A shudder ran through her. The emotions she’d been so careful to push away drew in closer. She clasped Amun’s hand in her own, taking comfort in him. He was here. His hand was in her own. What a small thing that touch was, and how utterly vital it felt to her in that moment.

She heard his breath catch.

“Mehr,” he said.

She should have let go of him then. She knew that. But he was so warm. She waited for him to speak again, but when he was silent she clasped his hand tighter, leaning closer to him. Under his shadow, she didn’t feel the need to hold on to the iron in her spine. She could breathe.

Amun didn’t move noticeably. But she felt him relax, increment by increment, until they were leaning in to each other.

As the seconds ticked by, she realized a line had been crossed between them. The careful distance they had worked, without words, to maintain all this time had been breached. She was glad she couldn’t feel right then. She was glad not to be ashamed. Perhaps she would be later. But not now.

She looked up at him. There was a warmth in his face, a heat that made her think he knew just as well as she did that a line had been crossed between them, and could never be uncrossed.

“Mehr.” His voice was low. Regretful. “You should let me go.”

They were nearly sharing breath. Mehr did not examine the thrum of her heart, or the way the world felt as if it had gone slow and silent around them. She didn’t examine the desire his words evoked in her to hold on to him even tighter.

“You’re hurt,” Amun said. “You’re afraid.”

I’m not the only one who is afraid, Mehr thought. But she said, “Do you want me to let go?”

His nostrils flared. A small, ridiculous show of emotion.

“I do.”

He had always respected her wishes. So now she respected his, and released him. He pulled away.

As he stood, Mehr made a show of looking down at her hand. The wound was bound and clean. He’d done a fine job, but it didn’t seem right to tell him so now. He had his back to her. His hands were clasped tight behind him. He’d never learn to hide his heart.

“I won’t be able to fight the vow forever, Mehr.” The words passed his lips torturously, as if he were loath to say them. “I can delay it a little longer. I think. I hope. But I can’t … I can only bend my obedience.” His voice was rough. “I can’t shatter it completely.”

His vow. To make her his wife in flesh and soul. To take her to his bed.

“I know,” she managed. “I know, Amun. And I’m sorry for it.”