Beyond the Red (16 page)

The little girl beams. “
El ljma si
Uljia d’Elja.” She says each word carefully, like she practiced them separately when learning how to introduce herself.

I smile softly. “Uljia. That’s a very pretty name.”

Uljia giggles.

“Kora,” Eros says stiffly. “We
really
should go.”

I dare a glance back to see what he’s looking at, and my breath catches. The street behind us is packed with people. Where they appeared from is beyond me, but most of them don’t look pleased to see us.

Uljia runs away, darting into the crowd. Everyone is watching me, expecting me to say something, do something. But what is there for me to say? Words alone can’t make this better—what do they expect me to do?

“I’m going to fix this,” I say, but my voice sounds weak, even to me. I clear my throat, take a breath, and pull back my shoulders. “I’ve let this go on for too long, and for that I take responsibility. But I won’t let this continue. I’m going to fix this.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd and people turn away, shaking their heads as they return to wherever they came from. The crowd is dissipating and the disappointment in their eyes is a hot brand of failure burning me from the inside out; it’s a weight settling on my shoulders, pulling me to the Void.

“I promise you!” I say desperately as they walk away, muttering to themselves. “Vejla won’t go on like this—I’ll restore this city to the way it was!”

“
Naï,
” a wrinkled man with silver hair says, shaking his head as he turns away. “You won’t be on the throne long enough.”

The dust and stench of the city sticks to me like a second skin. Anja’s eyes widen when Eros and I enter the palace and stalk past her. She mentions something about preparing a bath and runs off, but I have more important things to do than get clean right now.

I need to speak to my brother.

I never would have chosen Dima to be my second—the person who was supposed to be my most trusted advisor—had it not been the final thing father asked of me before the attack on my coronation killed him and Mamae. My brother is far from the ideal candidate—he’s always wanted the throne for himself. He’s always resented me for leaving the womb minutes before him ever since he knew what it meant—that I would hold the crown, and he would watch.

My dear, sweet brother has never forgiven me for being born first. But despite the uneasy feeling I had, even as I spoke the words, I couldn’t bear to dishonor Father’s last request.

So now, with a formulating plan and the echo of Vejla fresh in my mind, I have to depend on the person I trust the least to make sure changes are made immediately to our capital. I march through the twisting hallways, up and down sets of steps, beyond the dining hall and throne room, preparing myself for the argument that is surely awaiting me. Because even if Dima agrees with my plan, he’ll argue just for the sake of arguing and not feeling subordinate, pleasant boy that he is.

I reach his bedroom doors and don’t bother knocking—he doesn’t extend me that courtesy, so why should I extend it to him? I push through the double doors and waltz into his room, inhaling as I prepare for my speech.

And my breath catches in my throat.

Because my brother is tangled in the silky black sheets of his bed, and tangled with him is not a servant or a pretty girl from the city.

It’s Jarek.

I choke on absolutely nothing as Dima bolts upright, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. He pushes Jarek off so quickly that the larger man nearly tumbles off the bed, and he jumps to his feet. My brother is flushed, and naked, and there’s no question as to what I just walked in on.

“I apologize,” I blurt out, stepping back so quickly that I knock into Eros. “I didn’t realize—I’ll go. It can wait until—”

Dima screams and lunges toward me. The sound is so raw, so angry, it’s nearly animalistic, and though I know I should move, my legs are anchored to the tile. Someone rushes into me and spins me around, wrapping their strong arms around me, and it’s not Dima.

Eros. Eros has grabbed me. And I can’t think. I can’t breathe. My brother is screaming behind us and I can’t make out what he’s saying and it sounds like he might be sobbing, but I don’t understand what is happening, I don’t understand why I’m so cold or why my brother just tried to attack me or why he hasn’t reached us.

I peer over Eros’s shoulder and my gut twists; a prickling heat spills over the chill in my bones. Dima has collapsed on the floor and Jarek has him locked in his arms—though whether to comfort him or hold him back, I can’t tell.

“Dima,” I say, and Eros’s grip loosens just enough for me to break free. “Dima, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter, I won’t say anything if you don’t want me—”

“GET OUT!” Dima screams.

Two words. Two words rip through me and set my soul on fire. Eros grabs my arm and pulls me out, and I think he’s saying something, but all I hear are my brother’s sobs as the doors close behind us.

“Dima will never forgive me for this.”

