Did she imagine it? The way he rocked forward in his boots?
Surely, it was the nature of dreaming of men in gardens—the lines of time wobbled and blurred, imparting a subsequent effect on the lines between sisters and their betrothed kings.
“Lunelle,” he breathed, a fingertip brushing against hers.
It was enough—the heat of such a betrayal—to shove her back into reality, where she wished desperately to unknow what she now firmly understood about her own Soul.
ChapterTwelve
“You look tired, darling,” Oestera said over a quiet lunch in their shared study.
Lunelle fended off a yawn, pouring a third cup of tea as she poked at the strange fruits on her plate.
“Were you up late?”
She glanced at her mother, jaw set in a posture that discouraged further investigations on Oestera’s part.
“I have struggled to sleep lately. Yallara took me to a festival a few nights ago and I’ve been a mess since,” she confessed. She did not find it necessary to share what kept her up last night, or the nights that followed. Between poring over the rebels’ manifesto and battling the near-ravenous curiosity within her to seek out a certain prince after dinner, she’d lost out on a week’s worth of rest, at least.
Though she hadn’t given in to that temptation again, she’d driven herself mad fighting the urge.
And, perhaps, she was afraid to sleep, should she find herself beneath a jade gaze.
“Oh,” Oestera said. “Did you enjoy yourself?
Lunelle tried not to let the surprise show on her face.
“I did. I find the Plutonian customs beautiful. They honor death in such loud and interesting ways.”
Oestera nodded curtly, returning to her morning communications. Lunelle watched her mother for a moment, taking in the creases beneath her eyes. She looked as tired as Lunelle felt—it had been the longest she’d been away from home in more than thirty years, and the discussions amongst the monarchs were not getting any less convoluted.
In fact, they’d only uncovered more and more knots to untangle as the days wore on.
“You miss Father.”
Oestera’s eyes slipped from her correspondence to Lunelle’s face, her shoulders sinking just slightly.
“Do you know I have not spent more than a few hours away from that man since we met?”
Lunelle giggled.
“Don’t you ever tire of one another?”
Oestera thought about this for a moment.
“I tire of most things, but never him.”
All at once, Lunelle realized how deeply she envied her mother in nearly all facets, but especially that one. Prior to that moment, she might have thought it was her mother’s confidence or her resilience in the face of adversity that she wished she possessed more of.
But there, painted in the gleam of her mother’s eyes, she saw what she’d wanted most.
Someone to never tire of her.
The libraryno longer felt like somewhere she could hide.
Not after the way he’d touched her the other night. After the way she’d touched him.
It was dangerous, how distracting all of it was. She was too godsdamned old to be driven to such wandering thoughts over any man, let alone two.
