Page 65 of To Dance with Death

A shrug. “For all I know, you are plotting some grand betrayal with them. A way to rob me of this kingdom, too.”

“I don’t think that’s actually possible,” I offer up, grabbing for a pillow to clutch over my stomach. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to take this kingdom from you; I’d much rather see you on the throne you were born for. You were a good king. I admired you very much.”

He stretches, then leans back. “Maybe you are telling the truth. But I’ve learned that one should be wary of anyone who wants something from you.”

“By that logic, then, I should be wary ofyou.”

“You absolutely should,” he agrees, smiling down at his lap.

It’s that look, that sheepish expression, that lends me to say, softly, “Anton…”

As if I could summon him back to me by shoving every ounce of what I feel for him into the two syllables that make his name.

At the sound, his eyes reconnect with mine.

“I don’t want anything from you,” I tell him. “There are questions I would like to ask you, certainly, but beyond that…” I spread my hands, my voice thin. “There’s nothing I seek—beyond wishing that our lands would not succumb to war.”

At that, he scoffs. “Having a difficult time keeping the leash on power, are they? Is my country on the brink of a civil war so soon?” He reaches down to scratch Ishu’s ears. “You know what, don’t tell me. I find I don’t care.”

It’s a lie; I can see it on his face. Even so, I hate Moranya forthis—for souring him of any love he felt. Because the Anton I knew would sacrifice over and over for those he loved, and that included his people.

If I could just…wake him up. Remind him of who he is, of what’s at stake…

Once again, I test the bounds of the curse, relieved when it lets me say, “Not only that, Sire. Brisendale readies to attack.” I try to mention my father. I don’t know whether Anton knows about his rise to power or not—or what he thinks happened, for that matter, beyond his misbelief about Sadira and Gustav. Either way, though, I’m unable to put voice to it. Instead I say, “Do you not care? Are you not concerned for your people?”

“There is no war here,” he says, his nonchalance back intact. “Besides, those you worry for will end up here in time regardless. Sooner, if war breaks out.”

I open my mouth to point out how very backward this place is, but I decide it isn’t the time or place. While I am not willing to bed him, I need to win him over—at least enough for him to trust me. To tell me things.

It means I can’t let my frustration get the better of me.

“Consider staying here,” he says.

“What?” I ask. “You mean, take your hand?”

“Moranya’s,” he clarifies. “But yes. I would make you an Exalted regardless of her ruling. It would save you the pain of actually dying, of seeing your world suffer.”

I glance at him. His offer is more tempting than he can know.

Except Moranya would never let me stay near him. Not when she realizes I’m trying to take him from her. And I, in turn, would never give him up, because dying would mean that, in time, I might no longer care. Neither of us would return home after that, and he would never take his rightful place.

I will not let her win.

But I take it for the opening it is. “There’s much I want to know about this place, and about Moranya, before I choose to stay.”

“If this is to be your final destination in the end, what difference does it make?”

“Time makes all the difference in the world, Majesty,” I say. “It is the most precious of belongings, no? Time affords us the ability to make moments and memories that shape us to our very selves. I might return to a world of pain, but I wouldn’t want to miss out on all the things I want to do before I die.”

Again he swirls the wine in his glass. “Are you so sure I can’t grant your desires here in Moranya’s Lair? What is it you want to do, exactly?”

“That is an answer you will have to earn, Sire.”

“And how would I earn such a thing?”

“Answer my questions. I want to understand this place. I want to know what Moranya is really like if I’m to consider your offer to stay.”

He studies me over the rim of his glass, and I fear he’ll see through me in all the same ways he did before.