My mouth falls open, and a single syllable escapes my mouth before Caben presses his finger over my lips. “Sleep. You can have your way with me tomorrow.”
“You forget who trains you in weaponry, prince,” I say around his finger.
His eyes squint as a smile spreads across his lips. But soon his eyes flutter closed, and his hand drops to the bedding of the cot. His breaths deepen, and I watch the rise and fall of his chest.
My mind drifts back to my conversation with Lilly. Whatever the Otherworlders’ mad desires are, they believe Bale will grant it to them on the full moon, and we’re the tributes to help bring it forth.
One small piece of information puts my mind at ease. No matter the evil they’re plotting, their dark priest said they needed all the shards from the crystalline relic, and those they don’t have. Maybe nothing will happen at all. Maybe we’ll simply all die in the Cage and the Otherworlders will be attacked soon after by the joined forces of our countries, and the empress will go on living.
My mother and father will return to Cavan, and a new Nactue will guard Empress Iana. A tombstone will date my death where my mother can at least visit a marker if not my body.
This war will end one way or another. And unlike my vain charge, I do have faith in the deities and their power. I have the proof of that power coursing through my blood.
They will not allow the Otherworlders to destroy the Three Realms.
Especially if that threat comes from a goddess they banished themselves.
I breathe in the warm air Caben releases between our faces, inhaling his manly scent of pine and the cologne I can’t define. Then I take his hand in mine, threading my fingers through his, feeling the strength and countering softness and warmth of his skin.
And close my eyes.
The thought that awakens me is clear and strong. It bangs against my skull with the propelled force of a mallet. I snap my eyes open and jump off the cot.
Bax.
He’s the link. His father is the dark priest. If anyone would know who runs the Otherworld and who receives orders from Bale, it’s him.
I don’t know if I’ve been asleep for hours or minutes, but the adrenaline rushing system to act makes it impossible to sleep. Nudging Caben’s slumbering body, I say, “Wake up.”
He’s still lying on his side, his legs curled up where they had been entangled with mine while we slept. His arms reach out, searching for something as his eyes crack open. “It’s not morning,” he deadpans.
“I don’t know if it is or not, but we’ve slept enough.” I prod him once more, rousing him fully awake. “Get—”
“Don’t make me bark another order,” he snaps. “Climb back into bed.”
He rolls over.
Annoyed, and having had just about enough of his chauvinistic arrogance, I lift my bare foot to kick his backside. Before my heel meets his rump, his arm reaches behind and he grabs my ankle. I swallow my yelp as he pulls me onto the cot. Landing on my back, I bite my lip, holding in my cry as the bar beneath the mattress gouges into my spine. But all thoughts of aches and revenge flee my mind as Caben pulls my ankle and slides my body underneath his. Hovering above me—half his weight on the cot, half on top of me—he presses me into the bedding.
His hand lowers my foot to the bed, then slowly slides up the side of my leg until it reaches my stomach. Lifting the bottom of my tunic, he rests his palm on my waist, on the small curve above my hip. His eyes never waver, his heated gaze holding mine.
“Before we begin nefariously plotting,” he says, low and husky, his breath skimming my cheek. “I want to know—I’ll only ask this once.”
Unsure of what he’s demanding, I squint, and my breath halts as his eyes drop to my chest. I swallow. My eyes close.
“Kaliope.” He says my name with the hint of accent I now know I only hear when he’s taken off-guard. When he drops his barriers, either in anger, urgency, or fear. I wonder what emotion is causing him to lose control now. And will his lilt deepen out of alarm or revulsion when he sees my chest?
I open my eyes.
The steady thump of his heart beats against my arm. It speeds as the tension thickens the slight span of air between us.
No matter what happens later, whether we live or die, I at least have control over this moment. Even if we survive, and he goes off to rule his kingdom and I to lead the Nactue, I can keep this one moment.
One stolen moment out of a lifetime of duty.
Taking a breath and releasing it in tiny clips that make my breastbone ache, I cover his hand with mine. The metal cuffs on our wrists clank together. I force his hand slowly upward—onto my belly . . . my rib cage . . . around the swell of my breast—to the hard glass covering.
I fight the urge to shut my eyes and close myself off from the many, sudden emotions that cross his face. His eyes enlarge, and a crease forms between his brows as his features shift to confusion. And when I think my body will die from tremors, he finally breathes, his full lips pressing together in discernment.