In a person's life, moments slip by in the thousands like grains of sand through an hourglass, few of them remarkable. The days pass by, minute by minute, hour by hour, grain by grain, with the focus ever on the future: finish this, plan for that, save those worries for tomorrow.

Every now and then, however, one of those moments will catch, will hold, and a universe will unfold in the space of a breath. Such was the moment when Matei leaned in to kiss Mhera.

The secret she had spoken of, which weighed on her conscience and kept her from sleep, was this: she loved him.

She loved him, and she had no idea how to tell him when she knew he did not and could not love her. As she sat for breathless seconds, torn between leaving his room and staying as he'd asked, she had tried to work up the courage to tell him. There would be a relief in unburdening herself, but she was terrified of changing the way things were between them.

This was no girlhood infatuation, no tentative courtship. She and Matei were triply bound: as co-rulers of the realm, as blood-bound companions, and as husband and wife. Were she to damage the way things were between them, she would make of their complex relationship something unbearably awkward and difficult. It was not a change to be wrought lightly, not a secret to be unthinkingly revealed.

And yet, the way he had spoken had given her a wild, desperate hope that perhaps he felt the same. And so she had closed her eyes, her pulse racing, only half sure what she was doing or what she expected.

It was foolish. She knew it. But the hope lodged itself in her throat, preventing her from speaking, from breathing, even, and before she could change her mind, she felt his lips on hers.

The emotion that swept over her was painful in its urgency and unbearably sweet. Before she could think how to properly respond, Matei's hand had come to rest on her cheek. His fingers slid back into her hair; cupping her head, he broke the kiss, but he did not move away. For a moment they sat, eyes closed, foreheads gently touching.

Mhera raised her hand, her fingers coming to rest on Matei's forearm. She dared to open her eyes, and when she did, she saw his eyes still closed, his lips slightly parted, and the unsteady rhythm of his breath tickled her cheek. There were words somewhere, things she might say to express affection, or apology, or hope, but before her mind could settle on a course of action, her heart moved her body, and she leaned in to kiss him again.

His response was immediate and tender, and it stole her breath away. That moment spun on, an eternity of perfect bliss, and the world outside that private room was forgotten.

When at last they broke the kiss again, she could not help but smile. She caught his eye, and he smiled too, an expression that lit up his face and made her heart sing.

"Thank the goddess for that," Matei whispered. He continued, and Mhera spoke at the same time, so that they stumbled over one another.

"I didn't know—"

"I had thought—I was afraid—"

Mhera fell silent, and so did he, but it was not an awkward silence; it was a comfortable moment of quiet, a moment of understanding. Then, Mhera asked, "Why didn't you tell me, Matei?"

He shook his head, still grinning. "I could ask you the same thing. It was...complicated."

Mhera turned her head, unthreading his fingers from her hair with the motion, and kissed his palm. "Now I feel like a fool."

"I do, too. Yet neither of us should feel foolish. This was a risk."

"But we're of a mind?"

In response, he leaned in again, touching his lips to the corner of her smiling mouth. "Tell me your mind, and let's see if we are," he said.

Despite the promise in his kiss and in his words, anxiety rose again in Mhera's heart. She pulled away from Matei, but kept her hold on his hand. It was not an easy thing to tell him how she felt, even after such a tender moment. When she looked into his eyes, though, she saw a warmth there that soothed her nerves, lending her the bravery to speak. "Matei, I love you."

He lifted their linked hands and laid his cheek against her knuckles. "Then we are of a mind, because I love you, Mhera. I had thought to live my life without ever saying those words."

"You never would have spoken?"

"You said you never wanted a husband. How could I have told you what I felt and risked our friendship?"

The truth behind his silence made Mhera love him more. He would have lived at her side, content with having her for a friend and a partner, and suffered silently for her sake. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, letting her head come to rest on his shoulder. Sliding his arms around her waist, Matei kissed her hair.

"I feel like I have been granted a gift I never deserved," she whispered.

