14. Chapter Fourteen: Luka

Chapter Fourteen – Luka

R ain splatters the glass ceiling as Luka is led into a grand throne room with the remaining two suitors.

"It's time," Fedryn whispers as they walk, gazing up at the pattering rain. He looks only slightly worse for wear considering their days of captivity, with his dark hair hanging a bit heavier and his eyes a little red. Otherwise, he still glows with the aura of money, power, and pretension he carried on their first meeting.

On the other hand, the remaining blonde woman, Cassilia, all but clings to the guard who walks at her side. She jumps at the flicker of every shadow, her eyes darting about. When someone offers her a cup of water in an attempt to comfort, she gasps and swats it away, examining her hands afterwards and muttering about poison.

Luka is sure he looks no better than either of them. His hand drifts by his neck as he walks. Though the wound was fully healed by yesterday, a phantom ache sometimes shoots through him, a pain that is both alarming but also somehow pleasurable.

He isn't quite sure how he received such an odd injury in the fight. His memory of the incident blurs when he tries to examine it closely – they had been attacked, yes, and Cathalan injured. But surely the wound must not have been severe? Otherwise, news would have spread.

All he can clearly recall is Cathalan's voice – a low, strained whisper of do you trust me?

Luka asked after Darri's health, of course, but was only met with confused stares and promises that Darri was whole and well.

The guards halt before the empty set of thrones. Only two of Cathalan's siblings stand in the shadows this time – the scorned first prince, Chrill, and Kian, Cathalan's look-alike. Both their expressions are difficult to make out in the dimness. Despite it being only mid-morning, the sky has darkened with rain. Candles glow, casting an almost comforting yellow orb of light, an odd contrast to the clearly worn suitors.

A small crowd has gathered to observe the outcome of the trials and what will follow now that the rains have arrived, their clothes dripping onto the white marble floor. Servants wearing pale cream robes stand along the walls. Despite their presence, the throne room feels suddenly far too big, and Luka too small, especially beneath the all-seeing gazes of Cathalan's siblings. The servants glance at the guards, and after receiving a nod, the one closest to a set of double doors knocks on the wood.

Cathalan enters with a flourish, Darri half a step behind him. The two pause before the remaining suitors.

Upon seeing the prince, the blonde woman bursts into tears.

"Third Blessed Prince," she cries. "Please – I just want to go home! I can't take this any longer!" She lunges as if to wrap her arms around Cathalan in her desperation, only to be restrained by one of the armored guards.

The guard cries out in alarm as he holds her. "Is that – she has a knife!"

The small crowd gasps accordingly, murmurs rolling through their numbers as if they are observing a play, not an attempt on someone's life. Luka can't help how his jaw falls open in shock. And I had thought the Kiterans violent.

The woman thrashes, blonde hair like snakes. "You let my sister die! You said you would keep us safe, but you let her die!"

"Now, now, Lady Cassilia of the Viper's Wharf, there's no need for that any longer," Cathalan says.

As the woman goes slack in the guard's arms, her struggles dissolving to sobs, Cathalan waves his hand. The guard releases the woman and she sinks to the ground, hiccuping. Cathalan crouches before her while hushed whispers roll through the crowd. Though Luka can't make out full sentences, the general sentiment seems appreciative of the Third Blessed Prince's kindness.

"I told you both that this would be dangerous – potentially deadly, did I not?" Cathalan says to the woman.

"Yo-you said you would keep us s-safe!"

"Yes," Cathalan's small smile fades. "I said I would try. There were… extenuating circumstances that I did not fully grasp in time to help your sister."

Though Cathalan does not look at Luka, Luka's stomach clenches all the same. Suddenly, the sobbing blonde woman becomes difficult to look at. The anger flushing her face and dampening her cheeks shouldn't be directed at Cathalan, but Luka. It was Luka's life that those assassins had sought, not her sister's.

"Your family will be compensated accordingly for the loss of your sister's life," Darri says.

Cathalan dabs away Cassilia's tears. "You will both be compensated for your time as my suitors."

"Yes," Fedryn says. "The new rain has fallen, so the courtship period has ended. The Third Blessed Prince is here to declare his choice, hessa , not soothe your tears."

"So, let's put this knife away and chin up, yes?" Cathalan delicately plucks the kitchen knife from the woman's white-knuckled fists and hands it to Darri without even looking at the guard. Darri rolls his eyes and passes the blade to the guard behind him, where the weapon continues down the line before it reaches a very confused servant who just decides to hold it.

