The brides paced around the waiting area, too unnerved to strike a conversation with each other. Rehema, the usual chatterbox, sat in the corner, circling a finger over her knee, mute as a lamb. Hesi sauntered towards Festophis' slate who gathered in a corner. They didn't know how many trials were left, and they resembled cattle lined up for slaughter.

She understood that fear, that dread. Mensa's yoke passed to her, and if not for the Mayaware's ridiculous superstition of harming their guests, she would have been eaten in her sleep. And Kharta was right. They ran that well dry. Because once the High King grew desperate, if she were to survive this trial and whatever followed, there was no telling when and how the royal palace would make a move.

Asrate, the High King's slate, sat on the opposite corner from Rehema. For a woman almost Hesi's age, if not older, she didn't appear as though she spent a long time under the sun, nor did she know the feeling of the scorching heat without a roof overhead. Far too dainty, far too perfect; no wonder the High King had so much confidence in her. Even when Hesi taught the other brides how to take down a Mayaware, Asrate was the fastest to learn, as though she was merely faking having never held a knife before.

But she was not the enemy. Not by a long shot. She was a rival, someone who stood in Hesi's way towards the throne. Because whether Hesi liked it or not, Asrate held the biggest sway to the prince's decision. Mezo wouldn't act against his father, not when it was the empire's future at stake. He didn't spend his life cooped up in that dingy cave if he didn't give a flying darpeh about his father.

Hesi caught Asrate's gaze, as though the bride sensed Hesi's thoughts. They gave each other brief nods, neither aware of what ran through the other's head. If Asrate knew what Hesi had in her sleeve, would she join in or would she run back to her benefactor? Hesi scanned the brides' faces. Which one would bite the first bone the generals offered them should they know why Hesi was here and what she did to the woman she replaced?

She has to make her move soon. Her inaction could only get her this far.

"Hesi." A voice from the empty chamber's doorway made her turn. Kharta's concerned expression drew her away from the brides. Eyes bored into her back, rummaging her head for anything that might reveal her relationship with the steward. Would they find evidence of last night? She washed them off this morning.

Her nails dug on her arm as she followed Kharta into a deserted hallway made of rough sketches of stone. Away from the Mayaware guards. Away from unwanted ears from listening into the coming conversation. Without a word from his mouth, she knew what it was about.

"What happened last night?" Kharta shoved his fingers into his hair and tousled his curls so effortlessly that she had to look away before she did something...inappropriate. "I can't seem to remember."

Of course, he wouldn't. She ensured that. Because last night...

It had been both paradise and hell in one.

Kharta was better off not remembering, and if not for the crucial details of their plan, she wanted to forget as well. But she recalled every detail as though they branded her brain.

The wind was humid. Hot. The smell of alcohol hung heavily in the air, wrapping around her clothes, hair, and skin. She hauled Kharta into what could have been his quarters—a storeroom with a mattress in the center. When she set him down, his hand snaked from her arm to her neck. It rested on her cheek, freezing her in place. She couldn't slap his touch away. The reason eluded her then as it did now.

"You know..." He murmured through hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. "I truly want to kiss you."

Maybe it was the darkness or the fact that it was only them inside the storeroom, because she leaned into his touch. "What stops you?" Her voice dropped into a whisper.

Before she made sense of what she said, he drew up and pressed his face against hers. His lips claimed her, his hand sliding from her cheek to the back of her neck. She remembered the trail of warmth searing onto her skin. Its phantom lingered even though it happened ages ago. And she remembered the taste, the feel of him as he sucked her dry. Last night, she remembered she wanted more.

So she didn't find it strange when he gripped her chin with his thumb, forcing her lips to part. She aided him by shifting her jaw, taking in his tongue as it poured inside her. He tasted like bitter alcohol, but as he explored her mouth, she felt something else stir at the tip of her tongue. Sweet. Like ripe figs in the summer. It was gentle. He held her as though she was a glass vial that would shatter if he squeezed.

They broke apart, both heaving lungful breaths. Hesi remembered the depth of his eyes, dark and sparkling in the room's meager share of moonlight. When he lurched for her again, his lips found her jaw, then her neck. She couldn't help it. She moaned.

And she let herself fall back on the mattress, under his hulking shadow. She let herself wind her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he massaged her skin with his lips. Repeatedly. She remembered how light her head was, how her breaths never made it to her head. She panted, screamed for more through her groans and the hands running up and down inside his shirt.

