"You don't have to go to Alu Oshana," Sholu tells me for the fiftieth time. "Jana Semiroth says he won't work with two women he doesn't trust. If we exclude Kildir Abethibana and the Azrakali noraya entirely, we can satisfy his condition without you having to wage polite war in a distant city."

"They control Jemina, Sholu. Do you really want to try to move food through Brekkah and Yukkaita without access to their port and roads? It'll add a week of travel and cost far too much."

"We can make it work somehow," he insists. "Jana Semiroth is-"

"Not the first nordeme I've dealt with," I remind him, rolling my eyes. "If I can survive your bullshit, Sholu Verlaina, I can survive his."

"I hope you handle him differently than you handled me last week," he muses with a conspiratorial smile, "unless you let me watch, that is."

"Maybe I will," I challenge. "We're to feed Shikkah together, after all, so perhaps I should let him feed me his cock."

Sholu snorts, not the least bit provoked. "We both know you'd bite it off, Amiidizsa. And if you didn't, his wife would. Now, what's her name?" he quizzes me with bright eyes. "Both her maiden and married names."

I roll my eyes again. "We've been playing Chalnori trivia for a week, Sholu. I know the name of his wife, his consort, his son, and his closest advisors. I know the layout of the city and every entrance and exit point. I know how their guards are stationed, their preferred weapons and fighting style, and I know to stay behind my own guards if it comes to blows. I'm leaving now, and you won't try to stop me if you know what's good for you."

He pulls me in for a fierce kiss, and I can't help the warmth that unfurls low in my belly at the possessive touch. I hate him, I tell myself, but I like that he'll miss me when I'm gone. I let my arms wrap around him, pulling him closer and kissing him back with desperate need because the vasayaste are watching and I'm supposed to love him. This is a sad, sad parting. We're heartbroken. He'll pine for me.

Actually, I think he might. I think I'm that far under his skin. I don't know how to feel about the surge of power that thought fills me with. So I just swing myself up onto the back of my sevve. The desert horse is small and sturdy, her coat a mottled white, her mane dark and braided with golden beads. She won't move particularly fast, but she also won't break her leg riding through the desert sands, so I don't mind. When Sholu moves closer to me, my sevve, who I'm told is called Hallah, snorts in mild distress. I decide then and there that I like the creature plenty.

They all expected me to ride in a carriage, of course, and it would definitely be more comfortable. It would also be a slow, obvious target for any thieves or enemies who see our small party and decide to attack. I let Dakara Reis have the carriage all to herself, then, and smile at the thought of her being set upon by bandits.

Dakara is pleased with the prospect of travelling to Alu Oshana. She sees herself as our escort and guide and preens with importance. I half expect her to start narrating the journey to us to keep herself the center of attention. And here you have a sand dune, and oh look, another one behind it. To your left, there's a large, flat rock, and atop it, a spikey lizard.

I ride with Roze to my left and Kaza O'utena to my right. Manit rides in front. The rest of the guards- all highly trained, all completely loyal, I'm assured- fan out around us, scanning the endless sand for potential danger. The good news is there's almost nowhere for an enemy to hide, so we can't be ambushed easily, if at all. The bad news is that barrenness makes for a monotonous landscape with no shade and few places to rest.

The sun is unrelenting, and I sweat through my silk travelling clothes by the afternoon. We're following the River Imer until we reach Samodev, at least, so we stop periodically to submerge ourselves in the water and cool down. The wet fabric attracts sand and chafes against my skin as we ride, but it keeps me cool, so I don't complain.

Dakara, though? Dakara complains enough for the both of us. And she's the one being carried in the shaded carriage. I smother a laugh when we stop to water the horses and she charges over to Manit, all swinging black hair and steely eyes, and demands to know why we're not travelling at night. It would be so much cooler, she reasons.

He studiously ignores her, taking a long drink of water, then turns to watch the horizon as if it's particularly interesting. It's not, just a blue slash against the flat beige of the distant sands.

"So?" she prods, unwilling to accept her obvious dismissal. "We'll stop here for the day, rest and cool off, then travel once the moon rises? It's not like there's much the horses have to navigate around. Just sand as far as the eye can see."

