Niako turned down one corridor. Then another. Down a flight of stairs. Another turn. Down some more stairs. I soon gave up any hope of remembering the way. Finally, he pushed open a trapdoor at the top of a small set of steps in a dank cellar, and fresh air washed over me.

I breathed out a sigh of pleasure at the tingle of the cool breeze on my skin and the sight of tree limbs stretching up toward a darkening sky. When I turned back to Niako, a funny expression flitted over his face.

"What?" I said.

He shook his head and thrust the bottle toward me. "Drink."

I accepted the bottle and took a swig. Coming from the bottle instead of the chalice, the alcohol tasted even more pungent. I grimaced and shuddered.

If Niako noticed, he made no comment. He took a much larger pull from the bottle and turned toward the treeline.

"Follow me," he said, and he started walking.

He picked his way across the forest floor with ease, movements still lithe if a bit looser than usual. My own body swayed and jerked as I fought to maintain my balance.

After a few minutes, I finally thought to ask, "Where are you taking me?" My speech slurred slightly.

"Do you not trust me?" He sounded vaguely amused. His speech did not slur.

"Should I?"

He shot me a sideways glance before returning his gaze to the path ahead. "There's a nice little clearing in the trees not far from here."

We walked in silence for a minute before Niako stopped, and I realized the trees had cleared around us. A bed of leaves covered the forest floor. He dropped to a crouch before sliding back onto the ground, one hand on the ground behind him and the other still holding the prak bottle.

I plopped down beside him, landing harder than expected. The impact was jarring, but the cool solid ground beneath me and the crunch of leaves felt reassuring. I unbuttoned my sleeves at the wrists and pushed them up to my elbows. Then I inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh earthy scent in the air, and tipped my head back to admire the sky above. In the middle of a nearly perfect circle of tree tops, stars sprinkled the sky like flecks of white paint flung onto a dark canvas. I recognized the Three-Legged Lion constellation, the brightest star for the nose and five more for the back, tail, and each of the three legs.

I felt Niako's eyes on me, and I turned to meet his gaze. "You were right," I said. "This is nice."

He offered me the bottle again.

I shook my head, which made me dizzy. "If I have any more, I will lose my dinner."

"How can you be that drunk?"

"How can you not?"

"I am actually quite drunk, but I've had a lot more than you have, and you must outweigh me by a fair amount. You can't be as drunk as you are acting."

"You overestimate my acting skills."

"Hmm." He slid a hand into his pocket and drew out a pocket knife. When he flicked it open, the sharp blade gleamed in the moonlight. He turned it over in his hands, examining the edges. "So if I tried to kill you right now, would you be able to defend yourself?"

I eyed the knife warily but did not move away. His tone was more curious than malicious, and my mind and body both felt sluggish. "I don't know," I said, "And I'm hoping I won't find out."

He flicked the blade closed again and slid it back into his pocket. "I can't believe you got drunk on that little."

"I don't drink often." As though my own body was protesting the half-truth, I hiccuped. "Or ever. I don't drink ever."

He arched an eyebrow. "Because of your father?"

I tensed. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Right," said Niako.

A silence stretched between us. Sitting back propped up on one elbow, he took another swig of the liquor. When he set it down beside him, he said, "Explain your game."

"One person guesses something about the other person, and the other has to reveal whether the guess is true gold or false glamour."

"And how do I win?"

"Do you always need a way to win?"

He flashed a white-toothed grin, dark eyes dancing. "It's not a game if I can't win."

The drink must have been affecting me even more than I thought, because that easy grin, so different from his usual smirk, made my heart skitter. I worked to keep my voice even. "You win if I refuse to answer one of your questions or you catch me in a lie."

"Good," he said. "I like this game already."

I probably should have taken those words as a warning of what was to come. Instead, I ignored them.

"I'll start," I said. "Gold or glamour — you've never taken a Claimed."

The rumor I had heard felt closely linked to the question percolating in my mind for over ten years.

Are you any different from your family?

He laid back, stretching his long body out across the mossy forest floor with his hands locked behind his head. "That's easy," he said to the sky above him. "Gold."

"Why not? You once told me voracious appetites run in your family."

He turned his head to look at me, eyebrows raised. "Does the game allow for that? Can you ask me why?"

I shrugged. "I can ask. You don't have to answer."

"Fair enough." He looked back up at the sky. "The reason is simple. There are plenty of free men eager to satisfy my needs, so I have no reason to bother with Claiming."

I thought of the vulgar men in the tavern, and I found myself saying, "Do you prefer men from Rakim?"

