Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

"T he Dothvek ambassador hasn't left his quarters since his arrival yesterday," K’Nar reported, his voice perfectly neutral though Linnea detected a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "He's refused all offers of tours through the city and barely touched his breakfast this morning.”

Linnea nodded, fingers drumming against the polished surface of her desk as she gazed out the window at the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the city square. The colors of the fabric swags had dulled in the fading light, no longer vibrant but muted, like her expectations.

"I'm not surprised," she said, though a small part of her had hoped that Zexx would adapt to his role, that his duty would overcome his obvious distaste for their city.

Her mind drifted traitorously back to the Dothvek village—to flickering lantern light casting shadows on tent walls, to the heady scent of night-blooming flowers mingling with woodsmoke, to the warmth of golden skin beneath her fingertips.

She shook her head sharply, banishing the images. That night had been a moment of weakness, something that should never have happened and that no Crestek could ever discover. A scandal like that would shatter the fragile trust she'd built with the council, especially as the first female chancellor.

Then why had she insisted on bringing Zexx to the city? Why risk everything she'd worked for over what had been nothing more than a desert fling?

Because it wasn't just lust, a small voice whispered in her mind. It was more.

She swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. Whatever she might have felt didn't matter now. Zexx had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with her beyond the most frigid diplomatic relations—and perhaps not even that, given his self-imposed isolation.

"The water reclamation project in the eastern quarter is behind schedule again," K’Nar continued, consulting his notes. "And there have been seventeen violations of the new commerce ordinance in the market square this week alone. The enforcement officers are requesting additional—"

She barely heard him, her thoughts still circling around the Dothvek one floor below. Had she dragged him from his home against his will? The realization sat like a stone in her stomach. She had used her position to satisfy her own selfish desires, convincing herself and the council it was for diplomatic purposes.

The scent of ink and parchment filled her nostrils as K’Nar shuffled his papers, the scratching of his stylus against the surface oddly grating.

"—and the artisans' guild is petitioning for an extension on their tax—"

"K’Nar," she interrupted, a plan forming in her mind. "I need you to arrange something."

He looked up, startled. "Of course, Chancellor. What do you need?"

"I want to host the Dothvek ambassador for dinner in my quarters tonight." The words tumbled out before she could reconsider them.

K’Nar's eyebrows shot up. "A diplomatic dinner? I'll arrange for the council members to—"

"No," she said firmly. "Just the ambassador and me."

His mouth thinned to a disapproving line. "Chancellor, protocol dictates—"

"I need to discuss sensitive matters with the ambassador," she said, injecting authority into her voice. "And I want my quarters transformed for the occasion." She took a deep breath. "Make it look like the inside of a Dothvek tent."

K’Nar's stylus clattered to the floor. "A... tent, Chancellor?"

"Yes. And send the chef to me directly. I'll need to discuss a special menu."

He bent to retrieve his stylus, his movements stiff with poorly concealed shock. "As you wish, Chancellor," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "Though I confess I don't know what a Dothvek tent looks like."

"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.