"Never deserved?" he echoed. "Mhera, you deserve every happiness in this world. If you deign to love me, unworthy as I am, it's I who have been blessed."

They held one another, and in the comfort of her husband's embrace, Mhera felt whole. At length, she drew back from him, not without reluctance, and looked up at his face. Much had changed in the course of the evening, but now the hour was very late, and she was worried Matei might expect something she was yet unready to give him.

Matei smiled at her, seeming to perceive her discomfort. "It's all right, Mhera," he said.

"What?"

"It's all right. You can go back to your room, if you want to."

She hesitated. "I want this," she murmured. "I hope you trust that I do."

Matei touched her cheek again, and the gentle brush of his fingertips along her temple sent a shiver down her spine. "We've gone from friends to lovers in the space of an hour, my dearest heart. Let us savor it. We've a lifetime ahead of us to spend growing closer."

She laid her hand over his, leaning her cheek into his palm. "I pray it doesn't take quite so long," she said, trying to keep the playful smile from her lips.

Raising his brows, Matei grinned at her. "At last, a bawdy joke from my royal wife," he said. He leaned in swiftly, before she could reply, and kissed her so thoroughly and so sweetly that she second guessed her decision to sleep alone.

Flushed and unsteady, she looked up at him from under her lashes.

"Go," he murmured. "And may you have pleasant dreams."

"I shall. That I know."

***

Moments later, Mhera was passing through the empty hall to her private apartments, which were only a short walk away from Matei's chambers. She was still abuzz with the effects of his touch, her heart still brimming with joy at the change in their relationship. What might the morning bring? The next night? The days to come?

Illogical as it was, the thing she looked forward to most was the next morning. She could not wait to join him at breakfast, to trade the first glance of a day that belonged fully to them, to two people in love. To wake knowing his mind, to see him knowing he knew how she felt, would be sweet indeed after months of misunderstandings and silent torment.

The palace was quiet; spirit globes glowed in the halls, lighting her way, and it seemed as if the entire world were enchanted with an ethereal glow, as if at last, the entire universe had aligned to gift her with something that was perfect and true. She reached up to touch her lips, remembering the sweetness of Matei's kiss, and smiled as she drew to a stop in front of her own chamber door.

A motion up ahead of her drew her attention, pulling her from her dream. There was a figure coming down the hall toward her, a person cloaked in black. The sight of the figure unsettled her, and the memory of Matei's face, of his lips, was pushed from her mind. She noticed that the person wore his hood up, concealing his features in the gloom.

It was well past the middle hour of the night. Who could be about at this hour?

Feeling foolish for her own nerves—they were in the halls of the palace, after all, and the halls of the palace were patrolled—Mhera called, "Good evening."

But the stranger did not respond, and he did not slow. As he moved, his dark garments flowed around him, giving him an unnatural look, for the hallway was eerily still; the logical part of her mind told her it was his gait that caused the cloak to billow in such a way, but he looked like a specter.

No longer feeling very polite, for she was afraid, Mhera demanded, "Who are you?"

Still, the man did not answer, and still, he did not slow. In the light of the blue moon, something at his side flashed.

Terror flooded Mhera, and adrenaline threw her body into motion before her mind made a conscious decision. She snatched up her skirts in one hand and screamed, already fleeing down the hallway. "Help!" she cried. "Matei!"

If someone had come for her, someone had certainly come for him. Let him be safe. Let him be safe.

She had waited too long in her uncertainty. The stranger had drawn too near. By the time Mhera ran, he was close enough that she had no chance of escape. A few quick strides brought him within arm's reach of her long braid. Her head jerked back, arresting her flight, as he grabbed hold of her. She fell to her knees with a painful impact.

"Help!" she screamed again. Somewhere in the distance, she heard an answering call, but it sounded impossibly far away, and she could not tell what was said.

