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"My room," she said, ushering them inside. "It's not much, but no one will look for you here."

The space was tiny, barely large enough for the narrow bed, small table, and chest of personal belongings it contained. A single window high on the wall provided the only natural light, filtered through a grate that suggested it opened at ground level somewhere in the city.

"I'm sorry it's so small and shabby.” Zelia wrung her hands as she watched them take in the sparse accommodations.

"It's perfect," Linnea assured her, meaning it despite the tight quarters. "Thank you, Zelia."

As the young woman nodded and turned to leave, a wave of guilt washed over Linnea. She had lived her entire life as a highborn, served on the council and then as chancellor, and yet she had never known—never bothered to learn—that the people who served the government lived like this, in cramped cells beneath the very floors she walked each day. How much else about her city had she been blind to? How many other realities had she failed to see because they didn't directly impact her comfortable existence?

"You'll be safe here," Zelia said, her hand on the door. "No one would ever think to look for the chancellor in the servants' quarters. And none of the day shift will be near the rooms until late tonight when the day's work is done."

"We'll leave as soon as it's dark and we can move around unnoticed," Linnea promised. “Zelia, I can't thank you enough for risking yourself this way."

She offered a small smile. "You've always been kind to me, Chancellor. That matters more than you might think." With that, she slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.

Left alone with Zexx, Linnea stood motionless in the center of the tiny room, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of their situation. In the space of a single day, she had gone from chancellor to fugitive, from leader to outlaw. Her own advisors had betrayed her, turned her people against her, and were now hunting her through the very tower she had once ruled.

"Linnea," Zexx said softly, his voice pulling her from the edge of panic.

She turned to him, opening her mouth to say something—anything—to maintain the illusion of control she'd been clinging to. But no words came. Instead, the façade crumbled, her shoulders sagging as the weight of everything crashed down upon her.

He pulled her into his arms with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his stormy expression. She pressed her face against his chest, breathing in his scent as the tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over.

They weren't soft, dignified tears befitting a chancellor, but hot, angry sobs that shook her entire body. She cried for the betrayal of those she had trusted, for the peril facing K’Nar, for her own blindness that had allowed this conspiracy to fester. But most of all, she cried for her people, who deserved better than leaders who would sacrifice peace for power.

Zexx held her through it all, one hand stroking her hair while the other remained firm around her waist, anchoring her when everything else had been torn away. He didn't offer empty reassurances or platitudes—just his steady presence, his silent strength.

"I should have believed you from the start," she said when she could finally speak again, her voice rough from crying. "You tried to warn me, and I accused you of—"

"Shh," he murmured, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "You believe me now. That's what matters."

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, this warrior from the sands who had somehow become her strongest ally, her deepest connection. "What do we do now?" she asked, the question encompassing far more than just their immediate situation.

His dark eyes held hers, unwavering in their certainty. "We survive," he said simply. "And then we fight."

In the dim light of a servant's room, Linnea found herself believing him. Believing in him. And crucially, believing in them.

ChapterThirty-Six

Zexx held Linnea as her tears soaked into his tunic, her body trembling against his in the dim confines of the servant's quarters. The room was small enough that he could have touched both walls at once if he'd extended his arms, the air close and warm with the scent of their mingled breath. A single shaft of dusty light filtered through the high grated window, casting elongated shadows across the worn stone floor.

Her emotions crashed over him in waves—anger, betrayal, guilt, fear—yet instead of drowning in them as he might have expected, he felt strangely anchored. Connected. Each surge of feeling that passed from her to him through their bond only strengthened his resolve to protect her, to stand beside her through whatever came next.

He understood her pain. The sting of betrayal was familiar to him—he had felt it in his own heart when the Dothveks former leader had been revealed to be a murderer. That shared understanding flowed between them now, a current stronger than words could express.

Gradually, her sobs quieted, her breathing steadied, though she remained in his embrace as if drawing strength from the contact.

"I wasn't sure why my brother left to join your people," she said, pulling back just enough to look up at him. "I never understood his fascination with the sand dwellers, his insistence that there was something essential your people preserved that ours had lost. But now I do. Your people are loyal and brave. You live as equals, not as masters and servants. You do not have highborns and commoners. There are no Dothveks who live in decadence while others exist in squalor.”

She glanced around the tiny room, taking in the sparse furnishings, the single threadbare blanket on the narrow bed, the chipped cup on the small table. "I had no idea that workers lived like this beneath the towers. All these years, I've walked the halls above, never questioning where the people who serve us retire at night." Shame colored her voice. "What kind of leader doesn't know such basic truths about her own domain?"

Zexx guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, crouching before her so their eyes remained level. "The Dothveks aren't perfect," he said, thinking of his own prejudice against the Cresteks. "But we do share thoughts, which means we know other Dothveks’ hearts. It is impossible to harbor hate when you feel another’s pain and joy.”

He took her hands in his, feeling their delicate strength. “When you live on the sands, what happens to one happens to all. That is why we say, what happens to you happens to me. It's the only way we can survive and flourish. When one suffers, all suffer. When one prospers, all prosper."

Linnea's eyes, still bright with tears, held a wistful longing. "That kind of life sounds wonderful," she said softly. "To be part of something so unified, so genuinely connected."

"You would be welcomed in my village," he told her, meaning every word. The thought of taking her back to the oasis filled him with a profound yearning. "But then the Cresteks would lose you as a leader, and having a leader who wants change and equality is something your people desperately need."