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“Don’t hold back with him,” Jezebel encouraged, reclining against her pillows.

“I’m not.” I paused. “Well, I am with some things.”

Jezebel tilted her head. “You mean…” She sprang to her feet. “Wait a minute.”

Then, she was tearing open drawers and the armoire, even disappearing into the bathing chamber for a moment.

“What are you doing?”

“Where did he put it?” She crawled across the ground, ducking beneath her bed first, then mine. “Ah!” Retreating out, she held up a small bottle full of a deep green liquid I recognized.

“How did that get there?” I gasped, snatching the contraceptive tonic from her.

“I left it in here for you two. I figured when he asked for time, that was what he meant.” She wiggled her brows. “And you were at the beach for hours the other night.”

“That was your favor? Jezebel even if you’d been right, you know it doesn’t work that quickly!” I nearly scolded my sister, but then stopped. Brow furrowed, I watched the emerald liquid absorb the firelight. “And he hid it. Instead of asking about it?”

I didn’t know why it surprised me. Tolek had eagerly accepted my boundaries.

“I’ve never seen anyone as in love as that man is with you, Ophelia. He looks at you like you wove the constellations in the sky. Like you spun the Angels’ wings and carved the mountains. He’d turn the world to ash if you asked him to, hoisting you above the ruins.” My heart beat a little quicker—because I would, too. For me, he didn’t only string the constellations in the sky at night. He was the reason I saw them shine. “So a request as simple as waiting? I believe that was an easy answer for him.”

And it was the divine feeling of knowing no matter what you did, with that one person in the world, you would always be accepted, always be comforted and at home, always be safe, that wrapped itself around my bones as Jezebel and I tucked ourselves into bed, and dreams of Angels’ wings and constellations battled off thoughts of spirit voices and monsters.

Chapter Twenty

Malakai

Sunrise came quickly, not like I slept much. All I saw every time I tried were scars and lace. A sinful combination of torture and temptation.

I rose before the sun was even up, shoved my feet into my boots, slung my sword across my back, and grabbed a quick breakfast from the mess hall. It was still all I saw. By the time I met Mila, the sun was starting to filter through gray clouds, a foggy haze coating the peaks of the mountains.

“Where’s everyone else?” The training arena was empty, not a warrior in sight.

Mila looked up from where she was tightening her gold cuffs, leather covering her hands and the rest of her body around them. “Likely still sleeping.”

“What?”

“You wanted private training. I can’t postpone everyone else’s practice time.”

“I didn’t mean it had to be private,” I grumbled.

“What was that?” She tilted her head closer as if she couldn’t hear me.

“I said it doesn’t have to be private. We can work around all the others, can’t we?” This didn’t need to be a big deal. I wanted the connection I’d briefly felt with the other warriors. It had been a buzz of unity, tiny and fickle, but with potential to grow.

“Trust me, Malakai.” Mila’s voice was softer now, all hints of teasing gone. “For this, we want privacy.”

She strapped her swords across her back and jerked her head to tell me to follow her. Stewing, wondering what she’d meant by that last comment, I did.

Mila led us around the back of what was serving as the armory, to a large building next to the stables. Most horses were tethered near their owners’ tents. Only a handful were kept here, so the space was mostly quiet.

Shoving the heavy rolling door open, Mila walked inside. Our boots echoed against aged wooden floors, flurries drifting in to stick to them. High ceilings and dusty windows looked down on us.

“Here?” I asked.

“Here,” she answered. “Let’s get to work, Warrior Prince.”

And we did.