Page 73 of Princess of Air

His hand trembles, as if he’s deciding whether he should reach out to me or not. It’s a little thing, and he should feel comfortable enough for it at this point. His hesitation is because I’ve not opened the door for it. There’s a lock on that door, sky blue like the eyes I see in my dreams. My moral compass is flawed. Lying here near Jamys makes me feel as if I’m betraying Tomas, when really, it’s been the opposite all along. Still, knowing that doesn’t mean it settles into my heart. My mind is made up, and accepting a future with Tomas is so comfortable—so easy—that I could never pull out of it.

Chapter thirty-eight

Sunlight warms my face, and I blink my eyes open to find myself alone. It’s so peaceful here, I could almost forget the whole plan, let the kingdoms tear each other apart, go wherever the wind takes me.

If only.

Jamys approaches; his hair is darker wet. Water clings to his bare chest and stomach as well. “Good morning.”

Well, I didn’t decide to find a way out of our betrothal because he isn’t attractive. I clear my throat. “You were up early. Didn’t you sleep comfortably?” It may be impossible to sleep next to a woman who keeps changing her mind about whether she can love him.

“Very much so, thank you.”

We eat a little, ready the horses, and soon, we’re on our way again. Jamys asks about how our magic passes between the generations, how Mother split it instead of giving it all to her firstborn as all the rulers of Alchos had done before. The difference being that a king and keeper of elements doesn’t have a choice but to pass on the sparks of his magical spirits. A queen spends more time making the babies, and hence can determine what to give them. Previous queens had followed tradition, but Mother divided it up. A family with multiple children, each with magic, was what she wanted, tradition be damned.

“How did she do it?”

“I don’t know the mechanics of it.” I shrug. “It isn’t something I need to worry about as I only have one element and cannot split it.”

He considers this as we ride on. “But it’s a conscious choice to pass it on?”

“It seems that way.”

“Does that mean you could withhold it from your firstborn?”

“I don’t know. Mother will have to give me more information when it’s time, I suppose.” Topics of our marriage and breeding are inevitable. What else do we have in common? But talking about it as if it will still happen carves out a part of me. Dragging this out is cruel. I can’t keep on like this. It might be easier to tell him while we’re moving. Riding would provide an adequate reason to avoid eye contact.

I’m a pathetic coward.

***

My gown collapses into a puddle around my feet, an art piece of fabric and crystal fit for a royal wedding. The hands which released me from the dress slide down my back—my husband’s hands. He wraps his arms around me, and I press against his bare body. Warmth seeps into me. Everything I’ve ever wanted is realized.

I sigh and tilt my head away from the kisses tracing down my neck as fingers splay over my hips. Every touch is consuming, and I want more. I turn around and gasp when I behold the man I’ve just married.

“Jamys?”

He smiles as he looks over my naked body. My skin could melt right off in the heat of the embarrassed flush that runs through me. “You are beautiful.”

His hands slide up my sides and to my breasts. He rubs my nipples with his thumbs, and I stiffen from head to toe. I drop my head, but a hand comes to my chin and lifts my face toward his. His mouth covers mine in an impassioned kiss. Fingers weave into my hair, the other hand finding my ass and pulling me tighter against him.

I can’t breathe, which would be an effective way to get out of this—falling unconscious. Our bodies are molded together. They’re one. We’re one. Forever.

He lays me down reverently, but the bed might as well be stone for how comfortable I am on it. Nudity has never made me feel more exposed, but being on display is nothing compared to when his body covers mine. His warmth burns when every inch of me feels frozen. Gentle kisses on my neck might as well be claws slashing through me. He grips my hip. Aligns himself to get us closer together in the only way left.

No. No, I can’t.

I jolt awake, panting and heart racing. I press a hand against my chest as it rises and falls too quickly. Despite shivering, my body is coated in a sheen of sweat. And Jamys’ hand is indeed on my hip. I rub my forehead and pull my hand down my face.

It was only a dream. But it will be reality soon if I don’t get this over with. I’ve got to end it once and for all.

Sunrise does nothing to soothe me. Guilt, discomfort, and embarrassment are as real and powerful as if that encounter had actually happened. My skin feels too tight, and a queasy ache runs from my chest through my stomach. I can’t bring myself to look at or speak to Jamys. Instead, my eyes remain locked ahead of me as we ride on, but I can’t appreciate the views.

I’ve tried to hold on to the promise I made myself not to lie to him. Withholding the truth is no longer a technicality I can hide behind, though. It’ll eat me alive.

Eight days. We made it eight days together, but I’ve cracked now. I tried to keep us casual and friendly, to stick to safe topics, but it’s impossible. Even talking about our surroundings—shimmering lakes, elk, waterfalls—all parts of the place I’m supposed to make my home but cannot, knots my gut.

Tomorrow, we’ll reach Dockerly Keep, then there will be too much to do. I’ll see Urian, which might make me lose my nerve, so I have to do it. We settle for the night, and I’d vomit if there was any food in me at all. How he hasn’t asked me what’s wrong, I don’t know. Jamys is usually more attentive to me.

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