The stranger had his hand wrapped in her hair, and he used his grasp to wrench her head back. With a sound of anguished protest, Mhera looked up at him. She was unable to see more than his nose and chin underneath the cowl of his dark cloak. The flash in the moonlight had been a dagger. Its kiss was cold and lethal as the stranger laid the blade against Mhera's neck.

Her fear held her rapt. If she moved, she would die. "Please," she whispered.

"Is it for your life or the Arcborn bastard's that you beg?" asked the stranger. He closed his eyes and whispered, "Zanara, guide my hand."

Mhera shut her eyes, sending up a wordless prayer to the same goddess, and prepared to meet her death. She felt the stranger's muscles go taut, felt the blade move slightly, licking her ear as he prepared to draw it deep across her throat.

Then there was a flash of light; she saw it, even through her closed eyelids, and she smelled the crackling power on the atmosphere. Someone had unleashed a weapon of the blood, and she knew who it was, for she had felt the pull of the magic in her own veins: Matei.

The man behind her grunted, and his weight fell forward; Mhera sobbed, slumping onto all fours as he collapsed onto her. The knife clattered to the floor. She reached for it in one desperate lurch, but he was faster, and he seized it as he fell onto his side. He still had ahold of Mhera's braid, and as he rolled, he took her with him, wrenching her head with a painful jerk.

There were booted footsteps. When he cried out, the tenderness with which he had spoken her name only moments before was gone, replaced with alarm. "Mhera!"

She twisted, trying to get hold of the stranger's wrist, trying desperately to keep that blade away from herself, but she could not see him properly. She could not stop him. The knife took her in the flank.

Deep, vital, urgent pain lanced through her. She cried out in mingled pain and terror.

Someone fell upon them. There was a crack, as of a fist meeting someone's face; there was a thud, as of a skull meeting stone. Then there came a choked, gurgling sound, and something warm and wet flooded over Mhera's neck.

"Help! Help! Get some bloody help! Call Aun!"

She knew the voice, knew the touch of the hand on her shoulder, but the wound in her side kept her from any relief at Matei's presence. Something heavy fell over her. She gave a strangled cry of pain as the weight fell onto her wound, instinctively throwing her hands over the thing; it was heavy cloth of some kind. Matei's hand fell over hers and pushed, and she sobbed, struggling against the cruel pressure.

"Please!" she cried. The pain was more than she could bear.

"I'm sorry, Mhera. Press down. Press down to staunch the bleeding. Help! For the sake of the goddess, why hasn't anybody bloody well come!"

More shouting. More footsteps. Mhera clutched at her side, but her arms felt weak. Matei's hands on top of hers were stronger. The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She sobbed, turning her head, trying to see him; his face swam into focus, deathly pale, his expression a rictus of fear.

"It's all right," he said. "It's all right. You'll be all right. They're getting help. Breathe, and stay awake."

"I'm dying," Mhera said.

"No!" Matei grit his teeth; there were tears standing in his eyes. "No. Don't even think it. We agreed to do this together. Stay awake. Look at me."

"She's coming, Your Grace," called a male voice from somewhere down the hall. "She's on her way."

The sound he made was an anguished sob, belying the words that followed. "See? Aun's coming. You are in no danger, Mhera."

"I'm dying," Mhera repeated. The edges of her vision were shadowed. Matei's face was dimming. With overwhelming terror, she recalled her vision from the morning of the wedding, that feeling that she had lost everything in the world that was dear to her, that she had lost something more precious than her own life. "Matei..."

"What happened? Oh, no—Mhera—" This was Aun's voice, but it came as if from another world. Someone's cool hand fell upon Mhera's forehead. "Whose is all this blood in her hair? Where—?"

"Her side. It's her side. Shall I move my hands?"

"Don't just yet. Let me sort through these things. Hold the pressure, Matei."

Mhera felt the inky darkness opening up to swallow her, and she knew she would not wake. She tried to keep her eyes open, but it was too much. She was tired...so very tired. "Matei..."

"I'm here, Mhera. I'm here."

To surrender to the darkness was a sweet relief.