Manit continues to ignore her. Emris, a rangy young guard, replies in his captain's stead. "We hit the dustlands in an hour, my Lady, then the red-rimmed canyon. If we try to ride through that without light, the horses will go lame, and you'll have to walk the rest of the way on your own two feet." He snorts at the prospect. "And that walk will only be a little bit shorter than the walking we do as penance before entering the Citadel Eternal."

"But can't we-"

"Do you know how fucking cold it gets out here at night?" Manit cuts in, arching a dark brow. "I'll bet you don't. I'll bet you've slept beneath a warm blanket every night of your life. If you want to ride when it's so cold your hands go stiff around the reins and your chattering teeth shake your whole body, be my guest. The rest of us are stopping and resting ourselves by a warm fire, though, and if you have half a brain in your head, you'll join us."

"It was just a suggestion," Dakara harumphs, narrowing her imperious gaze at Manit. "There's no need to be so rude, Captain."

"It was a stupid suggestion," Manit returns, "and annoyance is as good a reason as any to be rude, I think. Now get back in your box and let's get moving."

She huffs again, but does as she's told, disappearing back inside the carriage.

"Any complaints from you?" Manit asks impassively as he re-saddles his sevve, a black stallion that's as lovely as he is wild. "Do you want to backstroke all the way to Alu Oshana? Perhaps you'd like me to carry you? Oh, I know. We'll stretch a hammock between the pommels of two saddles and you can recline in it."

"No complaints besides the present company," I reply, nodding in his direction. I see the flicker of a smile at the edge of his lips before it disappears again.

"Well, if you don't want the saddle hammock, I certainly do," Roze says. "Perhaps one of you fine gentlemen could hold a palm frond aloft to block the sun? It's really quite bad for my complexion. My freckles get very dark."

"Your vision will go just as dark when I hit you upside the head for being a damn fool."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Revanas," I throw back, coming to Roze's defense. Yes, he's ridiculous, but he's been kind to me. Also, he far outranks Manit, so the guard shouldn't be threatening him, even in jest.

"Only too happy to oblige," Manit replies smoothly before we lapse back into silence. He urges his horse to speed up, the distance he's putting between us quickly making conversation impossible.

"Coward," I mutter. Roze laughs.

As I watch him, he reaches into his saddle bag and pulls out a book. And then he opens it and starts to read, holding the reins in one sure hand and resting the spine of the book on the saddle horn. I steer my sevve closer to his and read the title over his shoulder.

"That's got to be the worst one yet," I laugh. "Wet as the River Imer? Really?"

"No, not really," he replies easily, "it's a simile. Comparing the waters of the great river to the great lubrication of-"

"If you ever say the word lubrication around me again, Marithan, I'll burn your unholy books in the cooking fire."

"Lubrication."

I bark out a laugh. It shouldn't be funny. It really shouldn't be. He's childish and ridiculous, but there's something about that brazen, boyish smile that makes me grin back at him. Like we're sharing a secret.

"Look in your left saddle bag the next time we stop," he advises me, then rides ahead to catch up to Manit. When we stop next, I do, and find a beautifully bound novel inside, the title emblazoned across the front in elegant, curling print. That's the only elegant thing about it, though, because the book he's loaned me is called His Wild and Wicked Ways.

When I hold the book up and look at Roze, incredulous, he just shrugs. "What? It's not that bad. If I really wanted to shock you, I'd have given you Ravished and Ravenous or At My Lord's Leisure."

"You're a sociopath," I deadpan. He just grins back at me.

I put the book back in the saddle bag like it's burned me, then pointedly ignore my companion. It's a comfortable silence, though. At least for a little while. Manit sends Kaza and Roze to scout ahead and start setting up our camp for the night, so it's just me and Manit and some guards whose names I don't care enough to learn moving slowly over the sand. Oh, and Dakara inside her box.

