Esmera woke up groggy despite her panic at the inexplicable sensation that she was suffocating. Like a swimmer caught in the unrelenting grip of a riptide, she thrashed, searching out something, anything with her desperate hands. A rock, a buoy, Tauram, anything that could keep the water from claiming her for itself.

But she was on dry land, and Tauram was nowhere to be seen.

Esmera opened her eyes and squinted against the morning light that slipped past the ceiling of the pillow fort.

She sat up, pulling the covers around her chest. The pillow fort was somehow less enchanting by daylight now that the fairy lights were off, and the stars had gone to sleep. Its magic was in Esmera's memories.

But where was the man who dominated them too?

The dent in the pillows beside Esmera told her that Tauram had been there. The lingering warmth of him beneath the covers told her he had been asleep beside her until not too long ago. Her waking up in the observatory told her that it hadn't all been a dream, the grilled cheese sandwiches and the star gazing, the kisses and confessions and everything that came afterwards.

It made Esmera hot just thinking about it, but she closed her eyes and forced herself to focus on listening to the house, on tracking down the familiar sound of Tauram. She could hear him muttering to himself almost as though he was murmuring sweet confessions into her hair, but she had no idea where he really was.

Esmera would have to find him. She crawled out of the pillow fort and stood. The covers fell away from her, and she stared down at herself, disoriented with sleep even though she remembered all too well that Tauram had taken her clothes off.

She had half a mind to begin her search for him regardless, but she didn't think it would be a good idea to wander around the house naked. What if Tauram had company? What if Belaren and Anjarah were around?

Esmera grabbed the first item of clothing her fingers came upon on the heap in front of the tent fort, which happened to be Tauram's white shirt. She pulled it on and buttoned it up with clumsy, drowsy fingers. The smell of him made her dizzy, sent her mind spinning in delight, made her long to be wrapped up in him again.

Esmera left the conservatory, her bare feet muffling her steps and turning them silent to anyone who wasn't a śradūgara. Even so, Lundas heard her. He looked up at Esmera with his luminous eyes where he reclined in his basket. She dared to lean down and stroke his soft, spotted head, and instead of snapping at her as he might have a few days ago, he merely purred.

Smiling, Esmera glanced up at the nest Jammas had made from twigs and scraps of fabric on the curtain rail. He was still and asleep, Esmera assumed. That was the only thing she could do because all she could see of him was his shimmering green wing peeking over the edge of his nest.

Tauram's mutters led Esmera through the sitting room to the kitchen, where he stood in front of the stove in his underwear. His black hair was mussed, the backs of his shoulders speckled with reddish crescents where Esmera's fingernails had pressed into his skin, and that was how she knew she had left her mark on him as he had on her.

"By Aadira's sixteen hands, what is medium-high heat?" Tauram shook his head, frowning from the frying pan in front of him to the book on the counter. "Heat is either medium or high." He checked the settings on the stove.

Esmera couldn't help but smile where she stood in the doorway, resting against the wooden doorframe. Tauram really couldn't cook, but it was adorable to see him try. Though, to be fair, she thought he was adorable whatever he did.

Tauram's gaze landed on Esmera, wandering from her face to his white shirt and then down her bare legs. "Esmera." He cleared his throat, bringing his eyes back to hers. "I didn't know you were awake."

Esmera left her post in the doorway, peering at the stove and taking careful care not to peer at Tauram as she stopped beside him, at how there was more of him uncovered than not, at how every inch of his exposed skin seemed to call to her. "I didn't know you could make pancakes."

"Don't let Belaren hear you refer to dosa as pancakes." Tauram smirked as he dropped a spoon of batter on the pan and smeared it into a perfect circle. It sizzled, the sound like the overloading of the circuitry in Esmera's head until Tauram spoke over it. "They're actually a bit more like crepes. The recipe comes from Southern Milatanur, where Belaren is from."

"No wonder he would take my mistake as a personal insult." Esmera gazed at the dosa.

It was an experience for all her senses, not just her ears. It steamed as it turned golden brown. It gave off a sweet smell that made her mouth water. She hadn't realised how hungry she was.

"He definitely would be offended. He treasures this recipe as if it's his creation." Tauram grinned as he gathered a new spoonful of batter.

"And I'm sure he treasures you as his apprentice." Esmera raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you could cook."

"Frying Belaren's batter on a stove isn't cooking, Esmera." Tauram smirked as he flipped it to allow the other side to brown.

She narrowed her eyes, suppressing a smile. Since he had stolen her retort from the previous night, she was well within her rights to borrow his favourite word. "Touché."

Tauram merely laughed as he took the fried dosa off the stove and set it down on a plate. No sound had ever made Esmera so happy. She closed her eyes just to soak in it for a moment. She wanted more mornings like these, just the two of them learning their way around their kitchen while they teased each other, preferably without a mission on their minds.

