Luntok’s face tightened. He leaned against the balustrade, gesturing at the royal gardens with a wide sweep of his arm. “How could you understand, Laya, when you grew up with this your entire life?” he said. “My people were once the mightiest and most revered sovereigns in the land before your ancestors decimated them. The Gatdulas slaughtered our shamans. Burned down our palace. They did this, and once the westerners began laying claim to the Untulu Sea, they claimed to be our protectors.”

“Please,” Laya said with a scoff. “Your people would never have stood a chance against the westerners. You needed us.”

Luntok shook his head. “The Gatdulas didn’t care about protecting us. They merely wanted uncontested power. So they made sure to destroy us before bringing us to heel. Not once did they consider the alternative.”

“And what was that?” she asked, incredulous.

“How much stronger we could have been⁠—together.” He looked at her, hope burning in his gaze.

Together.

The word cleaved Laya’s heart in two. She swallowed hard. A balmy wind swept over the palace roofs, carrying with it the sting of nectar and rotting fruit. He reached for her again, tangling his fingers in her limp, grime-ridden hair.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she sighed. “Maybe you were right, Luntok.”

“Right about what?” he asked, his breath warm against her cheek.

“We should have run away.”

Had it only been two weeks since Luntok had asked her to run away with him? He hadn’t meant it. Part of Laya wished he had.

When she didn’t pull away from him, he cupped her face in his palms, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Now we don’t have to.”

Pain erupted in Laya’s chest. His gentle touch reminded her of what they once had, and she couldn’t bear it. She launched forward, beating Luntok’s arms and torso with her shackled wrists.

“Luntok, you damned fool. Some glorious union. Is this how you always dreamed it?”

Laya spat and kicked, but not once did Luntok strike her back. He stood still as a statue, collecting her wild blows as if they were loving caresses. “Coward,” she said as a sob tore through her lips. “You damned coward.”

With a desperate snarl, Laya grabbed the collar of his vest. She yanked him close. She wanted to blacken his sorrowful eyes. To bruise his smooth jawline, squared in anguish.

Instead, she curled into his arms and wept into the hollow of his neck.

How many times had she sought refuge in Luntok’s embrace? He was supposed to hold her the way no one else could hold her. He was supposed to love her in ways the rest of Maynara could not.