Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Z exx stalked from the chancellor's office, every muscle in his body rigid with frustration. The stone walls of the Crestek tower seemed to press in around him, trapping the air and making each breath feel shallow and unsatisfying. Everything about this city felt wrong—hostile, even. The high walls that encircled it blocked the horizon like a prison, cutting off his connection to the endless sands beyond.

The silent guard who'd escorted him up now led him down a spiraling ramp that curled around the interior of the tower. His bare feet slapped against the cold stone—nothing like the warm embrace of sand that had cradled his steps since birth. They descended just one level below the chancellor's office, close enough that he could still sense her tumultuous thoughts. Thoughts he tried to ignore as he steadied his own roiling emotions.

Below them, through gaps in the tower's architecture, he caught glimpses of Cresteks moving about in their flowing robes, all designated by color to mark their status and position. So different from the Dothvek way, where all were equal and there was no such thing as being born into a certain status. The crowded streets made his skin crawl. Where was the space to breathe? To move? To truly see another warrior coming?

"Your quarters," the guard finally spoke, gesturing to an ornate door with one hand. His suspicion was palpable. To him, Zexx was still the enemy, no matter what diplomatic title they'd pinned on him.

Zexx grunted acknowledgment, refusing to offer more courtesy than necessary. The door swung open to reveal his prison for however long Kyrana insisted he remain.

When the door closed behind him with a decisive click, he shuddered. The tightness in his chest that had been building since leaving the sands now threatened to choke him. The floor beneath his feet was polished to a mirror shine, so cold and unyielding compared to the plush furs layered over soft sand in his tent. The furniture—hard-backed chairs with stiff cushions, a bed frame raised high off the ground—all designed for show rather than comfort.

He moved to the window, his one salvation, and leaned out to get the best view. From this height, he could barely see over the towering walls to where the sands began, glittering gold in the afternoon sun. His heart ached with such sudden fierceness that he had to close his eyes.

"Remember your duty," he growled to himself, the whisper rough. He was here for his people, for the future of the Dothvek clan. Kyrana had been clear—this alliance needed nurturing, and he was to ensure the Cresteks kept their word.

But why him? The question had burned since she'd issued her command. He and Linnea had agreed to one night only. Had she changed her mind? Did she desire him more than her speedy departure would have indicated?

He cut off the thought before it could torture him, but Linnea's face filled his mind anyway. Her piercing eyes, the way her silver robes had draped around her slender form, how her voice had hardened when he'd made it clear he didn't want to be here.

The twist in his gut wasn't guilt. It couldn't be. She was the reason he'd been torn from his home, from the warriors he led, from everything he knew. Her request for him specifically as ambassador had sealed his fate. As much as his body reacted to her presence—and sons of the goddesses, how it did—he couldn't allow himself to fall for her again. If he wanted any chance of returning to the sands, he needed to fulfill his duty quickly and efficiently, with no entanglements.

"No entanglements," he repeated aloud, trying to make the words sink in.

He pulled away from the window and explored the rest of his quarters, fingers trailing over surfaces too smooth, too artificial. A second doorway led to a bathing chamber that made him stop short.

"By the goddesses," he breathed, staring at the sunken pool carved from the same pale stone as the walls. Steam rose from the surface of the water, which bubbled gently as if it were alive. He had heard tales from Kush about the Crestek luxuries when he'd been trapped in the city while trying to save the human who became his mate, but he had dismissed most of them as exaggerations.

Perhaps he had been wrong.

He approached the pool cautiously, dipping his fingers into the water. Heat—perfect heat—enveloped his skin. He wasn’t a stranger to bathing in the oasis pond, but that water was cool. Without further hesitation, he stripped off his leather pants, the only clothing Dothvek tradition dictated, and sank into the steaming water.

A groan escaped his lips before he could stop it. The tension that had coiled in his muscles since entering the city began to dissolve, carried away by the gently churning water. He submerged himself to his chin, letting his long hair float around him.

"Treacherous," he muttered, even as he felt himself relax. "This is how they do it—lure you in with comfort until you forget the feel of sand between your toes."

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was back in the oasis, bobbing in the pond that edged the village. But instead of the sounds of jebels and the rustling of tent fabric, there was only silence, broken occasionally by the distant murmur of voices from the city below.

And instead of clearing his mind, the hot water only seemed to sharpen his memories of seeing Linnea again. The flush that had risen to her cheeks when he'd entered, the way her eyes had widened momentarily before she'd schooled her features into the mask of chancellor. The scent of her—gods, her scent had nearly undone him the moment he'd stepped into that office.

But behind her desk, dressed in those formal silver robes, she was every inch the Crestek chancellor—the enemy his people had fought for generations. She’d looked so unlike the passionate female who’d insisted he claim her.

He sank deeper into the water, letting it cover his mouth. He didn't know what Linnea expected of him in this role—diplomat, spy, trophy to prove Crestek dominance? But he knew what he expected of himself. Strength. Resolve. The discipline to resist both the stone city's temptations and its chancellor's allure.

No matter how his body responded to her presence or how these luxuries tried to seduce him, he could not forget that he was Dothvek. His heart belonged to the sands, and there it would remain.

"Ambassador," he tasted the foreign word as he rose from the water. "Play the part, complete the mission, return home."

Water cascaded from his body as he stood, droplets pattering against the stone floor. In that moment, he made a vow to himself: he would be the perfect ambassador—cold, efficient, and utterly impenetrable.

Especially to the one woman who threatened to breach all his defenses with nothing more than a look.