Keshel’s hands steadied her. “Come, let me take you to your room.”

Someone was always knocking on her door.

Marai had nestled herself on the couch by the fire, covered in a thick blanket. She was contentedly cozy and enjoying a few moments of quiet alone. She’d dismissed Harmona for the night, and had practically shoved Thora out the door to stop her fussing.

Then the knock came, and Marai knew who it would be. Before she could pull back the blanket, the door creaked open and Ruenen’s face peered in.

He smiled, those boyish dimples on full display. “Am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all.”

Marai stood up too quickly—blood rushed to her head. Her body was still weak. Her stomach rumbled loud enough for Ruenen to hear at the door.

“Good thing I have a cure for all that,” he said, pushing the door wider. He carried a silver tray stacked with bowls and plates and wine. He’d left his princely finery behind; all he wore were trousers and a shirt. He waltzed in, kicking the door shut behind him, and set the tray down on the rug before the fireplace. “And I also brought entertainment.”

He grinned as he removed the lute strapped to his back. Marai snorted, stuffing a piece of cheese into her mouth. The assortment of food Ruenen had brought wasn’t a grand feast, more akin to picnic fare, but it was perfect for Marai’s still-rocky stomach. Ruenen poured her a cup of burgundy wine, then frowned.

“I’m sorry, I forgot you don’t like to drink,” he said. His hand with the cup hovered in midair. “I’ll get you some water.”

Marai took the cup from him. “I’ll have a glass tonight.”

She took a sip. The wine wasn’t bad, probably from somewhere South, since the Middle Kingdoms weren’t known for their vineyards. “What happened with the loyalists?”

Ruenen leaned back on his hands. “No casualties this time. Captured a few of them, but others managed to escape. They’re not very organized, but they are persistent. Every single day it feels like someone’s coming for my head.” He let loose a nervous laugh. “I thought I had meetings and paperwork before, but now . . .” He raked a hand through his hair with a sigh. Those sparkling brown eyes met Marai’s. “Tomorrow is my coronation.”

Surprise slammed into Marai. They were still burying bodies from the battle; she’d watched them on the moor earlier. “So soon?”

“The Witan wants to do it while Nieve and the Varanese princess are present. Apparently, having royalty from other kingdoms at our court makes it more official. Holfast invited all sorts of other people from across Astye, including nobles and ambassadors from the other kingdoms. I swear, Fenir’s about ready to have a nervous attack. He’s been so jittery.”

Marai saw his confidence slip as his face fell. “Are you nervous?”

“Absolutely, but this is what I agreed to when I came to Kellesar. I’m lucky to be alive right now. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

Even if that meant more performing. King was a role he’d need to play for the rest of his life. Every moment of every day, he would need to be the person they all expected.

But for tonight, Marai could let him be the bard.

“Play something for me,” she said, gesturing to the lute. She popped a grape into her mouth which burst in tart sweetness and bright colors.

Ruenen lifted the instrument into his lap. “I have so many new songs in my head, but I don’t have time to write them all.”

“I heard you wrote a ballad, and sang it for the fallen as a memorial.”

Ruenen’s fingers paused on the strings. “It was the least I could do . . . to give their families peace and closure.”

“You sang at Kadi and Leif’s graves,” Marai said with a swallow.

“Kadiatu once asked me if I’d play for her. I never got the chance. I hoped she’d hear it, even from beyond . . .” His voice broke, and he sniffed, shaking his head.

“Thank you.” Marai swept away her tears with the back of her hand.

Ruenen nodded, cleared his throat, then strummed back and forth, setting his face into a cocky smirk. Marai laughed, grateful for the distraction from her sorrow. He sang “Road to the Red Lands” with an ironic swagger, then “The Lady Butcher,” making Marai narrow her eyes, for show. She’d long since stopped caring about the song depicting her. Now, she genuinely enjoyed its epic and boisterous tune. The mysterious mercenary he sang of was no longer her identity. The Lady Butcher had indeed become a mere legend.

“There’s no reason why you cannot perform regularly for your court,” Marai said as Ruenen took a pause to swig his wine. “You’ll be known as the Bard King. All royalty will want to visit, then. Meetings will boast politics and music.”

Ruenen rolled his eyes. “If I find the time. I’d love to have an hour to play every day.”

“You need to make time for the things you love, Ruen. That’s what will make this life sustainable.”

“Since when did you become so wise, Sassafras?” Ruenen asked, and Marai snorted, making him laugh. “I love when you snort like that. Like an angry boar. It’s endearing.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

It was so easy to be around him. To sit on the rug in front of the hearth, laughing and playing. Marai ate the moment up like a tart grape, bursting with brightness in her heart. She savored the affection in his gaze, the sincerity in his voice, the soothing nature of his presence.

“Will you come tomorrow? To the coronation?” he asked while plucking out another song. Marai remembered Ruenen playing this song before. The ballad didn’t have words, but it sounded melancholy, wistful, and romantic.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s a big day—ceremony, then a feast with dancing . . . I don’t want to wear you out.”

Before Ruenen, Marai wouldn’t have dared to attend such an opulent, crowded event. Yet sitting there on the rug in her white nightgown, hair billowing down her back, she didn’t feel the same. Certainly not at all like the woman who had recently turned hundreds of men to dust, and slit so many throats . . .

“I’m fine. A little tired, but growing stronger every minute. I’ll be there,” she said. Marai had to be there. For him.

The smile that Ruenen gave her then took her breath away. It was so achingly beautiful and raw and real that Marai knew. She knew that even though she was terrified, there was no place else she’d rather be. No one else she’d rather open her heart to and reveal all those dark, twisted, shameful things. Because he saw those parts of her and embraced them. Cherished them. Because he also saw the good in her, too. Good that no one else before him had dared to search for.

Marai took another sip of wine. Better that than crawl into his lap and lick the corners of that dimpled smile, which is what she wanted to do. “What about your wounds? Have they healed?” She’d noticed the slight winces he made whenever he moved too jerkily.

“Getting there. Thora healed me well enough on the field, but she emptied of magic before she could finish. I’ve been letting the rest of the wound heal on its own. I can manage the pain, but I keep making it worse when I fight off the Tacornians.”

Always sacrificing.

The food and wine had been consumed. There were no other distractions. It was just them, staring at each other in the twilight blue of night.

The room suddenly grew airless and close. Marai couldn’t find her breath. She stood and padded to the open window. Shining beams of silver light illuminated her face as she stared up at the full moon. The stars were out in full, dotting the inky blackness like burning diamonds, making her feel small and one, both at once.

“If I could gaze upon you for the rest of my life, that would be a life well-lived,” came Ruenen’s breathy voice from the fireplace.

Marai glanced back to see him watching her, eyes shimmering pools of starlight.

A blush seared her face as Ruenen stood and walked to her. With aching tenderness, he swept aside her hair. His gentle thumb stroked her cheek, sending an electric tingle across her skin. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. An old fear bubbled up inside, shouting that she was unworthy of this affection, of this love. But once his lips brushed against hers, the voice was silenced. Her arms became vines as they wrapped around his neck. Up on her tiptoes, she kissed him so freely she thought she might fall into everlasting oblivion from the joy of it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered against her lips, hands stalling on her hips.

She reassured him by kissing him again.