The mere thought of it clenched Esmera's stomach. She turned away from it the way she usually did to whatever was unpleasant. It was the only way she had gotten through life. It was the only way she could get through that morning that may even be their last together.

Tauram must've seen the tears well in her eyes as he gave her a sideways glance, pushing the batter dish closer to the stove. "I didn't know you looked this good in my clothes or I'd have let you try them on a lot sooner."

Esmera's cheeks burned, replacing the itching of the tears in her eyes. She pulled at the hem of Tauram's shirt, self-conscious even though she knew that there was a compliment in his gentle teasing. "I don't think anyone looks better in your clothes than you do."

It hung loosely around her shoulders and arms, for starters, while it fitted snugly on his.

"Oh?" Tauram's focus strayed from her for a moment as he smeared a new circle of batter on the pan, his brow furrowed with cute concentration.

"Or without them." The words slipped out of Esmera's mouth without her meaning for them to.

Esmera didn't realise what she had said until Tauram set the spoon back in the batter dish and lifted her onto the counter with his strong, gentle hands. He undid the buttons it had taken her sleepy fingers painstaking moments to do in seconds. Then he was slipping the sleeves off her shoulders and down to her elbows.

Tauram's hands closed around Esmera's bare waist. He pulled her closer while she grabbed him by his hair and brought his mouth to hers. The world around them disappeared, just the way Esmera wanted it to.

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, but that only made her ache for him deeper, only took away the breath her prince shared so generously with her.

"So, this is what you two do on my kitchen counters when I'm not at home," came a cool voice from the doorway.

Esmera and Tauram separated as if scalded, which they might've been had their passion gotten a few more moments to ignite. He pulled his shirt closed over her chest for the sake of modesty even though it seemed wasted. Belaren had seen enough to know that they were guilty as charged.

"You do know this is my house, right?" asked Tauram, somehow regaining the composure for a sensible retort despite the redness colouring his cheeks, even as Esmera was speechless. "Therefore, these are my kitchen counters."

"Yes, of course. After all, you never let me forget it." Esmera might've thought Belaren didn't know the effect of his arrival, but the small grin he wore as he entered the kitchen told her differently. "In my defence, I only decided to live in your house because I assumed royalty acted with" —Belaren paused in front of the fridge as he searched for the word, leaving Esmera and Tauram to stew in their proximity even though they could do nothing about it— "decorum."

Tauram scoffed where he stood within Esmera's crossed legs. "As if you and Anjarah spent a chaste night together."

"At least I got properly dressed before I came home." Belaren's eyes gleamed with his subtle brand of wickedness. His pointed glance lingered on Esmera and Tauram long enough to make her feel self-conscious for them both.

Belaren's head disappeared behind the fridge door as he opened it. He withdrew the jug of cold water and set it on the counter within reach of Esmera should she want it. "Would you like some?"

"Shut up." Tauram rolled his eyes. A second later, they widened in alarm. "Idran, son of a lakhe," he cursed, turning away from Esmera and back to the stove. He scraped the dosa off the pan, but it was too late. It was burnt to a crisp, stiff, thin and dry when Esmera knew it should be thick and soft enough to fold.

"Need any help?" asked Belaren, grabbing a glass from beside the sink. His silken shirt shimmered as he turned back to the counter where he had left the glass jug.

"No, I do not." Tauram glared at him. "I was doing fine until you came in here and distracted me."

"I wasn't the one distracting you." Belaren filled his glass and took a sip of his cold water, but that did nothing to hide the grin that deepened when his eyes fell on Esmera.

He put an icy hand on her bare shoulder. A beautiful robe rippled over her body, embroidered with peacock feathers floating in the blue satiny ocean. She tied it at her waist while Belaren, still sipping his water, put a hand on Tauram next.

A fluffy green robe dotted with yellow ducklings appeared on his body while he smeared another spoon of batter on the frying pan.

He didn't even seem to notice his new ensemble until Belaren smiled and said, "Much better."

"You have got to be kidding me." Tauram looked down at himself, open-mouthed. He dragged his disbelieving eyes to Esmera before pinning them on his best friend. "How come Esmera gets peacocks and I get ducklings?"

"It's simple, really. Peacocks are her style whereas ducklings are yours." Belaren winked at Esmera before going to the brass bowl on the counter where the mail was stored when it arrived, his glass still in his hand.

"And you determined that how, exactly?" Tauram narrowed his eyes.

"I just did." Belaren raised his cup to his lips, stifling a smirk as he sifted through the stacked letters.

Esmera couldn't help her mouth quirking in amusement until she met Tauram's glowering gaze.