The woman sniffs as she stands, her chin still crinkled from the effort of trying to hold back her tears. She leans on the guard next to her, who looks very uncomfortable.

Cathalan gestures at Darri, who steps forward. "Thank you," Darri says. "For vying for the attention of the Third Blessed Prince. The Snake Mother has smiled down upon us for how short this period has lasted – and we are grateful that the loss of life has been… erm… kept to a minimum."

Lady Cassilia muffles a wail with the Third Blessed Prince's handkerchief.

"We are grateful," the crowd echoes in response. Their wet faces shine in the candlelight. Their clothes, the same pale shades as the servants, are near-translucent from wandering in the downpour, and the echoing drip, drip, drip of rainwater falling from their sleeves punctuates the silence following their response.

"And now, it comes time for the prince to make his choice of his future spouse, the person who will help him ascend the throne. My Third Blessed Prince, if you please?" Darri extends a hand.

Cathalan steps forward, raising his chin. Cassilia's tear stain splatters on his golden robes aside, he looks the part of a new young king; his circlet has been replaced with a ridged crown, and winking rubies catch the candlelight, looking like drops of blood woven through the prince's dark curls. His hair has been intricately knotted, interwoven with jewels and desert flowers. His robes accentuate the wiry strength of his shoulders, falling to his sandal-clad feet.

He looks out over his people with a humble smile. "Thank you again for your patience, and thank you to my suitors, for your affection. I am grateful that the Goddess has blessed us with an early rain so I did not have to wait another day longer."

Luka's eyes flicker from Cathalan's welcoming smile to the siblings still lurking in the shadows of the thrones. Chrill remains unsmiling, the scar on his cheek tugged down, even in apathy. Kian's expression darkens further with Cathalan's every word.

"But I will not keep us a second longer from our wedding ceremony. Luka Lockehart, will you please step forward?" Cathalan extends a hand toward Luka. His fingers are long and fine, lined with scars and rings.

Luka approaches the prince. Cathalan's smile warms, as if the gesture is for Luka alone.

"Though our time together has been brief in this ceremony, I have appreciated your wit and adversity, and most of all, our shared trust. I will need a consort I know that will stand by my side, no matter the decisions I must make, for the future never comes easy. Luka Lockehart, will you accept my offer of marriage and the position of Balivartia's First Consort?"

Beneath the triumph that flashes through Luka's heart, a rotten feeling of guilt stirs in his stomach as Theo's face flashes through his thoughts. But this isn't an act of betrayal.

This is what will save him. This is what will save Cesscounthe – Siacchi – and most importantly, Cassian.

"I do." Luka places his hand in Cathalan's.

Cathalan's smile grows wider. "Delightful," he murmurs. He spins Luka so they can face Fedryn and the still weeping Lady Cassilia, and the crowd beyond. The crowd beams, grateful they have been admitted to such a small ceremony. There must be so few of them because Cathalan's guards fear threats, Luka realizes. He quickly looks away from Fedryn when he finds the man glaring at him. Behind them, one of Cathalan's siblings shuffles away, muttering something along the lines of damned lucky bastard.

Cathalan addresses the crowd, "Our wedding will take place at nightfall! After, myself and my consort will consummate our marriage and then pay homage to his family to formally announce our union!"

The crowd cheers, and Luka's vision fades to gray.

He is going to marry Cathalan.

Cathalan, who is about to be crowned king of all Balivartia.

I might have made a mistake here.

The day remains dark and wet as Luka is prepared for his evening wedding.

Servants swarm him. Hands lay silky smooth robes, so light they feel like cool rain sliding across his skin. Fingers smooth away wrinkles and tame his curly hair, pulling and binding it into a braid that will resemble Cathalan's. Someone laces a thin silver circlet to frame his face, while another layers dark kohl around Luka's eyes.

Luka considers protesting. His skin crawls with every new touch, and he must resist the urge to cringe as a hand smooths down the fabric his tense shoulders have rumpled, but he keeps his mouth shut because soon, soon this will all be over.

The one bright spot of the entire experience is that Vlia is brought in to do the final adjustments to his fittings. The sound of her warm voice echoing through the hall makes Luka's eyes fly open. Luka cannot help but to smile at the sight of the merchant.

