CHAPTER 7: The King Doesn’t Explain Himself (Except to Me, Apparently)

POV: Imani

I finally gave up on trying to sleep after counting the cracks in the ceiling for the third time.

They had tucked me into a small room along the inner wall. And honestly, I should have felt lucky to have a warm place to rest with a proper bed and mattress, especially after spending eight years of my life on uncomfortable drainage pipes and creaky outposts. But it didn’t feel luxurious at all. I lay there, staring at the plaster, while my palm continued aching beneath the bandage. And even with the lights off, the pattern of that mark was still burned into my eyes. Whenever I shut them, I heard that voice again, a wet, distorted whisper of my name that felt wrong, like it shouldn’t even have been able to sound that way. I kept telling myself it was over, that the creature was dead and the walls around me were now secure, but my body hadn’t accepted any of it. Every time I started to drift, I was back in that courtyard, hearing it say my name while Zane was throwing himself between us.

By midnight, I had already had enough, and gave up. I needed to move around, do something with all that restless energy that was radiating off me, so I got up and started wandering into the corridor. The hallway was dimly lit by wall sconces that were placed too far apart, casting more shadows than actual light. My bare feet made little noises against the stone floor, but in the distance, I could hear the steady sound of patrol boots moving about. It was the kind of place that just continued to function even after a night like this. Guards still walked their routes. Doors were still opened and closed. And somehow somewhere beyond these walls, people were probably trying to sleep as if nothing had changed at all. I couldn’t wrap my head at how anyone could close their eyes after what had happened.

I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone out here. But then I saw Zane leaning against the wall a little ways down from his own room, with his arms crossed, and looking like he hadn’t slept at all. He had changed out of the bloodstained clothes from earlier, but the way he held himself suggested he hadn’t found rest since all this chaos had started. His sleeves were pushed up, exposing his forearms, and for a second my eyes went straight to them before I was able to catch myself.

When I got closer, he looked up at me without even jumping or showing any form of surprise. His gaze was like it had been before, when he watched me across from the great hall, but this time, it wasn’t filled with anger anymore, and just fatigue and quiet contemplation. There was something different about seeing him like this, without the authority he wore around everyone else. He looked tired. Not in the weak way, just tired in a way that made him seem more human than I wanted him to be.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I managed to say first since I didn’t want to stand there while he was busy gathering his thoughts.

“No,” he replied.

“You either,” I stated.

“No.” He replied, taking a pause, and I could see him working through something in his mind before his eyes moved briefly down the corridor and then returned to me. “You could sit somewhere that isn’t a hallway, if you want.”

It didn’t feel like a command, not really. It sounded more like a suggestion that had surprised even him by leaving his mouth. I stood there a second longer than necessary, weighing the invitation in my head. Going anywhere alone with him was probably a terrible idea, especially after everything that had happened between us, but the thought of returning to that room and lying awake beneath those cracks felt much worse. So I did the only reasonable thing right now, and nodded.

His study was just down a short flight of stairs. A room that I hadn’t seen before. It was lit by a single lamp that casted a warm glow across it, a comforting contrast to the harsh lights of the examination room. But what caught my attention first wasn’t the desk or the chair; it was the shelves that were filled with books, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. The spines were cracked and worn, and some looked older than the world we lived in now. I moved closer without thinking, drawn toward them despite myself. There was something strange about seeing so many books still intact when so much else had disappeared.

“You kept all these?” I asked, almost instinctively brushing my finger along one spine.

“For some winters, people have asked me why I don’t burn them.” He said, his tone coming out flat, as if he had had that argument many times before. “Saying that they’re just mere paper. And that they’d keep a room warm for maybe an hour or two.”

“But you don’t burn them,” I pointed out.

“Yes. Knowledge is worth more than just an hour of warmth.” He said, choosing to sit on the edge of his desk instead of behind it, which felt quite significant, as if he wanted to remove any barriers that were between us. His hands rested loosely between his knees as he looked up at me. “Most of what we genuinely need, things like medicine, engineering, and how to purify water without needing tablets, they all exist because someone bothered to jot it down before everything fell apart. So if you burn the books, you’re destroying the only teacher some kid might ever have.”

I sank into the chair that was across from him, awkwardly tucking my feet under me, aiming for a casual look. “That’s a surprisingly practical approach to being sentimental.”

“I’m not sentimental.”

“Sure,” I said, unable to hide the smirk forming on my face.