It's mind numbingly boring. I play word games in my head to distract myself. I look for shapes in the clouds. I just look at the clouds, fuck the shapes. I stare into the sun until it burns my eyes and Manit calls me a fucking idiot. So, I try to have a conversation with Manit, but he's as remote and disinterested as the sand churned beneath my sevve's feet. I talk to her like she's a person instead of a horse, but she doesn't care, and the next time we stop I begrudgingly pull Roze's book out of the saddlebag. When we get back on our horses, I've balanced the salacious text on the pommel, but only after wrapping it in a soft leather cloth. I'd sooner wander the Eternal Sands than let someone see the title of what I'm reading.

After a chapter, I almost stop. It's melodramatic and ridiculous. There's a woman called Kaelia whose most striking features are her seductive voice and perfect breasts. There's her lover, Arush, a suave soldier full of animal hunger. They're drawn to each other immediately and inexplicably. They miscommunicate. Jealousy abounds. It's so far away from real life I could laugh.

That's the point, though, isn't it? Escapism. To pretend I'm in a world with finite rules where the common denominator is passion instead of riding over miles and miles of sand on my way to confront a nordeme in his own city. And then, somewhere around chapter seven, I inexplicably become invested. The ludicrous lovers become more human, somehow, and I find myself turning page after page to get to the aching conclusion.

By the time the moon begins to rise, I'm nearly at the end of His Wild and Wicked Ways. I finish it as I sit by the fire Manit begrudgingly stokes. I tell anyone who asks that I'm reading a heroic history of Aramizsa and her conquest of Shikkah. When Roze returns from his scouting, though, he just looks at the leather-wrapped book in my lap and laughs. I blush, shooting him a look that says don't you say a word.

And he doesn't, to his credit. He just sits down next to me and starts heating our simple dinner, whistling all the while.

"Can you stop that? I'm trying to read!" I snap.

The only answer I get is the warm, low chuckle of his laughter.

"You can borrow another book for the ride tomorrow if you like," he tells me after a comfortable silence. "I don't have a second history of blessed Aramizsa, but I do have, let's see, a scholarly account of the fall of the Alyezsani Empire. Or perhaps you'd be interested in a history of Shikkan currency. It's fascinating, truly."

My lips quirk into a smile. "Are you ever serious?"

"Are you ever not?" he counters.

I shrug. "There hasn't been much to laugh about lately."

"I'll give you something, then," he murmurs. "Dakara and Manit are sharing a tent tonight. That means sharing body heat."

I smother my smile with my hand. "You jest."

"Nope," Roze assures me. "See that tent over there? The one that's twice as big as all the rest? That's the nice tent. Anyone who attacks us will look for you there first, which works quite well given that Dakara demanded spacious accommodations. And if someone comes to kill her thinking she's you, who better to fight them off than the captain of your guard? So, they're sharing a tent."

"He'll strangle her before morning."

"Just a little before, though," Roze amends. "An hour or two at most. Any sooner and her body would go cold before the sun rises and he'd freeze his balls off."

I laugh loudly and abruptly, and both Dakara and Manit turn to me with a question in their eyes. Dakara is too standoffish to ask it, though, and Manit far too apathetic. I smother the rest of my amusement behind my hand again, glaring at Roze, who ignores my censure and starts loudly crunching on jeshah nuts he roasted over the fire. I reach into his lap and grab a handful without asking, then steal one of his knives to open them and fish out the rich, buttery meat. Fat and flavor bloom across my tongue and I groan, then take five more nuts for good measure. When Roze gives me a look, brows cocked, I just shrug.

"I'm the queen. What're you going to do about it?"

"Tell every person here what book you devoured earlier. Perhaps read them a few choice passages. I'm sure they'd all find it very- ahem- enlightening."

"If you do that, I will shove your ass into the fucking fire. We'll be having crisped Marithan for dinner." I blink my eyes at him innocently, then add "and I'm sure you'll be delicious" as my smile widens into a Cheshire grin.

"Are you, now?" he asks softly, his eyes meeting mine as his own wicked grin spreads across his lips. They look almost wet in the firelight.

I swallow. "Are you flirting with me?"

"With a married woman? Never!" he looks positively aghast.
And I can't help it. I laugh, and I don't stop when Dakara gives me an odd look. Roze grins back at me conspiratorially, and I find that I don't at all mind the fact that I'm sharing a tent with him and Kaza O'utena tonight. I'll sleep beside them more soundly than I sleep beside my own husband.