"Look at you," Vlia coos. "You really did it, you absolute snake."

She works just as efficiently as Luka knew she would as she runs her hands over the fabric, pulling a piece tighter here, looser there. She asks about the trials and Luka answers, but his mind is drifting again, caught in disbelief. Vlia only stays for the fitting, but pinches his cheek before she goes, ignoring the servants' cries of protest.

"It's good to know you remembered our deal," she whispers in his ear before Luka is swept into more preparation.

One servant stands at his elbow all the while, speaking to him in low tones while feeding him bits of honeyed fruits and roasted nuts. "The Third Blessed Prince will speak his vows to the Goddess, and then you must prostrate yourself before the Snake Mother and your ruler."

"Really?" Luka says between chews, only half listening.

"Oh, yes, you must shed your old faith and take upon yourself worship of our Holy Snake Mother if you are to be our consort."

Luka resists pointing out that Cathalan didn't appear to have much of a better choice; of the remaining suitors, for all the value that Fedryn appeared to offer, Luka provides far superior international connections… according to the lies he fabricated to enter. Though perhaps Luka only thinks as much because of his lack of understanding between the northern and southern parts of Balivartia. He never studied much past the history of Hessalar, after all. Though couldn't Cathalan have taken Fedryn as a second consort? Luka is not certain.

"We will then dance till dawn in celebration, and your marriage with the prince will be consummated under the rays of the rising sun," the servant continues, pressing another salted nut into Luka's mouth almost absentmindedly.

Luka manages to keep the flush from spreading to his cheeks. For all of Cathalan's beauty and all of Luka's experience from Cesse tournaments, the thought of another person laying a hand on his body brings bile to his throat.

The servant continues to chatter as she places various pieces of food in Luka's mouth while his hair is yanked, his eyelids colored, his nails trimmed, and his robes tightened. But the fear of what lies ahead means the moment when the woman speaking to him says in a low voice, "It's time," comes far too quickly.

Without another word, the servants usher Luka from the dimly lit room. They enter a hallway filled with narrow windows. Rain streaks the stained glass like tears. Luka's white robes all but float as he walks, flashes of warm air nipping at his exposed midriff. His feet are silent on the ground, body smooth and shining with the rose-scented oils the servants massaged him with.

"Here," one of the servants says. He pauses with Luka, standing before a set of carved wooden doors. Snakes slither through the dark oak, so life-like, Luka flinches when the servant places Luka's fingers over the handle. "You will open this door together."

It's symbolic of the start of your new life, begun together as one, the woman told Luka while they applied something black and sticky to his lashes.

Luka blinks, releasing a slow breath. As the door knob starts to move beneath his fingers, he follows the action, pushing the door open.

Cathalan waits on the other side.

Despite himself, Luka still pauses to take in his childhood friend. Though always poised, Cathalan has been perfectly prepared for his wedding; his cheeks and chin shine with some kind of a glitter. His eyes, which crinkle with joy at the sight of Luka, have been accentuated with dark, dramatic lines. As he extends a hand, his fingers sparkle with the same material highlighting his cheeks – and his collarbones, exposed by a dramatic, black sweeping robe.

Luka accepts Cathalan's fingers, which are cold, as always. Together, they walk. The servants unfurl their robes, letting them drag across the pale stone floor, tangling together. They look like two Cesse pieces, Luka realizes, blending and uniting into a mix of white and black.

The servants filter into the room. They rush to the makeshift rows of candles lining Cathalan and Luka's path, and with each step, a flame flickers to life, lighting their way.

Cathalan squeezes Luka's hand. He must feel the minute shake there. When Luka glances at him, Cathalan's eyes remain fixed straight ahead.

This room is smaller than the throne room – more humble. The rounded ceiling crowds close, giving it a cave-like appearance. Though it is hard to make out in the dim light, with the candles dancing beside them, Luka can see six figures awaiting them.

Cathalan's siblings.

Incense and spice fills the air as Luka and Cathalan finally slow to a stop at the end of the line of candles. Cathalan squeezes Luka's hand one last time and then releases him.

Before Luka can look to the prince for guidance, the servants rush forward. They first light the candles of the figures standing on the outermost edge of the six. Fire casts dramatic shadows over the faces of the twins, the seventh and eight heirs.