A small smile. "I believe it's my turn for a question."

"Right. Go ahead."

As calmly as if he were commenting on the weather, he said, "Gold or glamour — you are only doing this with me right now because your father asked you to."

My throat suddenly went dry. What made me think I could outwit Niako? Even drunk, his mind worked too fast.

"Why would you think that?" I managed to croak.

"Gold or glamour?" he repeated.

I struggled to piece together thoughts through the fog of alcohol. Admitting the truth felt self-incriminating, but maybe a confession about my family would open him up to revealing the plots of his own. And lying on the first question was not a good way to start the game.

"Gold," I said finally.

He drew himself up to sitting, and his eyes sparked with something unreadable, something that made my gut flip. Was he surprised? Angry? Disappointed? Intrigued? 

I braced myself for his reaction, but he only said mildly, "Alright then. Your turn."

I had already planned my next question — something a little more personal, a little closer to my goal. I wanted to steer the conversation toward his family, but I would start with his family outside of the Rakim tribe.

"Gold or glamour," I said, "You still resent Trebalda for abandoning you."

His knee jerked slightly at hearing the question, and he was silent for several seconds. Then he said, "Glamour... she didn't abandon me."

"No?"

"Before she left, she told me what she planned to do. She wanted me to go with her. Instead, I tattled on her to my parents. I didn't want her to leave, and I hoped my parents would be able to stop her. Instead, my father exiled her." He gave a quick little shrug that belied the tension in his jaw. "I was a selfish coward, actually."

I thought hearing his arrogance cut away would please me, but the painful humility in his voice shook me, and I found myself wanting to comfort him. "You were only — what? Ten?"

He leaned toward me, propping a palm on the ground between us. "Finny's age, right?"

"Right," I said absently, my eyes on his hand beside me. A thick, leathery scar across the back of his hand shone several shades lighter than the rest of his skin in the moonlight. Remembering the cruel gleam of Makash's eyes, I wondered what happened to Niako after I left the palace that night ten years prior. I found myself itching to brush a gentle touch over that scar and then interlace those long deft fingers with my own.

No. Niako did not like to be touched. The extended hand was not an invitation.

His voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Gold or glamour — you wish your father had died instead of your mother."

My startled silence lasted only a second before I answered with confidence. "Glamour."

He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. "Never?"

I had always been closer to my mother, and I knew she would have shown far more strength and dignity faced with my father's death than he had shown faced with hers. My answer came down to a simple, selfish equation. My mother's death only made me Finny's caregiver. My father's death would have made me king.

"My father wishes that enough for the both of us," I said. And then: "Gold or glamour — Makash still abuses you."

I cursed myself after the blunt words left my mouth. If I wasn't careful, the conversation could devolve into a fistfight — or worse, he could draw the switchblade from his pocket. And I was not at all confident about my current ability to defend myself.

Niako answered in a voice devoid of any emotion. "Glamour."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? So he finally matured?"

"More like he finally lost interest," he said. "He doesn't speak to me anymore."

"Then where did you get that scar?"

He glanced down at his hand between us. "Oh, that." His hand tensed, the fingers curling, but he left it planted on the ground. "That happened a long time ago."

How long ago? Ten years?

I stared at the long-fingered hand a moment longer, feeling a little sick. But as I dragged my eyes up his lean arm to the graceful lines of his shoulder and collarbone, a different feeling warmed my belly, and my heartbeat grew uneven. The collar of his frock was unbuttoned, exposing the flawless dark skin at his neck. The tree shadows played perfectly on his angular face and thickly lashed eyes. And his lips...

Seven hells, his lips were twitching.

I hoped the shadows obscured the flush rising to my face. "I don't know what's funny."

"Gold or glamour," he said. "You find me attractive."

I suddenly felt I was in a cart rolling backwards down a hill and gaining speed. This whole scheme was ill-conceived. I might have stood a chance against him in a swordfight, but I could not outmaneuver him in a verbal spar, and my powers of seduction were clearly inferior to his own.

"Glamour," I choked out.

"When someone loses, does the game end?" said Niako.

I opened my mouth and shut it twice before grinding out a reply. "We are not done yet."

"I don't know why you suggested this game. You're really terrible at it."

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to come up with a way to smoothly redirect this conversation. When I succeeded only in making my head swim, I abandoned all hope of veiling my intentions and plowed through the crass question.

"Gold or glamour — your father wants to kill mine."

When he stiffened and his brow furrowed, cold flooded my gut.

Voice still detached, he said, "Subtlety is not your strong suit, is it?"

