my place somewhere else. Truly.”

He eyes me warily, unsure if I speak the truth. I don’t blame him. The older medic casts his gaze around the room. Nearly all of the cots lay empty.

“You are welcome to return,” he says stiffly. “If you wish.”

“Perhaps, you can teach me about your methods,” I offer as we head toward the door.

He scoffs. “What good would that do? You can work magic with your hands. My methods are nothing compared to that.”

“That’s not true,” I say slowly. “My power is great, yes. But you’ve saved countless lives without ‘magic.’ What you do, that’s truly miraculous. And I’m only one healer—if my reserves are low or I’m injured, I can’t heal. It’s your methods that can be taught. Passed down. I can only teach another healer, but you can teach anyone. I’d be honored to learn from you. Maybe we could even combine our approaches.” I offer him a small smile. “I know trust isn’t built in a day. But I hope to earn yours. Not as your princess, but as someone who wants to help people. Just like you.”

He blinks, mouth parted. Sauzon regards me carefully, then nods.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Princess.”

The door flings open with a bang, and I yelp, snapping the book closed.

Zev enters. His eyes flick to Faerahzar the Great in my hands, and a strange look passes through his eyes, there and gone before I can decipher it. For a moment, we just stare at each other.

Then, five long strides, and he’s towering above me.

“Are you still upset?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. My pulse thunders in my ears.

His lips press into a thin line. “With myself. Not with you.” He offers me his hand, and I tentatively clasp it in a loose grip. “Come on.” With a firm tug, Zev pulls me from the sofa.

“Where are we going?” I ask, hitching up my gown to match his long strides. His eyes dip to my feet, and his pace slows.

“It’s a surprise.”

We wind through torchlit corridors, past narrow, open-air bridges, and up a spiraling staircase that seems to go on forever. My calves ache by the time we emerge onto a secluded terrace tucked between the towering walls of the palace.

Stone arches frame the inky night sky, dotted with a thousand twinkling stars. Candles line the floor, casting a soft glow over the terrace. In the center, a large blanket has been spread out, its corners weighted with smooth stones.

I arch a brow at him. “Another picnic? This is your grand apology?”

His smile is remorseful. He clasps my hands in his larger ones. “Forgive me, Mayah.” With slow footsteps, he leads me to the edge of the terrace, where the city stretches before us. “This is what I wanted to show you on our wedding night. Before the evening … took a turn.”

I snort. “That’s one way to describe an assassination attempt.”

He chuckles, holding me close to him. My back meets his chest. Zev presses closer, the heat of him wrapping around me in a familiar cocoon. Warm breath fans my ear when he says, “This was my favorite view in all of Arbinj.”

“Was?” I whisper, breathing in his smoky scent.

He hums but doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “I used to come here as a boy when I wanted to be alone—which was often.”

“I’m not surprised you were grumpy and brooding even back then.” His fingers trail over my belly, and my breath stutters. I want to stay mad at him, I really do, but Tides, I’ve missed him.

“All that brooding paid off,” he murmurs in my ear. “Since you love my fierce scowl.”

“I didn’t say I love it,” I breathe. “Only that I liked it.” My pulse quickens, and he presses a chaste kiss over it.

With a deep, aching sigh, he rests his forehead against my temple. “I’m doing this all wrong, Mayah. I’m truly, truly sorry. In my efforts to keep you safe, I’m making you resent me. I wish we could spend every minute together. When I’m not with you, believe me that you dominate my every thought. Give me another chance. I’ll do better.”

My heart warms at his admission—that I’m not the only one aching.

But I won’t let him off the hook so easily.

“And how, exactly, will you do better?”

“You can freely explore the palace. With guards,” he adds before I can interrupt.

“One guard.”

“Four.”

“One.”

“Two.” He pinches my side lightly. “No less.”

“Fine.” I narrow my eyes. “What else?”

“You can heal in the infirmary as you please. Just—don’t burn through your reserves. I know food was … limited in Tundrayn. We have no such scarcity here. I won’t have you collapsing to prove a point.”

“And?” I prompt, my lips curving into a wide smile.

He tickles my ribs, and a breathy laugh escapes me.

“You’re being cruel. You already have me on my knees.” His voice is soft with affection. “I’ll work less, I swear it. I’ve been putting off going to the border, thinking it was enough. But I realize now, even with me here, we spend too much time apart. I’ve been a fool, Mayah.” He presses a lingering kiss to my temple. “But I’ll learn. Have patience with me.”

“All right,” I say softly. “One more chance.”

He holds me tightly, inhaling deeply as if memorizing my scent. Without a word, he leads me to the blanket, and we eat our dinner beneath the stars.

“Any movement with the Rebellion?” I ask between sips of wine—a mellow white.

Zev grimaces. “They set fire to a large farm two days ago—destroyed food for a large battalion.” A deep sigh slips free. “But let’s speak of something else. How are you liking Faerahzar?”

“You mean Faerataak. It’s the same story. But the book is wrong. He was a waterwielder first, not a stormwielder.”

Zev rolls his eyes. “Does it matter? In the end, he wielded everything.”

“Of course it matters!” I exclaim, pounding my fist on the blanket-covered ground. “Arbinj can’t claim Faerataak. He’s ours.”

“All right, wife,” he acquiesces, a small smile ticking up his lips. “He was a waterwielder. Tell me more of what you’ve been up to.”

I tell him about the infirmary patients, my conversation with Sauzon, and my progress with the Equinox Festival. Zev listens attentively, always finding some way to touch me. A casual brush on my arm, an errant strand tucked behind my ear.

“Will your father and brother disapprove of me healing in the infirmary?” It’s been weighing on my mind.

“Don’t worry about them,” Zev says. A faint crease mars his brow. “I’ll handle them. You do as you please.”

He runs a gentle hand over my hair, playing with the dark strands. “I have something for you,” he murmurs. “It’s long overdue.”

Zev leans back, retrieving a small box from his pocket. Without a word, he flips it open—and my breath escapes my lungs.

Nestled inside is a stunning silver ring, the band delicate but strong. Simple. At its center sits a brilliant white diamond, cut into the shape of a teardrop. Flickering light from the candles dances off its facets, scattering rainbows across the box’s velvet lining.

My fingers instinctively rise to my clavicle, brushing the cool stone that rests there.

It’s a perfect match to my mother’s necklace.

“I had it made for you,” Zev says quietly, shifting closer. “It took longer than I expected.”

For a moment, I can’t speak. My throat tightens, a storm of emotion catching in my chest. I blink rapidly, trying to force back the tears, but one slips free anyway.

Zev’s expression falters. “You don’t like it?”

I shake my head, swallowing hard. “It’s perfect.”

For a beat, he doesn’t move, just watching me closely. Then, he exhales in relief and gently takes my hand. His fingers brush over my knuckles—slow, reverent—as if committing every line of my skin to memory. Then, with a tenderness that nearly unravels me, he slides the ring onto my finger.

I stare at it, chest aching. It glints in the candlelight like a drop of clear, pure water—like something sacred.

I lift my eyes, only to find him already watching me.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, caressing the bare skin of my wrist.

I don’t answer. I can’t. There’s a heavy weight wedged against my ribs.

He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm, then holds it to his cheek, closing his eyes. “I know this doesn’t make up for everything. But I hope it’s a start.”

I can’t speak past the lump in my throat.

Then he opens his eyes—and I swear the look in them could undo kingdoms. Undo me.

His gaze drops to my lips, and for one breathless moment, I think he’ll kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. Our breaths mingle, warm and uneven.

The ring shimmers between us, a promise too beautiful to be real.

But Tides help me, I want it to be.