any longer.
She moved without warning, slamming him into the wall, her forearm against his throat, szitelka drawn and pressed against his side.
He raised both hands in a sign of surrender, lifting one farther to unhook the mask from his face. It was made of iron and covered his mouth, stopping just where his tattoos started on the bridge of his nose.
“There was no need for you to interfere,” she said, her voice a snarl.
He swallowed, his pale stare icing over. “Were you going to kill her yourself?”
She pressed up harder on his windpipe. “I can handle myself,” she replied through clenched teeth. “Understand?”
“Perfectly,” he wheezed.
She released the pressure on his throat but didn’t pull away or sheathe her szitelka. “If anyone saw you—”
He cut her off, voice low. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private for this discussion, shall we?”
His expression was carefully blank. Had she angered him with her outburst? Good. He deserved it. He couldn’t place the whole plan’s success on her and then not trust her to see through what was necessary.
Nadya kicked the door to her chambers closed after they entered. She begrudgingly sheathed her szitelka.
“You murdered her.”
He was insufferably calm. “You hesitated. That was a duel to the death, there was no room for anything else.”
“You’re right, silly me, I forgot that Tranavians are all bloodthirsty with no capability of understanding concepts of mercy, thank you for reminding me.”
Malachiasz blinked. Hurt flickered across his face and he turned away. Nadya thought seeing one of her jabs land would feel good, but it just made her more frustrated. How dare he play the victim here?
She grabbed his arm, yanking him back around to face her. “I did not need you to take matters into your hands. If anyone saw you—”
“Yet no one did. Yet here we are. Yet here you stand with a seat next to the High Prince at dinner this evening.”
“You can’t talk your way out of this. Her blood is on your hands, not mine.” She leaned closer to him.
“I can live with that. You’re trying to paint it as something it’s not.”
“It was murder.”
“She was a slavhka, raised from birth to slaughter Kalyazi, and as necessary, other Tranavians.”
“That doesn’t make her a monster!”
“We’re all monsters, Nadya,” Malachiasz said, his voice gaining a few tangled chords of chaos. “Some of us just hide it better than others.”
Now she was aware of just how close they were, her hand still clutching his arm. His gaze strayed to her lips. She managed to keep from blushing as she let go and stepped away—she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could still fluster her while she was angry.
She closed her eyes. Heard him step away. When she opened her eyes again he was sitting on the chaise, elbow resting against the armrest, chin in his hand.
“The king will be there, a seat or two away from you,” he said.
She had to take a breath to tamp down the immediate, crushing fear that swept over her. “Are you saying this is my chance?”
He shook his head slowly. “No, but this means you’re getting closer. The time will come sooner than any of us expect. You need to be ready.”
Nadya gritted her teeth.
The door opened. Nadya whirled, but relaxed when it was only Rashid. He grinned.
“Well, that was fun.” His face fell as he picked up on the energy in the room. “Maybe not fun?”
Nadya sighed, finally collapsing into a chair. Malachiasz watched her carefully, like one watched a dog that had just bitten them. Had he assumed her harmless? That she would simply comply with any decision he made? They were still—at their core—enemies in this war. She hadn’t forgotten, not even while she found herself worrying about his safety and wanting him by her side.
He wordlessly passed her a handkerchief. Blood was still all over her face and she felt herself weaken. He was a nightmare—the echoes she still felt of his power were troubling—but he was gentle. Anxious and strange, a boy caught up in a world that had broken him, all while trying to do something good for once. She wondered if her anger that was so quick to spark was just her fighting against the pull she felt. Was her fascination merely because she had been sheltered her whole life and never known someone so drastically different from herself? Or was it more? Was it because he was dangerous and exciting, all while being completely infuriating yet thoughtful?
She worked