Iro hops on the bed next to me, making the bed sway as he curls up around me and rests his head on my lap, purring deep in his throat. Eros sits on the opposite end of my bed, legs crossed beneath him, and rests his arms on his knees.

“Okay, well he obviously didn’t want you to find out like that—”

“You mean at all.”

“—but as long as you keep their secret, it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”

I shake my head and run my fingers through Iro’s soft fur. “It wasn’t my secret to keep to begin with. He clearly didn’t want
anyone
to know, let alone me.”

Eros sighs and runs a hand over his skull. “I don’t see what the big deal is. So he likes men, and he and Jarek are apparently together. And?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Is that not a matter of significance with your people?”

He shrugs. “It’s not
encouraged
, since we’re trying to grow our numbers, but it’s not discouraged, either. You can’t change who you are, and if it makes you happy … why not?”

I sigh and trace patterns into Iro’s fur. “It doesn’t bother
me
, particularly, but most Eljans won’t stand for it. That’s not the case everywhere, of course—in Daïvi, Kel’al, and A’Sharo, for example,
lijarae
are completely accepted—but here in Elja, they aren’t accepted or respected. If they—or,
Kala
forbid, the council—were to learn of Dima’s preferences, he’d likely lose his position.”

Eros frowns. “You can’t help who you fall in love with.”

“I know,” I say softly. “And I’m so sorry for Dima that he has to hide it. But try explaining that to Elja.”

“Well … at least he has you supporting him.”

I bite my lip and clench my fingers in Iro’s fur. But I don’t have to answer, because the truth we both know echoes back at me from Eros’s face.

My support for Dima won’t be enough for him to forgive this. Nothing will.

It takes me a while to fall asleep, but when I do, I wish I hadn’t.

I’m on my bed and
he
is with me. Not Eros. Midos.

His lips are on my neck as he traces the pattern of
Kala
’s mark with his tongue. I grip his long dark hair in my fist and pull him harder against me as his left hand traces my side, slowly sliding lower. My heart races as his kisses work down to my breasts and he sucks softly on the smooth skin there.

“Midos,” I gasp as his fingers slide up my skirt and trace the markings on my thigh.

He pauses his kisses to look up at me, his dark eyes glistening. “You’re beautiful,” he says, but I can’t focus on anything except the way his fingers slowly slide higher and lower on my inner thigh, teasing me.

I shudder and press closer to him and he smiles softly. “It’s a shame,” he murmurs between kisses as he works his way back up until his lips are a breath away from mine.

His hair tickles my cheek as I whisper, “What’s a shame?”

Midos’s hand moves up to my scarred shoulder and he caresses it softly, running his fingers over the ugly pink skin. “I think we could’ve been happy.”

I frown. “You don’t think we’ll be happy?”

“Well, it’s a little hard to be happy when you’re dead.”

My heart jolts as ice trickles down my spine. “Dead? Midos, I’m sure you’ll live a long and healthy life …”

There’s something wrong with the smile that splits his face. “Oh, I might,” he says. “But you won’t.”

That’s when I see the dagger.

My eyes snap open and my heart is in my throat. I’m shivering and every part of me is frozen, waiting for the knife to come down, searching the shadows for another threat.

But nothing’s there, and I’m safe and alive. For now.

I sit up and pull the covers up to my chin, inhaling deeply through my nose as I steady my heart. Eros shifts beside me and twists to face me. His eyes are heavy with sleep as he blinks slowly through the darkness.

“Are you all right?” he mumbles in a low, groggy voice.

I nod, but I’m lying. I shouldn’t have to lie; I
should
be fine—it was just a nightmare, albeit a nightmare based off a terrible memory. But I’m not a child—I should be able to handle night terrors on my own, without looking for someone to comfort me.

Especially not Eros. Especially not the half-blood who is here under oath, who even in different circumstances would never be an option. This here—sharing a bed with him, turning to him in the night when the terrors keep me awake—this isn’t right. This isn’t normal. This is not the way queens behave with their bodyguards, nor guards with their queens. This is not the way Sepharon behave with half-bloods, nor half-bloods with Sepharon.

And yet when Eros extends an arm and nods at me, I don’t want to refuse.

So I don’t. I slip right into place at his side, his heart beating against my ear. He shifts the blankets to keep me covered, wedging the fabric between us so the only skin-on-skin contact is my cheek on his chest and his arm around my shoulders, but it’s enough. Tonight, it’s all I need.

His warmth envelops me, and the echo of his steady heart and the smooth scent of his skin lulls me back to sleep.