I caught a flicker of movement at the corner of his mouth, a hint of a smile that vanished before it fully formed. It was so brief I almost wondered if I had imagined it, but the slight change in his face still remained there, assuring me that it had been real. We shared a brief silence that didn’t feel hostile, and surprisingly, I kind of felt myself not rushing to fill it with a defensive comment. And that alone felt strange after spending the entire day arguing with him in my head and even out loud.

“About tonight,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “Naomi.”

“You don’t need to explain her to me,” I replied.

“Well, I want to,” he said, rubbing his jaw as if he was trying to find the right words to use. For a fleeting moment, he seemed to look younger than a thirty year old would, like he was carrying a heavy burden that didn’t quite fit his frame. His eyes dropped to the floor before lifting back to stay on mine. “My father trusted her with things. I don’t exactly know what they are. He died holding these walls, and she just kept running and making decisions. I was twenty-four and grieving, and for me, it was easier to let her keep doing what she’d always done than to press her for any sort of answers.”

“And now?” I asked.

“Now I understand that I don’t actually know what my own advisor is protecting.” He said softly, almost shamefully, as if admitting that weighed heavily on him. His fingers twitched, tightening together for a second before relaxing again. “That should scare me more than it does.”

I studied his face, illuminated by the lamplight, and felt an unexpected softness travel inside me, because somehow I knew exactly what it looked like when someone learned to carry fear without allowing anyone else to see it. I had spent eight years of my life doing the same thing. The difference here was that I had never expected to recognize it in this man.

“Maybe it scares you just the right amount,” I said. “You’re just used to swallowing that fear. Some of us become experts at it. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t still there.”

His expression changed, almost surprised that anyone could understand him, let alone lay it out so plainly. His eyes stayed on mine, and for a few seconds, neither of us made a move. The silence between us shifted, becoming thinner, more raw. And I could feel myself becoming too aware of how close we were, of the quiet in the room surrounding us, and also of the fact that there was no one else here to interrupt us or remind us what we were supposed to be to each other.

“You’re good at reading people,” he said, looking a bit shocked.

“I had to be. It wasn’t always safe not to know what someone was planning next.”

“Is that what this is? You reading me?”

“Maybe,” I replied, meeting his gaze and holding it without flinching, which felt like its own small act of defiance. “Or maybe I’m just tired enough tonight that I forgot to hate you for an hour.”

I watched it land. An expression subtly passed across his face, but it was unmistakable. It wasn’t rage or anything close to that. It was closer to relief, and seeing that expression on him did cause an uncomfortable feeling in my chest. For a moment, there was a stretch of silence where neither of us spoke. It didn’t feel like a fight, nor did it feel like we were negotiating something. It felt like it was just two tired people sitting in a room filled with real books, finally being honest because we didn’t have that much energy left in us to pretend anymore.

That moment honestly frightened me more than the event that had happened in the courtyard. I could see him processing it too. His jaw tensed, and he leaned back just a little, as if he had realized he had gotten too close to something neither of us was ready to talk about. My fingers tightened around the edge of my own chair. I didn’t know what had changed between us, only that I could feel it, and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to pull away from it or stay exactly where I was.

At the same moment, I straightened up. We both did it at the same time, which somehow made the tension forming between us increase. Our eyes met again, neither of us looking away immediately. It was obvious we both recognized that feeling, yet we desperately wanted to ignore it.

“I should…” I began to say, but my words got interrupted by a knock on the door.

Beckett didn’t wait for an invitation and pushed the door open. Instantly, the air in the room grew stiff and formal again, and I watched Zane already standing and shifting back into the version of himself that the outside world never really saw. His shoulders squared, his expression settled, and whatever had been unguarded in his face a moment ago had disappeared so quickly that I almost questioned whether it was ever there to begin with.

“A courier arrived from the southern border,” Beckett announced, handing Zane a folded piece of paper. His eyes darted briefly toward me and back to Zane, clearly unsure if I was supposed to be part of this conversation. “This is for your eyes only. He rode all night to get it here.”

Zane took the paper and unfolded it, reading it through once and then a second time, more slowly. I could see that familiar look on his face that I had learned was even worse than when he was outright angry; a careful blankness washed over him, almost like a door had closed behind his eyes. The change was so complete that the man who had been sitting across from me a moment ago looking so uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time, seemed to disappear.

He didn’t pass the note back to Beckett, nor did he hand it to me. Instead, he folded the paper back exactly along its crease, showing remarkable control, and then looked at me with that same careful blank expression still plastered on his face.

“Corinne’s been busy,” he remarked, “while we were distracted.”