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"Find someone who does," she said, her voice sharper than intended. She did not trust herself to describe the inside of the tent she’d slept in with Zexx. “Perhaps one of the scholars who's studied their customs. And have the invitation delivered immediately."

K’Nar nodded, gathering his papers with jerky movements. "Will there be anything else, Chancellor?"

"That's all for now."

He bowed stiffly and walked to the door, muttering under his breath about tents and barbarians and the impossibility of his task.

When the door closed behind him, she rose from her desk and began to pace. The smooth stone floor was cool beneath her bare feet—she'd taken to removing her shoes in private, finding comfort in that small rebellion against Crestek formality.

Was she making a monumental mistake? This olive branch could easily be construed as a trick, or worse, as something inappropriate. But she couldn't bear the thought of Zexx suffering in silence, trapped in unfamiliar surroundings because of her self-absorbed actions.

She paused at the window, gazing out toward the distant desert that glimmered gold on the horizon. The sands where Zexx belonged. The sands he might be longing for this very moment.

"I just want him to feel welcome," she whispered to herself, though the knot in her stomach told a different story. She wanted more. She wanted to see that spark in his eyes that she'd glimpsed in the village, that intensity that had made her skin tingle and her heart race.

But what if this dinner failed to thaw his icy demeanor? Could she accept him as nothing more than an ambassador, maintaining cool diplomatic relations until his duty was complete and he returned to the sands? Could she let him go?

Her reflection stared back at her from the polished glass, silver robes glinting in the fading light. She barely recognized herself—the formal attire of the chancellor felt like a costume, something she wore rather than something she was.

In the Dothvek village, there had been no such pretense. On the sands, she had been free from the weight of her family's name and history. Free from the expectations that shadowed her.

And Zexx had seen her. Not the chancellor, not the sister of the former regime, but her.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Enter," she called, smoothing her robes and composing her features.

The head chef stepped in, bowing deeply. "You wished to see me, Chancellor?"

She took a steadying breath, pushing aside her doubts. "Yes. I need a special meal prepared for tonight—something that would remind a Dothvek of home."

The chef's expression shifted from confusion to intrigue. "Desert cuisine? An interesting challenge, Chancellor."

"Can you do it?"

"Of course," he said, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "Though I'll need to send to the market for certain spices..."

As she outlined what she remembered of Dothvek food from her brief time in the village, the knot in her stomach began to loosen. Perhaps this wasn't such a foolish idea after all. Perhaps offering Zexx a taste of home was exactly what was needed to begin rebuilding the bridge between them.

Or perhaps she was deluding herself, crafting elaborate excuses to be near him again.

Either way, by tonight she would have her answer. And she would need to accept it, whatever it might be.

ChapterFourteen

Zexx followed the stiff-backed guard through the spiraling ramp of the Crestek tower, his irritation growing with each step. The tunic they'd provided for this "formal diplomatic dinner" chafed against his skin, restricting the natural movement of his muscles. The woven fabric felt almost offensive against his skin, which had known nothing but open air and desert sun since childhood.

His fingers itched to tear it off. In the village, he would never be confined like this—by walls, by clothing, by protocol. Everything about the Crestek city felt like a scratchy shirt against his soul, tight and suffocating.

The guard stopped at an ornate door at the end of the top level. "The chancellor's personal chambers," he announced, his tone implying Zexx should be honored by the invitation.

Zexx grunted in response. Let him think him the savage barbarian they all whispered about. Better that than revealing how his pulse had quickened at the mention of Linnea's private quarters.

The door swung open, and he stepped inside, prepared for more stone walls and rigid furnishings.

His breath caught.

Beige fabric draped from the ceiling in wide swaths that met at a point in the center of the room, cascading down the walls like a waterfall of cloth. Tiny bells adorned the edges, jingling softly as the fabric swayed in the breeze from an open window. It was unmistakable—a Dothvek tent, recreated within these stone walls.