His question struck her as oddly specific. Had she been of sounder mind, she might have thought to question him. But Laya’s need for him burned stronger than any ember of suspicion she might have harbored.

“Are you suggesting I smuggle all kinds of strange men into my bed?” Laya asked airily. With a long finger, she traced the column of tattoos on his back. The muscles in his shoulders tensed as he suppressed a shiver.

“Are you suggesting there are other men?” He parted her thighs and stroked between them. She gasped in spite of herself. His smirk widened.

“Oh, Luntok.” She sighed once more as waves of pleasure rippled through every inch of her body. “You know there are no other men for me.”

Luntok fell silent. Laya closed her eyes, horrified. Damn the wine⁠—she wished the bed would swallow her whole after this rare display of vulnerability.

Luntok withdrew his hand. She whined in protest, but he kissed her, swallowing her complaint. “I truly have heard things,” he whispered against her lips. “Foreigners hidden within the palace walls.”

“Mindless gossip,” Laya said, shaking her head. She curled her legs around his hips and rocked against him. A noise like a desperate snarl rose in the back of Luntok’s throat. She reached for him, helped him slip back inside. That effectively put an end to the subject.

“I want you,” he said, breathing raggedly as they settled into their usual rhythm.

Laya wrapped her arms around his neck. Silent promises didn’t count for much, but they were the best she could give him. You have me, Luntok, she vowed in her head. Tonight, you have me.

She awoke with an incessant pounding in her skull and the flutter of someone else’s breath against the side of her neck. Slowly, Laya opened her eyes. Across the room, yellow light streamed in through the open window. Outside the hall, she heard the dim chatter of servants on their way to their posts. She yawned. The inside of her mouth was dryer than volcanic ash. As she reached for the pitcher of water at her bedside table, Luntok’s arm wrapped around her middle, pulling her back to the mattress.

“Morning,” he mumbled against the pillows.

“Good morn⁠—” Laya began to say when she caught herself.

It was morning. Luntok slept the night at the palace. Luntok shouldn’t be here.

Panic surged through Laya when she realized their error. Why did they have to drink so much at the feast? She bolted out of bed and shrugged on her dressing robe. “You need to leave before someone sees you,” she told him as she fished around the sheets for his clothes.

Luntok sat up and rubbed his eyes. “At least give me a moment to wake up first.”