My stomach felt as if it were filled with rocks. . . . a million sharp, pointy-edged rocks. “He could,” I suggested hopefully to Max. “Stay here, I mean. You could tell him everything he needs to know before we leave. He knows the palace, and since at least a third of the forces come from the men he brought with him, they’ll listen to him if the need arises. Plus, he understands the importance of maintaining peace.” I squeezed Max’s fingers in mine, trying to convey my desire for him to agree. And then I asked the question I was afraid to ask, even after the past months. “You trust him, don’t you?”

For years Max and Xander had been at odds. They’d been estranged, each serving on a different side of the conflict. When Xander had turned his back on his grandmother, taking up arms against her, he’d deserted a much younger Max, leaving him under the palace roof with a woman who’d despised him. By the time he’d come of age, Max had rebuffed his royal upbringing in an entirely different way: by joining the military. It was something no royal had done in decades, possibly centuries. He was a disgrace in his grandmother’s eyes.

But, ultimately, being on opposite sides of a revolution had been what put Max and Xander in front of each other again. It was when they found me that they’d been forced, for the first time in years, to communicate. To cooperate.

And now, just months later, here they were, living under the same roof once more. Living in their boyhood home, and forging a new future for the country they both loved.

But did either of them trust the other?

Max’s gaze met Xander’s with more certainty than I’d expected, although his voice didn’t sound quite as sure. “Of course I do,” he said. And then, he added, “He’s my brother.”

Neither of them was as certain as they should have been. It was clear that they were both still deciding what, exactly, their relationship was, and would be. They were brothers, certainly, but that didn’t guarantee love. It wasn’t the promise of a bond.

I knew because I’d seen too many family members forsake their own. I thought of Aron and Brook, both of whom were nothing more than chattel to their fathers.

I was glad to see Xander and Max work toward repairing those frayed family ties, even if it made them both squirm to do so. I had never promised them comfort if I sat upon the throne.

I was never promised comfort either.

“Tell Niko Bartolo I’ll be attending the summit,” I told Xander at last.

Summer had given way to the harvest season, but the nighttime temperatures rarely dipped lower than the daytime ones. It was unseasonably warm for this time of year, but neither Max nor I complained as we lay stretched out on our backs, staring up at the spectral clouds—apparitions suspended in the black sky above us, allowing the moon only the briefest glimpses of the earth below.

Even though the light from my skin was fading, my encounter with Angelina the night before made me the brightest thing out here.

But at least in the gardens I could hide myself. The space within the hedged walls was quite possibly the most peaceful place in the world, and the two of us found ourselves existing among the shrubbery and flowers and fountains and pathways more often than not, whispering secrets of what was and what would be, and of all the things we wished for. Yet more and more often, I found my mind wandering to other things, even when—like now—I watched Max’s lips moving.

Things like Sabara, and what she wanted from me.

Max stopped talking and shifted onto his side, propping up on one elbow as he stared down at me. His eyes were nearly as dark as the midnight sky and just as cloudy. “Did you hear anything I just said, Charlie?”

I turned my attention to him, shaking away thoughts of the dead queen as I rolled in the soft grass beneath us and leaned up so we were eye to eye. My mouth curved devilishly, yet I shrugged as guilelessly as I could manage. I knew exactly what I was doing. “No, but I’m sure it was eloquent and well thought-out. Bordering on brilliant, I’d wager.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up, ever so slightly. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to repeat myself, would it?”

“Probably not.” I looked away from him, staring up at the sky once more. The clouds had shifted, parting to create a vaporous tunnel through which the full moon shone, throwing dazzling threads of light along the clouds’ edges.

“You can’t avoid the topic forever, Charlie. You’ll tire before I do,” he argued. A point he’d tried to make a thousand times before. One I had no problem rebuking.

“Of course I can. I’ll just keep pretending I didn’t hear you.”

Silver splinters flickered in Max’s charcoal eyes, similar to the silver of his brother’s eyes. His hand shot out to brace the back of my neck and his teeth flashed white in the pale light of the moon as he leaned closer. I could feel his breath before I realized his lips were brushing mine. Not kissing, just feathering over them. Reminding my body—and everyone with eyes—what Max was capable of doing to me.

Beneath my skin, light exploded. Tiny bursts that fragmented the darkness around us, igniting like lightning storms. Inside, the same things were happening to me, only no one could see those detonations, the ones that curled my toes and made my breath catch in the back of my throat.

“Eventually you’ll hear me,” Max whispered against my mouth, in answer to my intentional snub. “And eventually you’ll agree to be my wife.”

My voice hitched against the obstruction in my throat as tiny fireflies of light danced over my skin. “Don’t fool yourself. . . . Eventually you will agree to be my king. But,” I persisted, “only when I’m ready. And not a moment sooner.” No longer able to resist the enticement, I pressed my lips all the way against his with a frustrated sigh.