“A terrible one.” Akeylah’s hands shook. She curled them around her father’s shirtsleeves. “One I’ve tried to set right. I’ve looked everywhere for some way to reverse it—”

Understanding bloomed across Rozalind’s face. “Your time in the library. The healing tithes you’re always researching.” The queen swore under her breath. “All this time I thought you were looking for a cure the menders missed.”

“I didn’t know where else to turn.” Akeylah dared a step forward. “Rozalind, please believe me, I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Rozalind spun away. Stared at the narrow passage that connected her rooms to Andros’s. “Is this what you’re being threatened over?”

Akeylah shut her eyes. “Someone else knows my secret, as well as what my sisters are hiding. We thought it was Yasmin. That’s why we asked for your help with that acolyte’s body.…”

“Gods, Akeylah.”

“I understand if you hate me now,” Akeylah murmured. “I would. If it were my husband.” Her voice barely cracked on the word. She was getting better at saying it.

When she opened her eyes again, pain twisted across Rozalind’s face. But she moved closer again. Approached until she stood just inches from Akeylah. Close enough that Akeylah caught her familiar, ocean-sweet scent. The queen’s breath grazed her lips.

She didn’t say anything. Only searched Akeylah’s eyes.

Rozalind must despise her now. Rozalind, the dutiful queen, the obedient daughter who sailed across the sea and wed a stranger to forge peace. She might sneak around with Akeylah, but only because her husband had given his blessing to extramarital affairs.

What did Rozalind know of secrets? Of the crushing weight of guilt Akeylah carried?

Yet. “I could never hate you,” Rozalind said in a voice like the ghost of a whisper. She reached up, agonizingly slow, and caught one of Akeylah’s plaits. Brushed it off Akeylah’s shoulder, her fingertips grazing Akeylah’s collarbone. “No matter what you’ve done, Akeylah, I know you. You’re a good person.”

“How can you say that? After what I just told you…”

“You told me it was an accident.” Rozalind traced up Akeylah’s neck. Cupped her cheek. “You told me you’ve been trying to fix it. What is there to hate in that?”

“I cursed someone, Rozalind, my own father—” But she broke off.

Because Rozalind leaned in and kissed her.

The protests melted away. Akeylah caught Rozalind’s cheeks, drew her closer, and Rozalind’s hands went to Akeylah’s waist to untie the trousers once more. They puddled at Akeylah’s feet, and she stepped forward, into Rozalind’s arms.

She had nothing to hide anymore.