“The fact is, Az has two avenues by which he could take control. We can’t afford to devote all our energy to both of them.”

“Again, another reason Fin should go after our father,” he says, but I can see in the flare of his molten eyes that he knows it won’t be enough. That if their father is the type to betray their heritage, Kiran will need to convince him he’s fit to rule.

We also both know that if need be, Kiran will be the only one of the two brothers willing to take their father out.

“I don’t like the idea of being separated again,” Kiran says, pressing a warm kiss against my forehead, his stubble scratching against my skin. I didn’t realize until now how terribly I’d ached for that feeling while he was gone.

“Me either. But there is one benefit,” I say.

He quirks a thick brow. “And what is that?”

“It means we’ll have to make up for lost time tonight.”

The room itself heats as Kiran stares down at me. “I’ve not agreed to anything,” he says, stroking my cheek softly with his thumb.

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure you did agree.”

A smile, soft and familiar, curves Kiran’s mouth. “You have an annoyingly precise memory, love, but I’m afraid this time you’re just making things up.”

I offer him an exaggerated look of confusion. “Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure you said, ‘Of course, Asha. Whatever you want, my lovely wife.’”

Kiran’s fingers slip to the tie holding my robe together, playfully twisting it around his fingertips.

When he presses his mouth to mine, a smile still on his lips, warmth envelops me, and I know it has nothing to do with his Flame.

“I’d be more than happy to give you whatever you want, just in a different context,” he whispers, teasing tinging his tone.

“In that case, you playing with the string of my robe like that is killing me,” I say in between long kisses.

“Well, in that case,” says Kiran, pulling on the tie and carrying me to the bed.

CHAPTER 21

KIRAN

“Your Majesty,” says a drawling voice that grates against my very skull. “The vizier reported that your signature on these documents was time-sensitive in nature.”

I look up from my book and decide I miss the days when servants trembled in my presence.

I’m in the library, searching and failing to find any books on the subject of liquid moonlight.

And apparently signing ordinances.

I allow the temperature in the library to heat just enough to make the royal courier regret his tone. Of course, the terrifying librarian, whom I’d forgotten about, shoots me a look so deadly that I quickly relent.

The courier drops a pile of scrolls on the table and hovers while I read over them. This really isn’t the best time, considering I’ve been poring over grimoires for hours now. I barely register what I’m signing before handing it back to the courier. “There, you can go now.”

He stuffs the scrolls back into his satchel and gives me a pointed glare. “I’m to wait until the week’s end before I depart. The King of Dwellen has his own correspondences that he’s unable to address until the end of the week.”

I let out a controlled exhale. “Then why did you make it sound as though it was of the utmost importance that I sign those immediately?”

I’m still waiting for a proper answer when the little girl who arrived with Lydia’s party enters the room.

The courier uses the interruption as an opportunity to slip out of the library, though I notice he grips his stomach as he does.

The girl isn’t skipping or prancing or shuffling her feet as I would expect a child to, but walking tall, her chin outstretched, her hands swaying by her side as confidently as if she were an adult.

The girl strides right up to me, drops into a curtsy so low I would consider it disrespectful if it wasn’t coming from a child, and says, “Thank you, Your Highness. Or Your Majesty. I can never remember which one it is. But I think it’s Your Majesty, because you’re a king and not a prince, right?”

I have no idea how to respond, since I don’t know what she’s thanking me for. As it turns out, I don’t have to, because the girl goes on talking as if she doesn’t actually expect me to answer the question.

“I’m Amity. I just wanted to thank you for agreeing to help my mother. I am your humble servant”—Amity drops to a kneeling position on the floor—“and offer you my servitude as thanks for your assistance.”

“That…” I say, almost forgetting I’ve agreed to nothing, “won’t be necessary.”

She doesn’t seem to hear me, because she starts going on and on about all sorts of plants whose names I’ve never heard of. Come to think of it, I suppose I can only assume she’s talking about plants.

“Yes, it will be necessary,” she says, appearing quite determined. “But only if you actually save Piper,” she ends up adding, I suppose in case I fail. Though I can see why a child would not want to indebt herself to the service of someone she considers a failure. I don’t get a chance to reply before she adds, “Prince Fin says you’re going to go on a trip with him while we journey to the Rip.”

“Does he now?” Honestly, I’m surprised Fin hasn’t fought this tooth and nail. Then again, Asha does hold quite a bit of sway over my brother.

“Yes, he says the male you’re looking for is a merchant who specializes in illegal substances.”

Amity blinks, as if now it’s my turn to speak, though again, I find I have no idea what to say to this child.

“What do you know about illegal substances?” I settle on.

Amity must have been waiting for an opportunity like this one, because she yanks a crumpled piece of parchment from her pocket and hands it to me. “A bunch, actually. There are lots of illegal substances that I think might save Marcus from Queen Abra’s poison. I looked up where this merchant lives.”

“And?”

“And he lives in Sureth.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

Amity huffs. “It means he lives at the crossroads for all sorts of trading routes. I bet he keeps stock of every illegal substance you could think of. Anyway”—she points to the crumpled piece of parchment I’ve yet to open—“that’s a list of ingredients I need you to get for me so I can save Marcus’s life.”

She says it with so little emotion, it’s rather alarming.

I groan inwardly. How does one explain to a child that, as much as I would love to help her father, I’ll put my wife’s life above anyone else’s? “Amity—”

Impatient with my refusal to look at the list, Amity yanks it from my hands and unfolds it for me, smoothing it out on the table. “Here,” she says, handing it back to me. “Now, are there any ingredients you don’t recognize the names of? I can tell you how to pronounce them and what they look like. That way you don’t get sold the wrong thing.”

I open my mouth to refuse, but Amity’s withering stare has me turning back to the parchment.

I’m about to tell her I don’t recognize any of the materials when my gaze fixes on the fifth item on the list.

“You really think this merchant keeps stock of all these?” I ask.