Page 65 of Princess of Air

The fact hangs between us like its importance is being weighed. Should that be the deciding factor in whether we continue down this path? Ending it early might give me room to fall in love with Jamys, but I’ll have a lifetime of opportunity for that. I don’t love him yet, and even if I did, he wouldn’t fulfill the aching need gripping me now. Not until we’re married. So why shouldn’t I act on these needs?

“Tomas, our original plan… of my wedding marking the end of this… I think that was more reasonable.” I can be the one to initiate—to say it out loud—if it’ll ease his guilt.

“I thought things were progressing with Jamys. I don’t want to make things more difficult for you.” He means that; I’m sure of it. He doesn’t want to cause my unhappiness, but we both become short-sighted when it comes to such things. What’s tomorrow’s misery compared to today’s elation? Perhaps the world will end tomorrow, and it won’t matter.

I slink around the chair to step toward him. “You’re not the one making it difficult.” Not that I haven’t blamed him. It’s unfair, though, to hold him responsible for his gravity. Neither of us seem to have any control over it as I close the space between us. I sit on his lap, straddling him without breaking eye contact, and my core tightens at the touch of him between my legs. His reaction presses against me through his trousers.

“My life is complicated,” I say, “but when I’m with you, the rest of it ceases to exist. Being with you is the only thing that makes sense, and if that means it’ll take longer to feel connected to my marriage, so be it. These moments we have together are worth it.”

He slides a hand up my neck. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That I can’t simply walk away and leave you in peace.”

All my problems with Tomas could come down to him trying to do just that. Even if it’s for my sake, I fight against the aid like an animal that doesn’t realize a person is trying to release it from a trap. This is a trap I’d walk into again and again.

“I don’t want peace. I want you.”

He pulls my face down to his, and our mouths come together, but not in the frenzied passion we so frequently find ourselves in. The kiss is tender even without being soft or gentle. A deep need runs through it. More than physical, this is the kind of pull I felt toward the cave when I returned home. A similar tether from my soul is drawn to him. Perhaps he was what drew me there then.

Between kisses, our clothing is shed, but how can it matter that he sees my naked body when I’m certain he can see my soul? His body filling mine can’t be a betrayal to anyone if our joining completes me. We’ve had lusty sex, and I’d thought we’d made love, but this is more. In every panting breath, I resist the temptation to tell him I love him. In his moans, I hear the regret for our missed chance, mourning for everything we can’t be.

His reasons for not fighting my betrothal were probably the same as mine. I wasn’t brave enough to voice that I wanted him, so why have I been angry at him for not doing it either? He’s shown me in every look and touch that he adores me too. My desperation for him was never anything to be embarrassed about because it matches his own for me. He knows me better than anyone—how reckless and selfish and impulsive I can be—and somehow, he still wants me.

Finally, I’m sure he wants us to be together. But we’re too late for that.

We hold on, trying to make it last, as if it’s our bodies that will see to our end, rather than fate and a collection of poor choices. But pleasure can’t be held back between us. Tomas kisses me desperately as my core tightens around him. I moan against his lips as my body erupts, and clutch him against me when he follows shortly behind me.

This is all I need in this world, right here. Breathless and clammy, lying on his chest, I silently vow to myself to find a way for us to be together in every way, as we’re meant to be.

His heart pounds under my hand, and I know it’s mine. He’s mine, and I’m his, and I will not give him up. Today, we lie in the bliss of being together.

Tomorrow, I’ll devise a battle plan so we never have to give it up.

Chapter thirty-five

Only Tomas lying with me could make it more difficult to get out of bed. Even without him, this feels like a cocoon where I can dream we’re together and everything is simple, but there is much to be done to make that happen. I roll onto my back and rake my fingers through my hair. Perhaps I should have spoken to Tomas about it yesterday. I’ll need to, of course, but what if I fail? What if my only way out is to run away from my wedding and forgo my entire life? I might still do it. Even if I couldn’t ask Tomas to do that, I can’t imagine being anyone else’s wife. Either way, I wasn’t ready to discuss it with him—to potentially raise his hopes for something I can’t accomplish.

There’s only one way to find out, though. I pull myself out of bed and put on a day dress. Since I skipped dinner last night with the excuse of being too tired from training, I’ll continue to ride that lie. Today’s fight doesn’t require such a uniform anyway.

I slip down to Mother’s study and shut myself in. The locked cabinet must be the one with documents as important as my betrothal contract, so I kneel before it and push air into the keyhole. My eyes close as I focus on the intricacies of the air movement in the small space, poking and prodding for anything that can be moved. After a few attempts, the pins give way, and the lock opens.

Inside the cabinet, I find only a polished wood box. I place it in my lap and find a crown inside on a bed of blue velvet. It’s larger than most crowns Mother ever wears, but there is an empty space in the front where a stone should be. Perhaps this is hidden away because it’s damaged. I’m certain I’ve seen it before. Not on Mother… maybe in a portrait somewhere. That must be it. A previous monarch is probably immortalized wearing this somewhere in the palace.

Crown, box, and lock back in place, I move on. Absentmindedly, I brush a gust through the small wind chimes on the desk. They tinkle next to the plant, candle, and miniature fountain—all the little representations of the powers Mother knew so well but is losing. I sit in her chair to reach down to a drawer. The view of the study from this vantage point is unnerving. People think of royals on thrones, but how much strife does she deal with right here?

I shuffle through parchment rolls—regional censuses, family trees of high houses… Here. Betrothal Contract. Unrolling it farther, I see that it’s not mine, though. It’s the betrothal of Princess Elea Millicent Exos of Alchos…

My heart stops.

To Prince Kirnon Lawlor of Penum.

Mother could never have been meant to marry the King of Penum. She was always the heir to the throne. She’d have to have chosen that.

Adrenaline makes my eyes move too quickly over the page to read it. I need more time than what I can afford to spend snooping here in Mother’s desk. I clutch it to my chest, tears springing to my eyes. A few deep breaths give me enough clarity to realize this could help me. Mother obviously got out of this betrothal. Thank the gods. Perhaps it can help me find a way out of mine. I continue digging until I find my own offending document and hurry to take them both back to my chambers.

The location of Mother’s study on the main floor forces me to pass by common areas busy with staff, ministry members, and our resident guests, my heart in my throat and my trembling fist clenching the scrolls at my side. Unfortunately, as I stride through, King Urian stops me. “Princess, may I have a moment of your time?”

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