They bow their heads in eerie unison to Cathalan, their lips moving silently. Their faces remain down turned as they pass the fire to the figures standing next to them.

Marlacyn's red hair catches the candlelight. His lips crinkle into a tiny smile.

Across from him, Kian looks on, stone-faced, features so similar that in the near-darkness, he could pass for Cathalan's twin.

The fifth and sixth heirs pass the fire on, and a woman, Lanai, and the scorned prince Chrill's faces illuminate.

Lanai scowls, her hands tightening around her candle. While Chrill does not grin, his eyes soften as he looks at Cathalan.

The third and fourth heir pass the fire to the final candle – only no one holds this flame. It flickers alone, perched on a solitary banister.

The siblings all bow their heads, lips still moving silently.

Cathalan looks back at Luka. Stay here, he mouths. He approaches his siblings. When he speaks, Luka jumps, the sound of a human voice almost foreign and wrong after the extended silence.

"Brothers and sisters, thank you for blessing this sacred day. Together, we have mourned the death of our father, and now, together, we will celebrate my ascension to the throne." Cathalan approaches the first twin.

"Hallifar, you who are smart and clever. May you remain wicked and untamed by the cruelness of this world. May you find peace and happiness, and never know the way the weight of the crown can bend your back." Cathalan extinguishes the flame of his sibling's candle.

He continues down the line, addressing each brother or sister with care and poise – and for some, the slightest bit of contempt. Kian, especially, Cathalan pauses for a long time before he speaks.

It is only the candle at the center of his siblings that draws Cathalan to full silence. Cathalan stands before it with his shoulders braced, as if steeling himself for a battle. He tucks his chin against his chest and his body shakes. When his words emerge, they are hardly more than a whisper:

"Effa. I wish you were here. Thank you for all that you did. I wish I could have done more for you."

This last flame, Cathalan does not extinguish, but instead he gestures Luka forward. His cheeks gleam with tears as he takes Luka's right hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "but this will only hurt a bit. Do not resist." His grip tightens as he forces both Luka's and his own hand over the remaining flame.

The pain bites into Luka's flesh, and he automatically jerks away – only to find Cathalan has gripped him fast. Luka grits his teeth, his beast rising in response. Russet fur bristles on his arms and fangs slice through his lip, but just as quickly as Cathalan has plunged their combined hands into the flame, Luka is released.

Luka stumbles back, panting. His mouth is wet with blood from where his fangs sliced through his lip. Before he can protest, Cathalan pulls Luka to him, holding up their burned hands.

"The Goddess witness it, our fates have been intertwined," Cathalan says, words little more than a croak.

"May the Goddess witness it," his siblings and the surrounding servants repeat.

Cathalan releases Luka.

Luka tries to conceal his dismay. He glances at Cathalan out of the corner of his eye, but the prince still won't look at him. Luka flexes his fingers. The center of his palm aches from where it had been held over the flame, as if a piece of the fire is still trapped inside.

Silence stretches, seeping through the room like the rain falling above. Something settles over Luka's shoulders, and it takes him a moment to realize everyone is staring at him.

Recalling what the servant woman told him, Luka wonders if he should start prostrating. Instead, he says softly, a faint echo of what he heard before: "May the Goddess witness it."

Cathalan's lips curl in an attempt at a smile. He shakes himself, throwing his hair back. His intricate braids lash the air as he turns to share his forced grin with Luka. "You heard my consort," he shouts. "The Mother Goddess, the Lady Herself, has seen our fates unified. Brothers, sister, my head is ready for the royal crown."

"You're not king yet. There's no need to be talking like Father," mutters Hallifar, frowning.

"Crown." Marlacyn snaps his fingers as one of the servants with a too-wide smile. "The Elders should be here already. We need to get started with the dancing."

At that moment, the doors at the entrance to the chamber fly wide, and the same wizened group of two women and one man from the throne room enter at a hobble. The woman with deep brown eyes, so dark, they appear black, leads them, a velvet box in her hands.

"May the Goddess bless your reign," the three intone as the woman lowers the crown onto Cathalan's dark curls. Cathalan must bow his head for her to reach.

The room again goes silent as the heirs who have lost their chance at the throne stare at the once Third Blessed Prince, and now the king of Balivartia. Luka presses his other hand against the source of burning pain at the center of his palm, focusing on the sharpness of it.

I did it, Theo.

