If she cemented herself to him, she could shed her mother’s meddling. Oestera would have to accept a king over a prince, wouldn’t she? She wanted allies, and this was a powerful one.
Astra’s big visions for the future were not out of grasp with a king at her side.
They were not two cosmic lovers, predestined by the gods to fall into one another—rather, they were two kindred spirits leaning on each other to change the unchangeable course of their bloodlines, and that had to count for something.
Right?
Give me the king, she thought as she reared her arm back, flinging the bag into the black waters.
Mirquios waited until she returned to his side to make his plea. He did not hide the rush of feelings within him—nerves and nostalgia, a longing for something, a release. He wound his hand back and skipped forward as he hurled the chain through the air and watched it sail across the night sky, landing with a satisfying splash.
“Now what?” He asked.
“Now, we wait,” she said, shrugging. “We’ll check the beach at moonrise. If we’ve chosen the right path, our offerings will return to us.”
“Are you going to tell me what you wished for?” He asked softly, eyes finally releasing from the spot where his offering submerged and landing on Astra’s face.
“Never.”
“You could sense mine, couldn’t you?”
Astra’s nose scrunched. “Only how you felt about it.”
“So unfair,” he murmured, stepping a tad closer to her. She felt it then, the magnetic pull between hands that concluded they would touch, but weren’t sure how or when.
Astra drifted her fingers into the charged space between them, lingering just near enough a strong breeze could seal the deal.
Perhaps he moved first, perhaps she did—their hands entangled all the same. A comforting warmth rolled off the king. Just enough to intrigue her, but not enough to set her instincts ablaze. There was something within his touch that felt familiar.
Easy.
He watched their skin dance together under the Moon, those feelings he showed Astra in the study rushing forward again, this time louder, with more intense hues.
Mirquios inhaled, his breath laden with the fear of a man about to put himself at the mercy of a woman. “Is it crazy to think that sometimes the gods mistake the whole Tether thing? Surely a few souls slip through the cracks?”
Astra shook her head, ruby curls bouncing against her shoulders. She tried to fight the smile that broke over her lips, but her lungs filled with those vibrant colors of his, making it hard to resist the urge. “I’ve heard crazier things.”
“Astra,” he whispered, but she did not let him finish whatever the thought might have been.
She didn’t care. If she was going to attach herself to someone, it might as well be as beneficial to her body as it was to her soul.
She pitched forward, slipping herself under the surface of him, waves crashing around their ankles as she pressed her lips into his. His hand sat at her waist, gently squeezing his long fingers into the hazy silk of her dress as they moved closer still.
As his lips waltzed against hers, she waited for the fire in her veins to spark—the way it had in past encounters—for a flourish of gilded desire to explode in his chest. She waited for her back to arch involuntarily, for the blood to rush to her cheeks.
She waited for her fingers to desperately curl against his strong arms, unable to fathom letting go.
She waited to feel, well, anything.
Astra pulled away from him, the clouds within her head now decidedly tainted with something new.
“Oh,” he said, surprised.
“Huh.” Her eyebrows crashed together. “Perhaps we put too much pressure on it?”
This relieved him. “Yes! The first kiss can be so daunting!”
“Right,” she agreed. “Well, then. Um?—”
