A fresh wave of guilt pounding down on him, Urhi-Teshub looked back at the city, catching sight of the morning sun gleaming against the golden pillar of Teshub's temple. He should not  have left Istara alone on their wedding night. He could have gone to her apartment and remained in one of the other rooms, sending her to their bed, alone.

Instead, he had chosen to go the stables and sleep among the horses, where he knew no one would find him until morning. He sighed, tired of the circular route his thinking had been taking ever since he had woken. No, he had done the right thing. He had had enough sense to know if he had gone to her filled with wine, he would have taken her.

But to leave, disobeying even his father's command to remain, was too much. His father would not forgive him for this, not even if Urhi-Teshub reclaimed Nerik. He should go back, not just for his father, but for Istara. He could not leave her like this, drowning in humiliation before the whole empire. He had to try to make amends.

He pulled on the horses' reins, slowing them to a walk. It wasn't too late, he could still turn back. His men murmured behind him, hopeful. There were still two more weeks of feasts and celebrations planned. They wanted to be in Tarhuntassa, carousing, not traveling back to the mountains to continue the endless fight for Nerik. He gave in to his conscience, and called out the order to return, pushing his horses as hard as they could go, their leather-clad hooves pounding up the streets of the still-sleeping city until he burst through the gates of the royal citadel into the deserted palace square.

Stripping the reins from his arms, ignoring the banter of his men goading him on, he strode toward the queen's residence. He may never take his wife to his bed, but this much he would promise her: no matter what it cost him, he would never hurt her again.

❃

Istara stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face betraying the hard evidence of her weeping. Her eyes, swollen and puffy, gazed back at her, empty. She shivered, feeling as though the sun had fled from her inner world, leaving her lost in a realm of shadows.

She took in the luxury surrounding her, the opulence of Hatti's wealth satisfying her every need. Every need, except one. How long could she hide here, refusing to leave her rooms before the king ordered her out? A week? A month? A year? Forever?

Naked, she sank onto the divan, watching the linen hangings around her bed drift in the morning breeze, the air already warm. Listless, she followed their movements, thinking of nothing, grateful for the reprieve. Anash crept over and pressed her nose against her knee.

The door opened. Istara closed her eyes, willing whoever had invaded her sanctuary to leave.

"Istara . . . "

She scoffed. Now she was imagining his voice. A creak of leather. The familiar scent of soap and horses. Fingertips, tough with calluses, touched her jaw. She opened her eyes, wary.

Urhi-Teshub knelt before her, his eyes dark with remorse. "I beg you. Forgive me," he murmured. "I should not have left you alone last night."

Her heart cold, she looked at him, feeling nothing. So, he had returned, but it was too late. He had already broken her heart, shaming her before the entire city. She saw concern flicker in his eyes. He leaned toward her, watching her.

"Istara? Can you hear me?"

Anger, hot and bitter bloomed in her chest. She pressed her lips together and looked away, unwilling to give him what he wished for, his absolution. From the corner of her eye, she saw him petting Anash, distracted.

"You are angry with me, and I deserve it," he hesitated as he broached the subject, cautious. "But I could not come to you last night, full of wine. I would have taken you, blind with lust. It would have been worse after. Ah! I do not expect you to understand--" Agitated, he rose and paced to the terrace doors. He pulled one of them open. Sunlight flooded in, and a rush of clean air drove the staleness from the room. He looked back at her, his gaze flicking over the contours of her body, then away. "In only two months I have been expected to see you not as the child I knew for four years, whom I cherished as my own sister, whom I swore I would protect to the death--"

Istara laughed, hollow. "How you cling to the past, even when the past is long gone. Tanu-Hepa is right. You are stubborn." She stood up and walked over to him, bathed in the sun's golden light. "Look at me. I am a woman and have been for the last three years, thinking of you, longing for you. But it is over. You no longer need torment yourself for my sake. Your message yesterday was effective. For the first time since our binding, I feel nothing for you."

"No," he cried out, anguished. "This is not what I want, either. I would not have you indifferent to me. It would be unbearable."

"The crown prince has had everything his way all his life," Istara said, cold. "Taking women and casting them aside when they are of no more interest, disposable things, without feelings, existing solely for his pleasure. And so it has been with me, you knew I loved you, but you put your selfish, noble reasons before my heart and now you cannot accept what you have wrought. I am not a toy, nor were any of the other women you have dallied with. All of us, every one of us have feelings. Even as a child, I could see Adar had feelings for you, yet you forgot about her in the blink of an eye."

"Those women are courtesans and whores," Urhi-Teshub shrugged, dismissive, "it is not the same--"

"And yet, we are all women," Istara interrupted, "so it is the same."

Comprehension spread, slow, across his face. He sank onto a chair. "And so it is," he murmured, "I treat my horses better than this."

She did not answer him, instead, she picked up the ruined shift and dropped it into his lap. Stricken, he lifted it up, running his fingers over the torn embroidery, trying to bring the sundered flowers and bees back together.

"Even if you decide you wish to have me, you never will." She went and stood by the open door to the terrace, letting the sun warm her body. "I belong to Baalat now."

He looked up from the rent shift; his eyes met hers, hard, determined. "I admit I have done great wrong, but in this one thing I will not concede defeat." He looked her over, this time taking his fill of her. "Seeing you before me like this, not only beautiful, but intelligent and wise, it is fast becoming difficult for me to see the child anymore."

Istara folded her arms across her breasts, annoyed by his assumption he could change his mind and she would come running to him.

"Before our wedding," he continued, dogged, "the queen advised me to spend time with you, but I would not listen. Now, far too late, I see you are a woman, both in body and mind." He left the chair and knelt before her. "I swear I will right my wrong and give you reason to love me again. May Teshub strike me down if I fail."

She stared at him, unmoved. "Then it is your god against mine."

His eyes darkened. "So be it," he retorted, rising to his feet, still holding the shift in his hand. "However long it will take, I will make this right. Until then, I vow there will never be another woman for me."

"As you wish," Istara snapped, irritated. "But do not fool yourself into thinking your sacrifice will win my heart, for I will never love again. I have learned the cost is too great."

"No," he breathed, taking a step toward her. "I pray you are speaking in anger. I could not bear to bequeath such a lonely existence to you. If you will not love me, then perhaps one day you will love another, you should not have to carry the burden of my crime to your grave."

Aghast, she stared at him. "You would permit your wife to love another?"

"If it somehow brought you back to me, yes. I have brought this on to us, why should I not suffer for it as well?"

Istara scoffed. "You have lost your senses. You cannot mean what you are saying."

"Then you do not know me," he replied, quiet. "Whatever it takes. I will make this right, even if I must lose you to another first."

Istara glared at him, disbelieving. He held her gaze, unflinching. "You would kill him," she spat, scornful.

"I swear I will not," he answered, steady. "We are bound before the gods. Nothing can break our bond, not even the love of another. The only thing I fear is what I am capable of doing to you myself."

When she said nothing, he went to the door, cradling her ruined shift in his hands. He paused, giving her the chance to stop him.

She turned her back, and let him go.