The realization bursts over Luka as he stares at the man who is now his husband. His husband – who is ruler of the South.

I did this all on my own.

I have allies now.

With this… can I save Cassian?

Cathalan turns to face his siblings, servants, and Luka once again. Now, the smile on his face is smaller but sweeter. He throws his arms in the air, "Time to celebrate!"

The party that follows does, indeed, last until dawn. Luka's feet ache from dancing – he has long since abandoned the satin slippers he is forced to wear after he slipped for the sixth time when Cathalan attempted to dip him.

The ballroom is filled with people. Everyone in Balivartia has been invited to celebrate, and everyone is desperate for a chance to dance with their royals. Cathalan graciously accepts every offer that he can, and for the rare few that he declines, he explains that he has to tend to his new consort.

Luka finds that, despite himself, he spends most of the night with a smile on his face. When his hands are not carrying a drink or a plate overflowing with delicious smelling meats and vegetables, he is whirling across the pale floor, laughter like he has never heard before spilling from him like spiced wine.

"I'm glad you're happy," Cathalan tells him as they press close, his body warm against Luka's.

"I've – I don't think I've ever done something like this before," Luka replies. He can hardly focus on Cathalan's smile; the world around them seems so bright and shining. Even in the dead of night, the ballroom has been lit from within with flame.

It isn't until Cathalan pulls Luka aside what feels some few minutes later, that Luka realizes the moon has nearly set. His feet ache. The pain in his palm has faded, but Luka still worries the mark left behind.

"It's time," Cathalan says, and Luka swallows.

Cathalan takes Luka's hand. "Do you want to avoid the fanfare?"

When Luka nods, Cathalan chuckles. He traces the almost healed burn on Luka's hand, now turned to a scar thanks to Luka's impyassus healing abilities. The mark looks like a tiny sun – a pale white circle against the cream of his skin.

"Let's go then." Cathalan pulls Luka away when another bout of cheering rises from the crowd. Luka looks back to see a grinning Lanai attempting to arm wrestle her second youngest brother, Venicent, into submission. A flock of people surround them, red faced and laughing.

Something pinches in Luka's heart. This could be my life.

But it isn't right. Not without Theo. Not without Cassian safe.

Cathalan leads Luka through the palace, weaving through dark corridors Luka has never seen before. His stride is confident as they pass locked doors and shadowed arches, before finally pausing in front of a massive entryway.

"This was my father's room," Cathalan says. He squeezes Luka's hand, not looking back. "No one has entered since his death."

Luka returns the gesture. "Are you… are you sure you're ready?"

The muscles in Cathalan's jaw flex. He shrugs. "Well, we were never really all that close anyways." He produces a set of keys and unlocks the door, pushing it open.

Footsteps shuffle behind them, and Luka looks back. He is not at all surprised to see Darri not far behind, his hand hovering above one of his knives.

"He'll keep us safe in case any other mercenaries show up and try to murder you," Cathalan says, winking.

"Are your siblings still allowed to do that, even now?"

Cathalan pulls Luka into the dark chambers. "Technically, they weren't supposed to do it before. But since those assassins weren't sent by my siblings, we might still want to keep an ear out, yes?"

The doors swing shut behind them. Luka blinks, his eyes rapidly adjusting; the chambers are even larger than Cathalan's massive rooms, with the ceiling towering so high above, it vanishes into the darkness. Cushions sprawl across the floor, and Luka stumbles as he steps, nearly tumbling into the velvety softness. Unlit candles line the walls, various dramatic paintings and scrolls hanging between them, colors too faint to make out in the dimness.

Luka takes a moment to recover his balance before he replies, glancing back at the door. Darii remained outside.

"Why do you think those assassins would be after me?"

Cathalan snorts. He pulls Luka across the room of pillows, into a wide hallway that opens into what must be the – the bedchamber. A massive, circular bed sprawls at its heart. Above it, a glass ceiling gleams, revealing the faint purple, blushing sky. Dawn must not be far off.

Luka's eyes drift to the bed again. Despite himself, his cheeks warm. He doesn't need to cast an assessing look over Cathalan to know that – well. He is certain he would not be disappointed with what he finds tucked into Cathalan's trousers, for all that the thought wrings his guts with guilt.

"I'm sure you already know why the assassins came after you, Luka. But if you'd like, I can guess."