"Please tell me I'm not that annoying." He flipped the dosa on the frying pan.

Esmera smiled up at him. "You are, but you make up for it."

"How so?" Tauram raised an eyebrow as he took the dosa off the pan and rested it on the second plate beside the stove.

"I'll tell you when we're alone," Esmera murmured, pushing her hair back from her face.

His eyes darkened as he studied her. She was sure he knew exactly what she was saying, but Belaren spoke before he could.

"I agree with the lady."

A movement at the corner of Esmera's eye drew her gaze to Belaren as he pressed his thumb to the wax seal of an envelope he had withdrawn from the mail bowl. It glowed before it opened, and Belaren slid the letter out of it.

He raised his eyebrows as a small smile took hold of his cynical mouth. "Varali has invited us to Hansika's birthday party in three weeks. I guess we have no choice but to save the world, then." He fixed his eyes on Tauram. "I hope you didn't forget to call Ghallia and confirm the plan in all the excitement of your night."

Esmera had never met someone as clever with innuendos as Belaren was. He knew what to say to embarrass her, but it seemed Tauram had lived with him for long enough to become desensitised to his sharp tongue.

"Of course not." Tauram didn't flinch as he put the stove off, covered the batter and returned it to the fridge. He pressed the door closed behind him and faced Belaren. "Ghallia said Ruagu will be in a meeting until midday and will have lunch afterwards. We attack at 2 p.m., but only if she gives us the signal."

"Which is?" Esmera jumped down from the kitchen counter, the hem of her robe fluttering about her ankles while Tauram's shirt collar poked her in her chin.

Tauram looked down at her. "Ghallia's moth appearing and flapping her wings three times."

After almost a week, that would be it. A moth calling Esmera to war, one she may not win or even survive. Despite how close the mission was to its end, she couldn't deny the tension balling in her chest. Maybe it was there because Jilhari's assignment mattered to her more than it had before because Milatanur and Tauram and Jammas and Belaren and Anjarah and their families did too.

Esmera could only hope that the discomforting sensation would vanish after Ruagu was defeated, and Esmera could enjoy tonight just as she had the last.

Even though it would be different. They would no longer need to hide out in this cottage when Tauram's usurper had surrendered his throne and his palace to him, but it would always be a special place with the special memories of Esmera's falling in love with Milatanur.

"Brilliant." Belaren nodded. "So, since it seems like we're on track, I guess I'll see you later." He gave Tauram another bright, sharp grin before he ambled out of the kitchen with his invitation to his niece's party still in his hand.

Tauram shook his head at his friend's back until Esmera's peck on his cheek drew his attention to her.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked, even though her cooking ability was as minimal as his.

He stared at her for a moment before smiling and indicated the two plates with the dosa. "You can take these to the conservatory. I'll be there with the tea, butter, and honey soon."

Esmera reached around the stove for the plates. Tauram took her face between his hands and kissed her deeply enough to take a piece of her soul away with him when he withdrew.

Esmera crossed out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. Jammas had woken up. He swooped down from his nest to greet her with an affectionate peck on her curly head.

"Good morning to you too, Jammas." She smiled at her familiar as he landed on the edge of Lundas's basket. His new friend purred in greeting, and he nodded.

Like Esmera, her little lark had grown. All it took was a bit of love to help even the most stilted weeds bear flowers, love Tauram, his friends and his familiar had so kindly given out to people who had been nothing more than strangers to them.

The sun had brightened when Esmera entered the conservatory, shining with the ferocity with which she would burst through the gates of Ruagu's stolen palace and yank him from his throne.

But that would come later. For now, Esmera simply settled into the makeshift bed she and Tauram had made inside the pillow fort, setting the warm plates beside her. As she sat down, her shoulder knocked the bookshelf beside her, and a piece of parchment fell into Esmera's lap from behind it.

It was actually two pieces of parchment, an envelope and a folded letter stuck to the wax seal. It didn't look deliberate as if to keep the note from getting misplaced. It looked accidental, as if it had been tucked away in a hurry by a careless hand. Hidden until it chose to reveal itself.

Esmera turned the envelope to see who it was addressed to.

Prince Tauram Morghis read the swirling calligraphy. There was no other information to tell Esmera where and when this had been delivered to Tauram, no address or postal code, which she supposed was best for the prince's safety.

Despite that, her curiosity only grew more burning. What if this was something important Tauram had to know, something an enemy of his and an ally of Ruagu's hadn't wanted him to find?

Esmera had to know for sure. Today was their only chance to defeat Ruagu. She couldn't take a chance on mistakes, on misinformation.

Gently, Esmera peeled the letter away from the wax stamp. It flipped open in her hand to reveal a page embellished with that same elegant calligraphy.