His expression was a mingle of frustration, desire, and that familiar obstinacy. “I told you before the coronation,” he said. “I won’t be your backdoor lover. I’m not a thief anymore. I’m not going to steal scraps from somebody else’s table.”

“I know you told me that,” Raisa said, wanting to add, But I didn’t think you really meant it. “But if this—if this is all we can have, and—and if you want it, and I want it, then—”

“You don’t get it,” Han said softly. “If I give in, then it’s too easy to settle for living on the down-low. I need this—” He extended his empty hands toward her, then closed them into fists. “I need this if I’m going to do the hard thing.”

“This is the hard thing!” Raisa shouted, then pressed her hands over her mouth.

Cradling her chin with his battered hands, he turned her face up and kissed her again, gently this time, and sweetly, as if storing up for later. Resting his forehead against hers, he breathed deep. Then took a step back, pulling free.

“Tell me what you want from me,” Raisa whispered.

“Good night, Your Majesty.” Han’s voice shook. Scooping up Raisa’s writ, he padded catlike to the connecting door, slipped through, and closed it behind him.

C H A P T E R  T W E L V E

MEETINGS AT
MIDDAY

Averill and Raisa walked through the ground-level gardens inside the castle close—one of their rare opportunities to be together these days. Though she’d given him a suite of rooms in the palace, he was rarely there. But today he’d come down from Demonai Camp because he had trader business with the steward.

“I wonder if the day will ever come that I can walk around the castle close, at least, without an entourage,” Raisa grumbled, glancing over her shoulder at her guard. “Nobody told me that being queen would be so…crowded.” It was just one symptom of the troubles that beset her.

“I had hoped tensions would ease after the coronation,” Averill said. “But the threat of war with Arden and Tamron keeps the pot boiling. And these street murders of wizards don’t help. I can’t seem to convince Lord Bayar that the Demonai have nothing to do with it.”

“Are you sure that they don’t?” Raisa asked. “There are hotheads on both sides.”

Averill winced, as if taking a blow. “Do you really think Elena Cennestre and I would sanction something that puts you in danger, Briar Rose?”

Raisa slid her arm through his. “No. I don’t.”

“Could it be Hunts Alone?” Averill asked. “Have you thought of that?”

Raisa resisted the temptation to withdraw her arm. “He’s a wizard himself,” she pointed out. “Why would he go out killing wizards, apparently at random?”