“No time.” Any second now, a maid would knock at her door, summoning her for breakfast. Laya plucked Luntok’s trousers from the foot of the bed and threw them at him. They hit him squarely across the face.

“For Mulayri’s sake, Laya,” Luntok said, annoyed. He grabbed his trousers and yanked them on over his legs.

Before he turned toward the balcony, Laya saw the disappointment flash in his expression. Gone was the softness of the previous night. The girl who stood before him, impatient to push him out the window, was the version of Laya who paraded about the court, haughty and unmoved.

Good. Laya brushed aside the guilt. The more she disappointed him, the faster he would leave.

She watched him, impatient, as Luntok finished dressing. He avoided looking at her as he headed to the balcony. In the terse silence, his words from the night before returned to her. They rang out, clear as a gong, piercing through her drunken haze⁠—foreigners hidden within the palace. Laya frowned. She thought back to her mother’s brisk walk through the courtyard, of the nervous glances she’d cast over her shoulder as she hurried to the eastern wing.

Hara Duja had met with someone in secret during the dawn feast. Someone in the palace must have told Luntok about it⁠—but who?

Laya hung back to study the back of his head. His dark hair was mussed from sleep. The faint scratches she’d etched into his shoulder blades glowed dully in the morning sun. As she watched him, her stomach turned. Luntok loved her. He had never lied to her before.

He didn’t look at her as he swung one leg over the balustrade. She grabbed the collar of his vest to stop him. “Luntok, wait.”

“What is it?” He looked up at her.

Laya tried to ignore the glimmer of hope in his gaze and forced her face into a neutral expression. “What was it you said last night?” she asked. “About those strange men smuggled inside the palace?”

The shades swung shut over Luntok’s eyes, which, mere hours earlier, burned with nothing but love for her. “Oh, that,” Luntok said. He stared back at her stonily⁠—a challenge if Laya ever saw one. “It was just something I overheard.”

Lies, she wanted to scream. Questions fought their way to her mouth, but pride kept Laya from asking any of them. Most days, she relished the competitive undercurrent that pulsed between them, making every interaction feel like a dangerous game. That was what drew her to him when they were younger. Unlike the other noble children, who groveled in response to Laya’s taunts and cruelty, Luntok was willing to match her.