I look up, away from Roze, my face flushed. The stars stretch lazily above us, diamonds embedded in night's rich velvet, and I feel I could pull them over me like a blanket to warm me as I sleep beneath their cold light.

For the first time in a long time, I actually feel free.

"How many guards are positioned at the northwest gate?"

"Seven?" I hazard.

"Trick question, dizsariza. There is no northwest gate," Roze sighs. He only calls me by the nickname when no one else is close enough to hear it. Given my temperament, the only person who doesn't mind riding close to us is Kaza, and it's nice to use the four days of travel to catch up with my one, well, friend. Kaza has been kind to me, even if I'll never entirely forgive him for his loyalty to Sholu.

I've got no room to judge, though, do I? I've been in his bed three times now, and he never held a gun to my head. Well, twice in his bed and once in Somitu's old office. I blush at the memory of just how wanton I was, how desperate.

We're not lovers. We're wolves, and we're hungry.

"I'm done with Chalnori trivia, Roze," I sigh. He's been badgering me with it worse than Sholu ever did for the past four days. "I am not going to learn anything between here and the city gate, which I can see clearly in the distance, by the way, that will drastically change my approach or color my perception of this noraya."

He sighs back. "You're right. You're also really bad at trivia."

"I got most of the questions right, asshole!"
"Still not convinced you didn't write down notes in the margins of South of Sin," he mumbles. I broke and read another one of Roze's goddess-damned romances. It was awful. I loved it.

"Just be careful, alright?" he says, dead serious for once. "Jana Semiroth is very different from Sholu Verlaina, but he's still a nordeme. He is ruthless, he is rich, and he plays with people like they're pieces on a board. Nothing he does is by chance, however casual or innocent it might appear. Everything has a purpose. Don't forget that."

"I won't, dad," I snark.

Roze cuts his eyes at me. "We both know I'm not your fucking father, O'otani."

I color slightly and look away, towards the city slowly appearing on the horizon, growing closer with each plodding step of our sevve.

Alu Oshana is a walled city, much like Arzsa, so we won't really see what it's like until we get past the curling iron gates. It looks imposing, though, the walls higher than those of the capitol, with far more guards standing out front.

"Our welcome party, I presume," Roze grins. "Don't kill anyone if you can help it."

"Don't kill anyone, period," Manit corrects. "Best behavior, all of you. No bullshit. That means you, too, Dizsa."

"Shut the fuck up, Revanas," I growl, but there's not much bite to it. I'm too distracted by the approaching city and all it entails. Part of me is glad we've finally arrived because it means food, rest, and hopefully a warm bath. The other part of me wants to stay on the damn horse because I'm riding to war. With words, not swords and daggers, but still.

Or war is riding to me, I correct as two figures break away from the pack and approach us. They meet us halfway to the city gates, stopping their sevve close enough to us to speak but far enough away that weapons won't easily reach.

The first rider looks like a weapon himself. He's huge, his neck easily as thick around as my waist, and his muscles look as if they were hewn from rock. His eyes are Harrowin gold, his hair a mess of rich honey tied back with a leather cord. Darker stubble dapples his strong jaw. His nose, which is too big for his face, is crooked from an old break, and there are no less than seven knives strapped to his heavily tattooed arms. He's exactly what I expect a member of the Chalnori noraya to be.

The woman beside him, though, is a little more unexpected. She's tall and well-muscled, with waves upon waves of dark hair and piercing green eyes. Tiny braids and beads are woven into what I can only call her mane, many of them solid gold and glinting with precious gems. Her nose is pierced by a series of small golden rings, a thin chain connecting them to her intricate ear cuff. The sides of her head are shaved slightly, and she's got earrings longer than most necklaces trailing down her shoulders. Her horse is outfitted with bells that ring sweetly as she approaches.

Her clothing is fine, but foreign, as is her dark skin. Chalnori trivia has paid off, because I know exactly who she is. Jana Semiroth's second in command, the youngest daughter of a wealthy Macchonese pirate-baron with a reputation for utter ruthlessness.