They both pause before the bed, remaining in the dark shadow of the hallway. Luka considers the stars as they wink out before the waking sun. "I'm not certain myself."

"Kiteran soldiers and you aren't sure? Aren't they just Northern barbarians looking to take out an important Western political figure?" Cathalan follows Luka's gaze as he speaks, eyes on the scarlet clouds.

If only things were so simple. But Luka can't say that. Instead, he considers the scarlet satin sheets and the jewel-colored pillows. "I'm sorry I brought such danger to our marriage."

"I expect that level of excitement from you, Luka."

"From me? I would have thought our marriage would be comfortingly boring."

Cathalan laughs. "Boring? I would never want that. No – I need a partner that keeps me on my toes. I need someone who I know I can count on, but still provides enough unpredictability to keep me interested."

Guilt twists Luka's stomach when he realizes his mind automatically goes to Theo.

"Is that why you picked only those four potential consorts?"

Cathalan shakes his head. "No need to play dumb for me, Luka. I'm sure you've already figured that out."

Luka recalls the wrinkled faces of the elders, the same trio who had attended the marriage ceremony. How they warped with disapproval with most names, shaking their heads and tutting. The only suitor they had outright approved of had been Fedryn. But the two women…

"They weren't connected with your siblings at all, were they?"

The corners of Cathalan's eyes crinkle. "See, I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

The compliment lights a warm feeling in Luka's heart; each shadowed sibling had been watching the suitors carefully, and none reacted when the two sisters had approached Cathalan.

"I knew I would be able to protect four – I'm not like my father," Cathalan continues. "He didn't have any siblings to contest with, so he didn't mind having nearly two dozen consorts when he competed for the throne. He only had to protect them from outside threats – well, and threats from other consorts. Southern brides are always known to be… dangerous. But that was what he wanted."

"But that's not what you want."

Cathalan examines Luka's face. "Enough about me. What about you, Luka? What do you want?"

As exhaustion weighs heavy on his limbs, Luka considers crumpling onto the surely impossibly soft bed. He imagines spreading his hands across the silk and closing his eyes. "For this marriage? Security."

Cathalan raises a brow.

"Does that surprise you?" Luka says. "I don't think I'm the same boy you once knew, Cathalan. As a child, I had… misconceptions about the world and myself." I might have done this all on my own, but I will still never be as brilliant as my mother led me to believe.

"Really?" Cathalan says. "You seem as you always were."

"And what is that?"

Cathalan turns. His gaze is warm as it trails across Luka's body like a caress. "Smart, beautiful, and very rarely funny."

Luka can't help the laughter that bursts from him. You see me very differently than I see myself. "And are those the traits you look for in marriage?"

"A good partner must check all of those boxes, of course."

"But… what about love?"

"Love?"

Luka raises a brow. "You do realize this was a dream I had as a boy. When we first met, you were so mysterious to me – and dangerous. I didn't understand the extent of my desires, and it was only later that I realized why I –"

"Why you wanted so much to play those games where you had to hold my hand?"

They both exchange smiles. Cathalan gently traces Luka's fingers with his own.

"But what about love?" the newly made king repeats softly. "Yes, that's a good question, Luka, though I am embarrassed to say, I honestly never factored that into the equation."

Luka nods. "Siacchians also care little for such things. Pairings are often made based on intelligence – and the potential of future offspring."

"At least we meet one of those expectations… though, if your mother is expecting children out of this arrangement –"

Another harsh bark of laughter escapes Luka. "No! No, I would never give her any children of mine, no matter how they come about."

Cathalan makes a low hmm and continues to trace down Luka's thumb. He pauses at a small scar, circling it. The touch should make Luka shudder. It should make him lean closer, wanting more. But it just feels like a hand tracing his own.

"Love," Cathalan repeats. "It means something different here, too. For the heirs, love was a matter of duty. If you love someone, then you will obey their orders. You will follow them into battle, pierce yourself on the weapons of their mistakes. You will still put your faith in them, even as they grow old and wither…"

Cathalan gazes at the bed before them. "You know, in the end, those final days, he never slept here. He needed constant care, and only the king, his consorts, and his concubines were allowed entry to these chambers. He was moved into the rooms of a doctor. But I still feel his presence here."

Cathalan inhales deeply. "My mother also told me of another kind of love. The kind of love that is passed down through her people."

"Your mother wasn't Balivartian?"