The alcohol took effect then. She did not know how he untangled her body out of her gossamer dress and how she slipped his tunic off. They stared at each other, both laid bare with nothing to hide.

"Have you sobered up now?" She quipped through uneven breaths. The wind tickled the space between her legs which has long wept its tears. She reached up and ran a hand down his body, stopping at his trouser's belt. "Shall I go?"

He lowered himself to her once again and muttered in between kisses, "Don't." His fingers brushed the underside of her exposed breasts, and she arched her back at the shiver it brought down her spine. "Don't go."

She remembered her ecstatic laugh—how silly it sounded to her ears, and how...right it was for that moment. "Do your worst, then." She angled her body so her lips were by his ear. "I'm yours for the night."

And everything spiraled.

He edged himself out his trousers and climbed back over her. His fingers ran circles around her nipples, sending waves of pleasure enough to make her open her mouth and moan. Then, he caged the noise in his kisses. His leg brushed against the insides of her thigh, and she begged. Begged him to take her, to make her whole for the night.

He could only oblige.

Like a ravenous storm washing over her, she sensed him inside. All of him. A cry burst out when he thrust deeper, driving waves of pain and pleasure through her body. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he did it again. And again. She regressed into strangled moans when he kissed her, rolling his tongue inside her mouth.

Fire burned in her gut, eating away at everything she knew. The night wore on. The heat of their bodies burned brighter. Just burn. And burn. Ashes could be cleaned up tomorrow. But that night, hell, they would burn until nothing in their broken vessels remained.

Through unfiltered whimpers, fierce grunts, and warm blazes flowing down her legs and tearing unknown trails inside her, she forced her eyes to remain open and settle on those mysterious hazel eyes that could be black or green or something otherworldly...like emeralds in a dark tunnel down the point of no return. It was her undoing. Her condemnation. Her salvation in this cruel prison.

For the rest of the night, she wasn't the High Prince's bride. She wasn't Hesi Renen. She was an unknown girl living in a dark room and on a cold floor with a man who cared for her more than she did, who worried for her more than she did. Whatever this thread of fire tied around their hearts and pulled them closer was, she hoped it wouldn't tear like flesh and blood. Forever. She remembered wishing for it to last forever.

As he ran his tongue down her breasts, as he stayed inside her, and as his teeth touched her nipples turned up to the sky, she prayed. To the gods without arms and eyes watching from the heavens, to the entities she never believed in. To the void's darkness people knew as fate, she prayed. It was all she could do to keep her soul tethered to the ground, to get a sense of fulfillment in this meager moment of her life.

When his warmth flowed deep into her, when her fingers buried themselves in his hair, confirming its softness, she could only pray. For whatever this was to be stronger than steel, for it to last like the sea, the sun, and the desert, and for it to sweep them away into a paradise of their doing until they disappear completely.

She could only pray.

She prayed for it to last forever.

But now, standing before the man who shared that moment with her, she was glad it didn't. Because they stood on shaky ground, shifting dunes that the wind of circumstance could topple if it wished to. That was why when she slipped out under him long after they fell asleep, she pilfered around his work tables for a vial of the amnesiac and forced it down his throat.

A pathetic move. The amnesiac would wear off, and the memories would return, but it was the only way. He shouldn't remember that night, because it would doom him. Until the time he was involved with her, he was safe. He would not kill the Mayaware with poison despite what he said. It was what gave him purpose, and he didn't want to finish it. That was why he took this long to make a move. That was why he needed her to drive the stake and pull the heart out.

And if his flare was found in her, they would come after him.

She shouldn't have let her heart take control. But...she couldn't deny it. She loved it. Every bit. Leading her to a truth she didn't want to admit to herself.

She loved him.

Enough to sign her body away without thought. Enough to throw everything she staked for him to taste her. She loved him enough to forget what she came here for just to get a drop of paradise.

Guilt consumed her up to no end.

Maybe once this was over, she could lose herself as many times as she wanted in his eyes. Maybe after. But not now. Not when they had places they must be. So, she raised her eyes to lock them against his.

"Nothing," she answered. "I left after dropping you on your flimsy mattress. Nothing to worry about. I assure you."

Before he replied, she passed by him, bumping shoulders along the way. "I need to head back," she said. "The trial is starting."

She left him, staring at her back as she slinked back to the room she shared with the brides. This was where she belonged. This was where she must be. She had enough of this charade. Now, she only has to do one thing.

The demon king's throne. She must ensure not an ember was left when she was finished. And the only way to do it was to reach the top. To do what Kharta unwittingly asked her that night.

She has to win.