"Welcome to Alu Oshana," the woman says, and there are bells in her voice as well. "I'm Isarhet Ysibra, the nordeme's second. This is Hevorah Nikisa, his first lieutenant."

I sit up straighter in my jewel-studded saddle and smile like Somitu smiled. Polite and magnanimous, but very far away. Not quite condescending, not quite imperious, but halfway to both, certainly. "I am Dizsa O'otani Koritzu Verlaina. I'd say you have a lovely city, but it's blocked by the damn wall. Let's go inside, shall we?"

Isarhet grins at me. Her front tooth is covered in gold and she's entirely missing one canine. "Straight and to the point. We can work with that."

"I imagine you can and will work with whatever we provide, Second" I reply casually, "given our standing. You're addressing the queen of Shikkah and her guard, after all."

Her smile flickers. "Funny. Alu Oshana already has a queen. Her name is-"

"Floryn Prosana, yes, I know. Will she be joining us?"
"Soon," Isarhet promises. Then she's not looking at me, but past me, and her entire body stiffens. "It looks like someone else is about to join us as well," she says, and when I turn and follow her gaze, I see a sevve in full gallop across the dunes, a small figure clinging to its back. Weapons are immediately drawn and my guard surround me as we wait for a tense moment to see who's followed us and what they want.

"Are you expecting a late addition to your party?"
"We are not," I admit.

Hevorah nods, then turns to Isarhet and remarks sagely, "shoot first, ask questions later."

"Wait," Roze breathes out incredulously. "Is that Kazril fucking Ysana?"

I frown. "What is she doing here?"

"She's riding towards us like her life depends on it," Kaza murmurs. "Something must have happened in Arzsa and she's delivering a message."

"They wouldn't send a fourteen-year-old girl to carry a message, O'utena," Manit corrects.

"They would if she was the only one left."

Before I can comment on that apocalyptic prophesy, she's on us, drawing her sevve to a clumsy stop next to Kaza and speaking so fast and so breathlessly none of us understand her at first.

We eventually decode her answers well enough to realize what's going on.

Who sent you? No one. Who knows you're here? No one. Why are you here? I wanted to meet the Pirazarin.

At that last admission, Isarhet laughs musically. "Now, that's one I haven't heard before. Someone who comes running towards the Pirazarin instead of away. Don't you know we're bloodthirsty killers, girl?"
"Maybe I want to be a bloodthirsty killer, too," Kazril gushes. "Like you. And the Dizsa," she adds on as an afterthought.

"Is the Dizsa a bloodthirsty killer, then?" Isarhet asks xin a deceptively sweet voice, her eyes sharp.

"Oh, yes."

Isarhet grins. "Then she's in good company."

"So, who's taking the kid back?" Emris, one of the few guards whose names I've managed to remember, asks.

"She came here on her own, let her return on her own," another guard grumbles irascibly.

"Lethri, don't be a dick," a third chides. "We can't send a Lady to ride five days across the desert on a tired-out sevve alone."

"Then let's buy her a damn horse and send her on her merry way. We're entering Alu Oshana and we need every man we have. We can't spare one to act as a damn babysitter to a willful brat."

"You need every man you have because we are untrustworthy and vicious, yes?" Hevorah asks tartly. It's the first time he's spoken and his voice is a rich, deep bass.

The guard's cheeks color. "I- no. That is not what I meant at all. If I somehow gave offense-"

"Don't torture the poor thing, Hevah," Isarhet sighs sympathetically. "Look at him choke and sputter, and you so cruelly looking on! My dear man," she says diplomatically, turning to the guard with a warm smile, "you gave no offense. Truly."

"Oh. Well, good, then," he returns awkwardly.

But Isarhet isn't done. "You gave no offense because you spoke the truth. You will need all of your men this day. This is not your city, it is ours, and if you are not well prepared when you enter, you might never leave." She punctuates her threat with a beatific smile.

"As for the girl," she tacks on, "let her come with us. If she's brave and foolish enough to cross five days of desert alone to meet with an exiled Pirazarin, she deserves at least an audience and a good meal."

