Moments after Imeria floated down from her high, Duja leaned over and pressed her mouth to hers. Imeria sighed against her warm, tender lips. To lie with Duja was to steal a slice of divinity from the gods. If loving her was an offense in Maynara’s eyes, so be it.

This, Imeria thought as she coiled into Duja’s embrace. This is why they want to keep us apart.

As Imeria deepened the kiss, footsteps thudded from down the hall. Both girls froze. Faint laughter echoed through the thin walls of the eastern wing⁠—the queen. Duja’s mother was making her way upstairs. It sounded like she had just returned from her trip to the southern provinces, and, judging by the deep male voice Imeria could hear all the way from the guest chamber, she had brought her consort with her.

They shot up from the bed, scrambling to find their clothes in the tangled sheets.

“I thought you said she wasn’t coming back until tomorrow evening,” Imeria hissed as she forced her arms through the long, cumbersome sleeves of her blouse. The old queen had accepted Imeria as a member of the royal household, but the terms of the Kulaws’ surrender were painfully clear. Imeria remained the daughter of a traitor. She could never marry Duja. She could never know her this intimately. The only reason they ended up in the eastern wing was because it was supposed to be empty.

“She must have returned early,” Duja whispered, tight-lipped, as she pulled her skirt up over her hips.

When they were both dressed, Duja crept over to the door. It gave a loud, condemning creak when she opened it. Imeria leaned heavily against the wall, her heart hammering as they exchanged a nervous glance. They remained still for one agonizing moment, waiting to be discovered. But the queen’s light, unhurried footsteps continued to resonate from the upper floor. The consort was still with her. He called out to the queen, his voice muffled through the floorboards so that Imeria couldn’t understand him. He must have said something clever, because the queen laughed once again. Imeria let out a sigh of relief. No one was coming for them.

Duja grabbed her wrist. As quietly as they could, they darted across the corridor and down the stairs. The hard soles of their sandals clacked against the smooth tile, but they managed not to call any attention to themselves. Imeria followed Duja to the lower level, and they snuck out the way they had come⁠—through an oft-forgotten side entrance reserved for scullery maids and armored guardsmen.

With enough distance between them and her mother, Duja let out a sigh of relief. “We ought to be more careful next time,” she said, patting down her mussed hair as she cast a wary glance over her shoulder.

“Next time?” Imeria’s lips stretched into a knowing grin.