Page 34 of Vilest Things
“If we penalize August for the number of secrets he keeps and won’t speak about, his punishment would be eternal.”
Otta’s lips purse. She is considering the matter, but something about her expression feels faraway. He’s seen Otta jump in their younger years—sometimes that was how they snuck out of the palace—but he cannot wrap his mind around seeing her in a guard’s body. AWeisanna. She gave herself the yaisu sickness on her first attempt, and now she’s done it so easily on her second? What has changed?
“What’s that look on your face?” Otta skates her hands down his arms, gently brushing the sleeves of his jacket. Before he can stop her, they’re tucking inside the jacket, smoothing out the fabric of his shirt against his stomach, his torso.
“You know something too.”
Otta’s gaze snaps up. Ink black. These days, he should really start getting used to impossible acts: there’s another in this palace who jumped a royal at eight years old and was never caught.
“I’m sorry?” Otta asks. She peers at him with the innocence of a convent disciple, and Anton can’t help but get the impression he’s being played. Through his exile, he spent his every effort keeping her alive. This is what he wanted. Otta awake should be a miracle upon miracles, but…
Her fingers graze his thighs. But this isn’t what he expected. The Otta he kept alive was Otta asleep, a darling of a girl, a soft face who stayed unmoving, unprotesting no matter what he confessed at her bedside. Otta awake is something else entirely.
“Stop,” he whispers.
“No one can see us,” Otta says, her breath hot against his cheek.
For a thoughtless moment, he gives in. He misses her; he misses their time in the palace. Her fingers hook into his waistband; her lips graze his and make firm contact. Anton inhales the kiss, grasps her face, her hair, breathes the smell of something rich—something like praline, like plum candy.
Then she nudges closer, presses into him with unmistakable intent, and the wrongness of the situation is a slap to his face. Anton tears himself away, stumbling back two steps.
Otta watches him carefully. She laces her hands in front of her.
“Is something wrong?”
“I—” Anton gathers himself. Exhales. “Yes, something’s wrong. Otta, it’s been seven years. You’ve been under, but I… I’ve been alone this whole time. We can’t just pick up where we left off.”
“I didn’t expect we would.” Her scrutiny increases. The hairs on the back of Anton’s neck lift. “But at the very least, I didn’t think you’d abandon me either.”
“I didnotabandon you,” Anton returns. “I’m the one who kept you alive.”
“While cozying up to a princess.”
Anton ventures a glance at the door. They may be out of camera view, but it doesn’t mean they are unwatched. Forget it. He’s not having this debate with her.
“Be reasonable.” He takes another step away. “You grew up in the palace too, so I don’t need to explain it to you. It’s a little hard to keep up the act as August if I’m fucking my half sister, don’t you think?”
She barely flinches. He had, at least partly, meant to hurt Otta with the crude defense, but her lip quirks.
“As you say, I am your sister. You are the throne. There is plenty of reason why I should be at your side.”
When she sidles forward, Anton grabs her hand before she can put it back on his chest. He encircles her wrist, holding her at a distance, but he doesn’t let go.
“You can’t have it both ways, Otta,” he says. “It sounds like you want me to stay as August for good.”
“What did you have to gain living as Anton Makusa anyway?” Otta asks in return.
You. I had you,he thinks, stung by the question. He had Otta, and the entirety of San-Er stood in the way. The overspilling hospitals, the shortage of beds. The factories he never lasted long at, the paltry money he made with his useless noble hands.
“Not much,” he says instead. “Exile. Picking rich businessmen’s pockets.”
“And look at the difference here,” Otta says. “The kingdom at your beck and call.”
Anton shakes his head, letting go of her wrist. “Don’t try your tricks on me. You don’t think I know your games by now?”
“I’m sure you’re telling yourself you’re only staying until you get revenge on August.” Otta, intent on getting one more prod in, flicks his ear. Then she dances away, skipping to her body on the couch. “But I know your games too. You like it here. I’ll help you, Anton. Just back me up and don’t fight it. Understand?”
“What are you talking about—”