Isarhet and Hevorah lead us through the gates and into Alu Oshana. I look around, drinking in the strange city. And it is strange. Like Arzsa, it's walled, though it's much smaller than the capitol. But Arzsa has a logic to it that this place lacks entirely. The streets are numerous and chaotic, and they tangle over each other like snakes in a nest. Several seem like they're going somewhere before randomly ending in a blind alley or, in one case, running straight into another building.

The city walls limit the ability to build out, so instead, Alu Oshana has built up. Most of the buildings are terraced and the spires of slender towers peak out shyly above flat roofs. The river Imer roars straight through the middle of town, far wilder than I'm used to, and a series of ramshackle bridges span the roiling waters. A market sprawls across the west bank and I nearly go deaf as we walk by the venders loudly hawking their wares.

Then we're led to the strangest building of all. Alu Oshana is made of messy, hard edges and looks completely unplanned. The architecture is relatively simple. This building, though, is a work of art, all sensuous, curving lines and vibrant colors. The roof is a rich red, the walls a lattice of light and dark wood that looks almost checkered. Wooden buildings in Shikkah are rare and expensive; raw lumber isn't exactly abundant in the desert. The curled edges of the roof are plated with metal, probably copper, that glitters brilliantly when the sun hits it. It's beautiful, and strange, and completely unexpected. Like it was stolen from another place and time and brought here.

Isarhet must notice us staring. "It's built in the Macchonesi style," she explains. "I didn't leave Macchon by choice. I was exiled, and for a long time, I missed it so badly I ached. The nordeme had this built so I'd feel at home here, too."

"That was kind of him."

She nods. "If you're good to Jana Semiroth, Jana Semiroth is good to you. It is simple."

"Will the nordeme be joining us soon?" I ask as we walk inside and sit down on plush floor pillows made of jewel-toned fabric.

"Oh, yes," a soft, lilting voice answers. I turn and see a woman standing to our left, smiling beatifically. She's tall and willowy, her limbs long, her features delicate. As she walks towards us, I'm struck by her undeniable elegance. Her face is heart-shaped and small, making her look younger than she is, but her brown eyes are bright with intelligence below a coronet of golden hair. Her smile is as soft as her lavender gown, which flows over her slender frame like water before ending in a pool at her feet. Somehow, she doesn't trip, just drags the silk train behind her like a retinue.

"You must forgive him for not being here to greet you himself," she says, the force of the command lost in her soft tone. "We didn't expect you for another two days, so when one of our riders spotted a qistri, he joined the hunt. He assumed he'd be back in plenty of time, but you know how men are. So easily distracted when blood and sport come into play."

The qistri is a solitary creature that looks like a small coyote crossed with a hare. Its coat is a dusty brown, but during the mating season, the male's tails turn vibrant shades of orange and red. They're hunted for sport, not meat, and that brightly colored tale is the prized trophy. Qistri are rare, so if one is spotted, it can become quite the affair.

We certainly didn't arrive ahead of schedule, though, courtesy of Dakara's demand for frequent breaks. And I don't believe for a second that Jana Semiroth just got caught up hunting; he's as elusive as the qistri because he wants to be. He's letting us know in no uncertain terms that, whatever our titles may be, this is his city. He'll meet with us when he damn well pleases and not a moment sooner. Until then, we wait.

And while we wait, Isarhet, Hevorah, and Floryn will be watching and listening. I have no illusions; every impression they form of us, from our strengths and weaknesses to our group dynamics, will be shared eagerly with the nordeme the second we're out of earshot. If we grow bored and careless and something interesting slips into our conversation, well, that's even better. They're letting us know we're not in control of this situation, and they're giving us time and space to be fools.

We won't be. I hope.

"My Lady," Hevorah intones solemnly, dropping to his knee and bowing his head in deference. It's a strange sight, the behemoth with a whole armory of knives strapped to his tattooed arms lowering himself in front of a woman who looks for all her grace like little more than a girl. Isarhet copies him, falling to one knee and bowing her head before the woman who can only be their nordizsa. Their queen.

"This, honored guests," Isarhet announces, her eyes locked on the woman with unnerving intensity, "is the nordizsa of the Chalnori noraya, the bright flower of Alu Oshana, Floryn Prosana." Hearing this, my guards give small but respectful bows in her direction. Only I refrain; I will greet her with a handshake or a smile, not a supplication, however slight it may be. We are equals.

