Carefully, she disentangled herself from him and took a step back. “I love you, Luntok. Believe me. I want to be with you,” she said. Her voice cracked, along with the walls she’d built up to protect herself. The lie couldn’t go on⁠—it wouldn’t be fair to either of them. She swallowed the grief rising in her throat and, more firmly, added, “But I cannot go against the will of my family.”

Luntok stared at her, unfazed. “Why not?” he demanded.

“Why not?” she echoed. “Why not?” She wanted to scream at him for his stupidity. Instead, she sputtered out a sardonic laugh. “Because I am Hara Duja’s heir, not some minor noblewoman you can pluck from the masses. Because soon I will be queen of Maynara.”

“All the more reason we should marry. As queen, you will be able to do as you please,” he insisted. “Just like generations of Gatdulas before you. Just like the rest of your family.”

Laya felt the blood drain from her face. “What do you mean? That Gatdulas simply do as we please?” she asked, stiffening.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just look to your great-grandfather,” Luntok said, and threw up his arms in disgust. “The old king ignored every datu on his council when he opened Mariit to foreigners. The datus warned him, and still, he didn’t spare a single thought about the harm they might inflict upon the city. Or look no further than your sister. She forced her way into the tournament after it had already ended. Although she’s not a true Gatdula, is she?”

Enough. Luntok went too far. The moment he insulted Bulan, Laya clenched her hands into fists. She took a threatening step toward him. “My sister is as much a Gatdula as you are a Kulaw,” she said, lowering her voice to an icy pitch. “And it doesn’t matter how much we love each other. We cannot change who we are. That, Luntok, is why we can never marry.”

The truth swung between them, swifter than an executioner’s blade. Luntok flinched as if she had struck him. For a long moment, he stood in front of her, unable to speak. Laya watched the emotions warring in his expression. Shock crashed into outrage, which erupted into despair. He crumpled at Laya’s feet and buried his face in her skirt. Without thinking, Laya reached out to comfort him. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.

“Oh, darling,” she sighed, relenting as tears slid down her cheeks. She cradled his head in her hands as he sobbed into her knees. They stayed like that for a long while. When Luntok quieted, he looked up at her with glassy, red-rimmed eyes.

“I cannot lose you,” he said, in a voice of sober resignation. “I can’t, Laya. I refuse.”