The Bitter Kingdom

“Yes, for Rosario.” I dip my quill and add his name to a different sheet of parchment.

“And what’s that?” he asks.

I blow on the ink, then hold it up. “It’s a list. There’s so much I want to get done. I want to map the catacombs, find out if that inscription in the tunnel leads to another place of power—maybe there are undiscovered gates of power all over the world. The Wallows are desperately poor, but full of good people—maybe I’ll establish a school there, or at least a library.”

“If they could read, we could hire some of them to—”

“And how exactly did our ancestors mix our blood with that of the Inviernos? Why are some Inviernos born with Godstones, when mine appeared on my naming day as if by magic? Was it God? If so, where do the machinations of our ancestors end and those of God begin . . .” My voice breaks off at the sound of chuckling.

“You will accomplish everything you set out to,” he says. “Of that I have no doubt.”

I regard him smugly. “I know.”

He indicates the Godstone with a chin lift. “What are you going to do with that?”

I stare at it. There is nothing beautiful or potent about it now. “Maybe I’ll make a necklace out of it to match my crown. If I get around to it.”

Gently, he asks, “Do you miss it?”

“No,” I say honestly. “My true power was never in my Godstone.” I grab it from the table, open the parchment drawer, and toss it inside. It glides to the back, out of sight, and I slide the drawer home.

“Speaking of power . . .” I rise from my seat and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing his cheek, his throat, running my hands over his broad shoulders. He buries his face in my hair.

“It would destroy me to have you just a little,” he once said to me. I push him back, regard him thoughtfully. At the time, he was worried I had too much power over him, that I wouldn’t be able to give him my whole self.

“Hector, I have to ask. Do you want to be an emperor? Because I could make you one. You could be my equal in rank, with just as much authority. Tristán still owes me votes on the Quorum. We could ram an edict through—”

“No need,” he says, reaching up to brush my bottom lip with his thumb. “I’m a good leader, but you’re a great ruler. I am strong enough—man enough—to be subject to you.”

“Are you?” I arch an eyebrow at him.

He scoops me up and carries me to the bed, where he lays me gently down, grinning enormously. “I am.”

“Show me,” I command.

He shows me.