"My Lady Floryn," Isarhet continues, still kneeling, "this is-"

"O'otani Koritzu Verlaina, the dizsa of Shikkah, now and hereafter," Roze Marithan intones solemnly before Isarhet can finish her sentence. Gone is the laughing man who loves love stories, and in his place is a courtier and soldier dedicated to his queen. The conviction in his voice is staggering, and I can only hope it's not misplaced.

"I am so pleased to finally meet you," Floryn says with a gracious smile. "Now, you two, please stand up. I know it's protocol, but I don't like you on your knees before me. You're my comrades, not my vassals."

"You like me on my knees plenty, Flor," Isarhet replies huskily, her eyes full of a burning intensity. I start, shocked at what I'm hearing, then chide myself for having my mind in the gutter. It's all Roze Marithan's doing, clearly; him and his stupid books. Because there's absolutely no way the nordeme's second made such an obvious innuendo about his wife in front of powerful strangers. I'm merely imagining that heated look, and the shiver that races down Floryn's back as Isarhet stands up and walks- stalks, really- towards her.

But I'm not imagining anything when Isarhet sweeps lithe Floryn into her arms, studying her face for a moment before grabbing the back of her braided crown and crushing their lips together. Floryn gives a surprised squeak, but Isarhet won't be refused, and soon they're kissing like they're starving for each other. I stand there, slack jawed, before I remember myself and compose my features back into a pleasant mask.

"Missed you," Floryn chokes out. "Missed you, Issi."

"Of course you did," Isarhet purrs, capturing Floryn's rosy lips in another bruising kiss before she's finally content to end the embrace, coming to stand beside Floryn like a guard.

The nordizsa, for all her grace, stumbles slightly when Isarhet steps away. Her lips and cheeks are flushed similar shades of pink and her eyes are blown wide with lust that she quickly tamps down, her blush deepening as she tucks a few stray strands of honey colored hair behind her ears.

The moment Isarhet looks away from Floryn, all of the softness leaks from her eyes. There's something cynical and discerning left behind as she watches my men and I, judging our reactions to the display. And I'm struck by the oddest emotion: respect.

Nothing is an accident, don't forget that, Roze said. And he's right. That wasn't a moment of passion breaking through protocol; that was Isarhet exploiting an existing relationship to shock and destabilize us. No, I correct myself; to shock and destabilize me. She knows I'm dimarastisi; I come from a world where kissing in public is vulgar and passionate embraces between women practically unthinkable. She's testing my flexibility and my tact, and she's showing me just how out of my element I am. How foreign this city is despite being firmly on Shikkan soil.

Isarhet smirks at me, a challenge in her eyes and the tilt of her mocking smile. This is not your world, little queen, her look seems to say. I don't mind the epithet on Roze's laughing lips, but I find I very much mind it in Isarhet Ysibra's eyes. You can't run with the wolves, her gaze promises me. We will eat you alive.

So, I do the only thing I can think of. I turn to Roze Marithan, grip him by his silk tunic, and crush my mouth to his in a violent kiss. He goes stiff with shock, but quickly relaxes and returns my kiss. A heartbeat later, he's seizing control. Suddenly it's his tongue in my mouth, his hand gripping the back of my neck. I wonder if he's realized the game we're playing or if he just likes kissing me.

When we break away from each other, the guards look at us like we've gone insane. I could rip off my clothes and run screaming through the streets of Alu Oshana and shock them less. They know Sholu is singularly possessive, and they know he's kept me like a pet, or a prized trophy on a shelf. Now I'm his wife, and here I am, kissing another man like my life depends on it. Because it just might.

Isarhet is right: if I can't run with the wolves, I'll be eaten alive. If I can't find a way to step out of my husband's shadow, I will drown in his light, and no one will ever see me as anything more than his consort. But every bit of power I take, every bond I make, can be forged into a weapon. And maybe, just maybe, that weapon will one day cut the ties that bind us, and I'll actually be free.

I know for a fact that Sholu will hear about this the second we return. I have no doubt he'll be pissed as fuck. I also know I don't give a damn.