“Try to understand that I did this for us. Your family would have held you back. Forced you to marry someone you didn’t love. I refused to let that happen. I couldn’t bear to lose you,” Luntok murmured, his shoulders relaxing as he wrapped his arms around her. The damned traitor. He was relieved, Laya realized⁠—because she could no longer push him away.

Disgusted, Laya recoiled. “I’m tired,” she said in a flat voice. “If you don’t mind, I think I will sleep.”

He followed her back into the bedroom. “Don’t you want to bathe first?”

Laya looked down. She had yet to discard the clothes she had worn during the midnight feast, wrinkled and bloodstained at the hem. It was once a lovely dress made of amethyst silk with canary-yellow trim. The serving girl Yari had offered to help Laya out of it, but she’d sent her away.

“I can’t undress myself in these shackles. And I will die before I allow that little tart to touch me.” Laya shook her head vehemently. She hadn’t lost her pride, despite the grime that coated her clothes and the chains attached to her wrists.

Luntok nodded in understanding. He called for the guard posted outside the door to come in.

“What is it, my lord?” the guard asked, bowing his head.

“Remove the shackles,” he said without preamble.

The guard hesitated. “My lord?”

Laya’s eyes narrowed. “Is this another trap?”

“While the princess bathes, no longer.” He clarified his order and gave her a somber look. “I wish for us to trust each other again, Laya. But if you hurt me or try anything stupid⁠—”

“I know.” She exhaled sharply and held out her hands. “You have my family hostage. I’m not a fool.”

Luntok studied her for a long moment. Laya stared back, fighting to maintain a neutral expression. She hadn’t lied about the fatigue, the aches that lingered after Imeria’s torture. The events of the day had drained her. She couldn’t hurt Luntok, even though she ardently wanted to.

He nodded to the guard, who reached into his belt for the keys. The shackles opened with a click. Laya sighed in relief, massaging her wrists. Her gaze snapped to his, and instinctively, Luntok tensed. But she did not raise her palms to summon a blast of wind. She merely clutched her hands to her chest.

“Thank you,” he said to the guard as he led Laya along by the elbow. “I’ll manage from here.”

The suspicion never left the guard’s gaze, but he gave Luntok a curt nod and exited Laya’s chambers. Alone once more, they headed into the water closet adjoining her bedroom. In the center lay a circular tub carved out of rich rosewood. Yari had already pumped it full of warm water. Steam wafted up from the surface, leaving the air in the room thick with humidity.