"Are you planning to answer the question or just mock me?"

He sighed and sat up straight, withdrawing the hand near my leg and spreading his palm on his own thigh. "Glamour," he said, but he drew out every consonant as though the answer was incomplete.

"You want to tell me more," I said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Even assuming there is more to tell, why would I want to tell you? I don't owe you anything."

"Then why did you agree to leave with me tonight?"

"Maybe I was hoping for a kiss."

He said it flippantly — sarcastically, even — but his eyes smoldered like hot coals. I felt a twang in my chest, a plucked chord both beautiful and dissonant. I leaned in one inch before I caught myself. Even in my muddled state of intoxication and desire, I remembered how he had flinched away from my touch that morning. Body tight with tension, I gave him time to pull away.

Instead, he leaned toward me.

He was close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath. The scent had always disgusted me coming from my father, but somehow smelling it on Niako excited me. I felt the edge of danger, the rush of lost control and rash decisions. A lazy smile spread across his face.

"It's a pity you are not attracted to me," he said, his voice an easy drawl.

I hummed a noncommittal response, a wave of heat clouding my thoughts. The prak still in my bloodstream fueled the fire, and my misgivings and self-disgust only fanned the flames. My eyes dropped to his lips, and my muscles trembled with the effort to hold back.

Then he destroyed the moment.

"Gold or glamour," he whispered, his breath tickling my skin inches from his, "You never want to become king."

I jerked back so fast my head spun. I had only ever heard those ugly, forbidden words in my own mind, and hearing them from Niako sent cold panic shooting through my veins. My stomach quivered, protesting the slosh of liquor. I suddenly did not care about obtaining information. I only cared about escaping this beautiful, cunning, dangerous man.

I stood up too quickly and teetered on my feet, catching my balance by propping my palm on a nearby tree. Cold saliva coated my throat, and then my stomach heaved, and I spun to vomit on the tree. Hot liquid splashed my hand on the trunk and speckled my boots.

I wiped off my hand on higher tree bark as I drew in a shuddering breath. Still facing the tree, I said, "Congrats. You win."

Then I turned to jog off into the woods.

I ran clumsily, tripping on roots, slipping on moss, and swerving last minute to avoid barely visible branches. Dim moonlight cast shifting shadows through the tree branches, disorienting me. I soon found I was trudging up a steep hill, one I did not recall ever encountering before. Unwilling to stop to redirect my course, I pressed forward.

I didn't notice anyone behind me until a hand gripped my forearm.

"Toom, wait," said Niako, his breath suddenly puffing on the back of my neck.

I stopped moving but kept my back to him. "Let go of me."

His hold softened slightly, but he did not release me, and I did not wrench my arm free.

"If you don't want to be king, then run away," he said, voice uncharacteristically serious. His thumb trailed up and down my bare forearm, an infinitesimal seemingly unconscious movement that made goosebumps ripple out over my skin. "Join an independent tribe somewhere out east or up north, and no one will find you."

I swallowed and shook my head, heart beating fast. "Why would I want to live in those lands?"

"You would be safe," he said.

Slowly, I rotated toward him. The moonlight dappled the soft irises framed by long lashes, creating an arresting visage. I fought the sudden unnerving sensation of plunging. If my eyes were the sea, his were the endless night sky.

"Am I not safe here?" I said.

He hesitated for a moment. Then he spoke carefully, like plucking debris from an open wound. "You must realize your father has made enemies. And many consider you an enemy because you are his son."

"They are not wrong," I said. "My father's enemies are my enemies, too."

"They don't have to be."

"I'm not like your sister. I would never abandon my family."

Abruptly, his eyes hardened and flattened, more stone than sky, and his hand dropped from my arm. "You are just as stubborn and stupid as your father."

"Voracious appetites may run in your family," I said, "But honor runs in mine." Then I turned to walk away again.

I made it a few steps before Niako's voice stopped me. "Toom."

This time I whipped around to face him, shoulders tense and nails digging into my palms. I was ready to meet his anger — ready to fight. But his face was an impassive mask.

"You're going the wrong direction," he said. "The Royal Tent is that way." He raised an arm ninety degrees from the direction I was walking. Against the dim light of the moon and stars, the dark outline of his body appeared painted in sharp, graceful brushstrokes as unyielding as the trees behind him.

I gave a curt nod and set off in the direction he had pointed.

Within thirty seconds, I could neither see nor hear him anymore, but still my heart beat fast and his words rang in my ears. If you don't want to be king, then run away.

And even more perplexing — You would be safe.