Duja frowned. “What others?”

“You know,” she said, tearing her gaze away. “Them.”

She couldn’t bring herself to name a single one of Duja’s growing band of suitors. Their numbers had doubled since the previous season when the princess had turned eighteen, an endless parade of arrogant men who deigned to think themselves worthy of Maynara’s beloved princess. Imeria glowered each time a guard interrupted her walks with Duja to announce yet another gentleman’s visit. These men thought they could win Duja’s heart by regaling her with overblown tales of their own excellence. Only one had come close⁠—the young and beguiling Aki Tanglaw, whose gift for storytelling constituted a magic of its own. At first, Imeria had dismissed Aki as an unremarkable boor, no different from the stream she watched strut through the halls of the palace. Then she noticed how Duja’s eyes sparkled when she looked at him⁠—the same way Duja was looking at her from the opposite side of the bed.

The princess softened when she reached out to cup Imeria’s face. “Who else could I possibly be thinking about right now?”

Imeria fought the urge to melt against Duja’s touch. Instead, she leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.

Duja sighed in contentment. She ran her fingers through Imeria’s hair and pulled her closer. Imeria’s stomach fluttered⁠—Duja had never reached for her before. The princess was too hesitant, too inhibited, too afraid of her own wanting. It was always Imeria who had to reel her in.

They folded into each other, skin flush against skin. Duja’s fingers trailed from Imeria’s hair to the swell of her breast. They continued their journey downward, pausing at the apex between her thighs. Out of instinct, Imeria parted them. Duja slid her hand into the wetness there, teasing Imeria with slow, languid strokes.

Imeria moaned wantonly at the princess’s touch. Her hips bucked against her hand. Duja didn’t need to guess what her companion wanted. Imeria made her desires abundantly clear; she wanted anything Duja was willing to give her. She wanted more.

Lovingly, Duja complied. She slipped a finger inside Imeria’s slick channel. Then a second. Then a third. Imeria closed her eyes. Her back arched off the pillows. Duja’s hand began to pump inside her at an exquisite rhythm. Imeria drew in a sharp breath before losing all sense of restraint.

“Please,” Imeria chanted over and over, like the prayers of a blessed shaman. Please, please, please.

Duja buried her face in the crook of Imeria’s neck. She continued her ministrations. The angle of her hand shifted. Her fingers plunged deeper, hitting a spot inside Imeria that sent her over the edge. She climaxed with a strangled gasp, wave after wave of pleasure surging through her body.