Cathalan shakes his head. "She was one of the brides sent to my father from the deep south. A region called Alimaris. She and twelve of her sisters were sent to marry my father some few decades before. Myself and my siblings all have Alimartian blood running in our veins.

"Their people believe that love – real love – is something that occurs once in a lifetime. It's something sudden and something unknowable, near impossible to describe in any other words other than fate." Cathalan's fingers reach Luka's palm, and Luka is reminded of the Toula and her wise eyes. The way she had declared that Xyla and him were not meant to be. The pain of the memory feels so distant now.

As Cathalan traces the lines on Luka's skin, Luka wonders what other things the king's sharp eyes might read there. Perhaps this is where Luka's fate was supposed to lead him all along.

"There is something similar for… for impyassi ."

Cathalan looks up. Luka struggles to hold his gaze. He has never spoken so openly about his beast – his monster – in front of anyone other than another impyassus .

"There is a fated person, the one person of your heart. They are considered the person you and your beast will forever bond with."

"Yes," Cathalan says. "That is how my mother described such a person as well; the one person where all parts of you can find a home. No matter who you are, no matter how you act, they will always accept you."

Luka stares at Cathalan, jaw agape.

"Did I say something wrong?" Cathalan's fingers reach Luka's wrist. "Your pulse is… racing."

"N-no."

All those feelings I have for Theo. The love that I carry for him despite all reason.

This isn't possible.

But the Toula said that Luka would find someone soon. She had looked at the wrinkles on his palm with an ironic twinkle in her eye, a quirk to her lips. Did she know?

"Your mother's people… are they like the impyassi? " Luka asks. The words sound like they emerge from another person's mouth. He needs Cathalan to focus on something else.

The man strokes down the length of Luka's arm. "Similar, but not the same. Still considered beasts by your people. I'm sure you weren't able to escape the rumors about us."

Luka nods absently. He can hardly listen to Cathalan's words.

Does Theo know that we are mates?

… Of course he knows.

This was the reason that Luka hadn't been able to go with Xyla. The reason why, when Luka and Theo's eyes had first met, Luka had felt something… different around the man.

How long has he been keeping this from me?

"– have you, Luka?"

Luka's head snaps up. "Sorry?"

Cathalan's hand warms his bicep. Luka is surprised that the man is so much closer than before. They are both sitting on the bed now, thigh against thigh. When did that happen?

"Have you met that person? Do you believe such a bond truly exists?"

Luka stares into Cathalan's eyes. Lies pile on his tongue, but Luka is so tired of speaking falsehoods.

"Yes."

"To which question?"

"Both."

Cathalan's hand stills. For a terrible moment, Luka imagines his childhood friend's face tightening with anger, with betrayal, at the declaration. He tenses, bracing himself.

But Cathalan only shakes his head, pressing a hand to his cheeks. He sighs, long and loud. "Oh. Alright."

Luka reaches for the man, but then stops himself. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Luka. I already suspected. I just needed to confirm."

Luka's eyes widen. "You… you suspected?"

Cathalan runs a hand through his hair, a bitter smile growing on his face. "Well, I knew Theodori didn't come here alone."

What?

The world jerks around Luka. He hurriedly summons his Cesse board. I shouldn't have let my guard down. I had thought the game was finished, but this whole time, Cathalan has still been playing.

You idiot.

But the silence has stretched for too long. Cathalan does not smile, but the corner of his eyes crinkle.

I need to go on the attack.

"How long have you known?" Luka shifts, putting space between them. Darri is outside, but I saw no other guards. Cathalan knows these chambers better than I, but my night vision is superior. So long as I escape before dawn –

But the sun's scarlet rays have already bled through the pale sky. Light trickles through the windows above. Luka won't have an advantage for much longer – unless I use my beast against him.

Luka heaves the thought away.

"The better question is how long have I suspected ," Cathalan says. He remains perched on the edge of the bed, his eyes sharp. "And it wasn't that hard; Theodori already let slip that he didn't come here alone, and then it was a matter of guessing who his partner might be. And there you were, wearing Kiteran furs nonetheless, sent by a mother that I know despises me and my people and fresh from the country that has recently been at war with the North."

"All the more reason to suspect I came to you for military aid to fight them off."

"True, but like I said: you've always been the more interesting one, Luka. I knew you were hiding something from me." Cathalan's gaze shifts to the growing sunlight. His shoulders sink with a sigh.

