Duja gave her a small, sympathetic smile. “Our children are young and foolish. Calf love does not a marriage make.” Despite the queen’s dismissal, Imeria detected the slightest hitch of desire in her words. A desire that mirrored her own.

“We were once young and foolish, Duja. Don’t you remember?”

Duja swallowed hard. Imeria inched toward her, but the queen stopped her with a jerk of her head. “Imeria, don’t,” she whispered.

Imeria froze but didn’t let her go. The fantasies she had shoved down for years flew from her lips. “The answer is so simple. How can you not see it? Despite the odds, despite your wishes, I bore a son. The same year you bore Laya. My son and your heir, our families united as they were always meant to be⁠—this is how the gods willed it.”

You and I, together once more, Imeria thought. That fantasy, she did not dare speak.

When Duja stayed silent, Imeria reached for her, brushing her thumb across her jawline. The queen reached up to cup Imeria’s hand to her cheek. Her arm trembled with the onset of a minor tremor. She didn’t pull away.

“Imeria,” Duja sighed, and the sound of her name sent a cascade of want down Imeria’s spine.

“Say yes,” Imeria pleaded. “Think of how wonderful, how easy it would be.”

Imeria no longer spoke on Luntok’s behalf. She knew what she was asking. Her heart pounded in her ears. Don’t push me back. Don’t say it’s too late.

The queen quivered on her feet. For one agonizing second, she leaned toward Imeria⁠—close enough that Imeria could see the skinny tail of the burn scar peeking out from the collar of Duja’s dress. But instead of edging closer, Duja drew back and closed her eyes as if the sight of her had become too painful. “Oh, my heart. If only my world was as easy as it appears to you.”

Her answer was no, then.

Imeria felt as if a thread had broken inside of her. She wrenched her hand back, fresh tears threatening to spill over her eyelids. “You make it complicated,” she all but hissed.

“Please understand. Laya is my heir. Like me, she cannot marry her first love. How I wish I could afford her this indulgence.” She contemplated Imeria longingly, mournfully, as if she were a ship that had left her behind. Moments before, Imeria mistook her remorse as an opportunity to twist Duja’s heart for her own gain. But now, to gaze upon her this way was like falling on her own knife.

“Oh, I understand, Duja. I understand that, however little I ask, you will never indulge me,” she said, jerking back. The girlish yearning soured once more as rage boiled in her veins.