hate the challenges and the entire purpose of this ruse. I want no part in it. Yet it appears I have no choice.”
Reality forced its way back into the moment, an ugly reminder of their circumstances. Before Tobias could fester in it, Leila scooted closer to him.
“I have an idea. A game.”
“I don’t know about that.” Tobias held up his bandaged hand. “I’ve already played one game today, and it ended quite painfully for me.”
“We can pretend. The tournament doesn’t exist. All is well in your home and in this fortress. Tell me, what would you do then? If not for the tournament, what would you do?”
“All right,” he said. “If not for the tournament, I’d go back to Petros. Be an artist again. I’d only come to the fortress if I were commissioned.”
“You would be too. You’re very talented.”
He basked in her praise, then nodded. “Your turn.”
Leila thought for a moment. “If not for the tournament, I’d leave.”
“Leave?”
“The palace. Not permanently. But I’d just…leave. Sometimes. See what’s out there, past the fortress.”
“You can’t do that now?”
She shook her head.
Clearing his throat, he continued. “If not for the tournament, I’d marry who I wanted, when I wanted to, because I wanted to. Not Someone I won, Someone who bores me.”
“She bores you?”
“God, yes.” He reconsidered his words. “No offense, I know She’s your Friend. Or Sister. Your Sister-Friend. This is confusing. God, what a mess.”
Leila chuckled. “If not for the tournament, I’d live freely. Make the decisions I want to make without questioning the cost or risk. Without fear.”
“Is Cosima controlling?”
She shook her head, and Tobias’s back went rigid. “The Sovereign.”
She nodded.
Tobias frowned. “If not for the tournament, I’d die an old man. In my sleep, surrounded by my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”
“That could still happen.”
“Unlikely.”
Leila swatted his arm. “If not for the tournament, I’d heal people. In the realm.” She offered a warm smile. “Put my skills to proper use.”
Tobias didn’t respond. Leila looked calm, peaceful, and so goddamn beautiful he could hardly take it. Maybe she wasn’t nervous any longer—maybe now was as good a time as any—and his courage and anxiety brawled within him.
“If not for the tournament…I’d ask to kiss you.”
“I’d say yes.”
Tobias froze. Leila’s words were sharp, as if she hadn’t thought them through. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You didn’t say the first part.”
“And you still haven’t kissed me.”
The silence between them was loud and apparent. Tobias leaned into her, threading his fingers through her hair, and she sucked in a shallow breath, her gaze darting between his eyes, his lips. His heart raced, screaming for him to act, yet the blasphemy wasn’t lost on him. Right here, right now, he could be condemned.
And not a single part of him cared.
He took her chin, bringing her in closer. Each passing second stretched for hours, leaving him with her wavered breathing, her pillowy lips brushing against his. The distance between them disappeared, and he closed his eyes and gave her a single, soft kiss.
Tobias opened his eyes, half-expecting the Proctor to barrel into the sanctuary, seizing them for their crimes. Instead there was stillness—save for Leila trembling, staring down at the floor.
He cupped her cheek. “Leila, you’re shaking.”
“It’s just, I’m realizing…” Her gaze panned to his. “This makes things quite complicated.”
“This doesn’t have to go any further. We can stop right now. Pretend it never happened.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that what you want?”
Tobias shook his head, and she exhaled. “It’s not what I want, either.”
Tobias hesitated, then leaned in slowly, lightly kissing her bottom lip once, twice. Lingering close, he worked his hand down her neck, savoring the anticipation, allowing the excitement to climb higher. Finally he gave in, melting into a long, smooth kiss—and wine flowed through his veins, soaking every nerve in his body until they were piqued with sensation.
He was drunk. He was hooked.
The next kiss unfolded naturally, as if this was what he was supposed to be doing, kissing her always. His entire body felt involved somehow, both dulled with intoxication and heightened with awareness, with every touch and sound, with the scent of her hair and the taste of her lips—peaches. Leila slid her fingers up his stomach, sending chills rolling through his body, and when her hand reached his chest, he grabbed it and held it there, certain she could feel his heart pounding against her palm. He threaded his fingers through hers, pressing them deeper into his chest, and then his hands were suddenly moving