Kiem’s hands closed over his. Jainan stopped.

“Is everything all right?” Kiem said. Jainan looked up at his face. Kiem was frowning.

The shaking. Jainan took a deep breath, made himself still. He could do this.

This had worked before. “Yes?” He made his voice softer, persuasive. “Do we have to stop?”

Kiem broke into a smile, though it was only an echo of the one earlier. He tried to kiss Jainan again, but Jainan was already on his feet, tugging Kiem up and toward the bedroom. Kiem was suggestible, which made it both easier and harder than Jainan was expecting, but they reached the bed soon enough. Jainan slid Kiem’s shirt off, and Kiem obligingly shrugged his arms out of it and reached for the clasps of Jainan’s jacket.

Kiem’s fingertips were warm. That, of all things, was the most destabilizing sensation. Jainan caught himself on his elbows as he lay back on the bed. He had no time to dissect this sudden strange feeling that had nothing to do with the marriage or the treaty and everything to do with Kiem’s fingers on his chest. The pounding of his heart started to change cadence. He pushed himself up on his elbows. He had to concentrate, he had to control himself, Kiem would notice if he wasn’t concentrating—

Kiem pushed away. The air that had been too hot around Jainan was suddenly too cold. Jainan opened his eyes, a flash of panic rising, and then he saw Kiem’s disconcerted expression. The panic crystallized into dismay, a dismay that ran through him like mercury, no less unpleasant because he knew it had been inevitable. Jainan had failed.

He should have sat up immediately and reached out. He should have acted

surprised that Kiem might want to stop. But instead he just lay there as a wave of numbness swept over him. And in that moment, he saw Kiem’s expression harden.

“I’m sorry,” Kiem said. His voice was quiet. Jainan apparently wasn’t the only one who could change his voice to hide his feelings. “I’ll go.”

Jainan opened his mouth to say, Don’t, and then he shut it again. He couldn’t dictate who Kiem wanted to sleep with. He’d thought he could hurry them both into it and hide the sliver of ice inside himself that made him disappointing, but he’d been wrong. The problem isn’t someone’s type. The problem is you. He couldn’t force Kiem to be attracted to him.

“I’ll go,” Jainan said, instead.

“No,” Kiem said, almost violently. Jainan held very still, but Kiem wasn’t looking at him. He was on his feet, opening drawers at random until he found some sort of cloth—a bedsheet. “Never mind. We’ll sort something out. I don’t