Luka slowly creeps from the bed, pausing only when his back brushes the wall. His eyes dart left and right, taking in the exits; the hallway they come down, a room to the side – either a washroom or a closet, and then a final door opposite them. He moves toward the hallway while Cathalan takes in the dawn.

"You don't have to run from me, Luka."

"You want to execute Theodori. I can't imagine finding that I am his ally will put me in your good graces."

The hallway is still dark. It takes a moment for Luka's eyes to adjust, but he rapidly takes note of the winding corridors. He will have to be quick.

"Where will you even go? You still need my help. And you still want to rescue him, don't you?"

Luka swallows. He looks back at Cathalan, who has now laid back on the bed, his eyes fixed on the rising sun.

"Why did you tell me this now, Cathalan?" Luka says. "You told me that you are tired of my half truths, but here you are, still playing this game. What do you want?"

Cathalan reaches toward the sun, but at the last moment, as dawn breaks and the bedroom is filled with weak, morning light, he moves, impossibly fast. Luka flinches as Cathalan darts to his side, gritting his teeth.

I'll have to fight him. I won't be able to outrun him.

Cathalan looks over his newly scarred hand, and then scans Luka's face. "I'm sorry, old friend," he says. "You're right, I have played you. There are things you have that I want, and I don't trust you enough to explain. Not now. Not yet." His fingers curl into a fist. "But I know there is something I have that you want, too. I will give you your Kiteran. All you have to do is wait here until evening. Then Darri will take you to him."

Luka narrows his eyes. "What's the catch?"

Cathalan unfurls his fingers, displaying the matching scar on his palm. "We are wed, Luka."

"And?"

"Did you know that once, centuries ago, the First Consorts kept killing the kings? Very inconvenient. This was their solution, Luka. Our fates have been intertwined. Tell your Kiteran this." The once Third Blessed Prince walks back to the bed, his stride now filled with purpose. He pauses for a moment before reaching the light, looking back at Luka.

Then he thrusts his arm into the day.

Smoke instantly rises, the stench of burning flesh filling the room. Cathalan's eyes flicker, his jaw flexing.

But as Cathalan's skin ripples and burns, so does Luka's.

Luka gasps, staggering against the wall as pain fills his right arm. He yanks up the sleeve of his robe to find his skin blistering and burning – the same as Cathalan's.

"The sun – why – Cathalan, what is this –"

Cathalan withdraws his arm from the light. He has only held his skin beneath the sun's rays for a few seconds, but he has been burned nearly to the bone. Luka's vision darkens as he presses against the wall, struggling to remain conscious. The pain is overwhelming.

Cathalan's words come to him distantly: "Tell your Kiteran of our bond. Tell him that I am going North to act on his promise. You two will follow behind; all attention will be on me, and few will pay mind to my consort. This will keep my siblings from learning of Theodori's identity – don't make that face, Luka. Believe it or not, but my actions have kept him safe. Had they learned of who he is, they would have executed him on the spot."

Luka's hands curl into fists.

"What are you?" he says.

Cathalan looks at him – no, he is looking through Luka, eyes gone soft, unfocused. He chuckles, humorlessly, before smiling. The gesture bares inhuman fangs. Luka flinches.

"I'm a hushiling , Luka. A creature of night and blood." He adds, softer, gentler, "I'm your husband. We are bound to each other."

"Can the bond be broken?"

Cathalan's smile goes sad. "My mother and her sisters all died long before the king, did they not?"

"You could have just explained, Cathalan. You could have told me what you wanted –"

"And how could I have trusted you to give it to me?"

Luka shakes his head. "You might have been right, but I cannot trust you now. I don't think I can, ever again."

Cathalan looks away. He is silent for a long time, long enough for Luka to realize that Cathalan's arm is healing, almost as quickly as Luka's.

Cathalan taps at his throat. "You don't remember what I said that night, do you?"

Luka blinks, still reeling. "You're talking nonsense."

Cathalan sighs, pulling down the sleeve of his robe to cover his injuries. "Of course. Madness runs in the family, you should know."

He approaches Luka, his eyes lowered. He reaches out, but when Luka flinches away, he withdraws his hand. "I meant what I said. Wait until evening, and Darri will take you to him."

"And then what are you planning in the North?"

Cathalan looks past Luka. "You'll learn soon enough."