Page 71 of Black Salt Queen

Laya’s eyes narrowed. “Is this another trap?”

“While the princess bathes, no longer.” He clarified his order and gave her a somber look. “I wish for us to trust each other again, Laya. But if you hurt me or try anything stupid?—”

“I know.”She exhaled sharply and held out her hands. “You have my family hostage. I’m not a fool.”

Luntok studied her for a long moment. Laya stared back, fighting to maintain a neutral expression. She hadn’t lied about the fatigue, the aches that lingered after Imeria’s torture. The events of the day had drained her. She couldn’t hurt Luntok, even though she ardently wanted to.

He nodded to the guard, who reached into his belt for the keys. The shackles opened with a click. Laya sighed in relief, massaging her wrists. Her gaze snapped to his, and instinctively, Luntok tensed. But she did not raise her palms to summon a blast of wind. She merely clutched her hands to her chest.

“Thank you,” he said to the guard as he led Laya along by the elbow. “I’ll manage from here.”

The suspicion never left the guard’s gaze, but he gave Luntok a curt nod and exited Laya’s chambers. Alone once more, they headed into the water closet adjoining her bedroom. In the center lay a circular tub carved out of rich rosewood. Yari had already pumped it full of warm water. Steam wafted up from the surface, leaving the air in the room thick with humidity.

Laya reached for the buttons at the collar of her dress. Luntok’s gaze followed her as she crossed the water closet. He wanted her as much as Laya once wanted him. That desire had been her undoing. But beneath the curdling heat of Luntok’s gaze, Laya straightened.

Desire was a weakness?—something she could use.

She paused, glancing at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Are you going to stand there and ogle me?”

“No, but I won’t leave you unattended,” he said as a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his temple.

Laya wondered whether the water in the tub was hot enough to scald her skin. She felt trapped inside a bathhouse sauna.

“Instead of standing there, perhaps you would like to join me.”

Laya didn’t have the strength to destroy him. That wouldn’t always be the case. But Luntok would be weak as long as he wanted her.

She revealed nothing as she stared back at him. Her body language shifted as she finished unbuttoning her dress. He watched, transfixed, as it slipped from her shoulders. Laya let it pool on the tiles and stared at him, garbed in a gauzy white camisole and petticoat. She tilted her head. Parted her lips. How many times had Laya given him that look, knowing it would make his blood sear?

He swallowed hard. “Laya, I...”

I don’t trust you.

Laya could read his thoughts, because they mirrored her own.

Her gaze softened. She held out her hand. “Please,” she said gently. “Let’s pretend things are as they were before.”

Luntok was too vulnerable to refuse her, and she knew this. He shrugged off his clothes, watching her out of the corner of his eye while she stepped out of her underthings. Laya did the same. She thought back to how they’d danced together at the parade?—wildly, recklessly?—how she’d yanked him close, pulling his skin flush against hers. This was not the same kind of dance. In the water closet, they circled each other in a cautious orbit. The hard lines of his body wavered in the hot steam. Although they had stood naked in front of one another a hundred times before, the version of Luntok that appeared before her was unrecognizable.

She sank into the bath first. Luntok settled in the opposite end of the tub. The heat coaxed the tension from her muscles, held taut for so long. She stretched out her legs under the water, her feet bumping against his knees. Then she dipped beneath the surface long enough to wet her hair. Luntok watched her run her fingers through her dark, matted strands. She thought he might reach for her again. He grabbed the bar of soap lying on the edge of the tub instead.

“Come here,” he said in a low voice, gesturing her closer with a wave of his hand.

To his surprise, Laya obliged him.Let him want. Let him hanker.She turned around and leaned against his torso. His shallow breaths reverberated in her ear, and she could practically hear his heart hammering in his chest.

Laya didn’t need to call upon Mulayri’s power. One day, she would strangle Luntok with her bare hands.

Despite the water’s scalding temperature, she shivered when he lathered the soap over her shoulder blades and down the side of her neck. The trials of the past day had made her entire body stiffer than a bamboo rod. He rubbed slow circles into the knotted muscles in her upper back. His thumb dug into a sore spot, and rather than recline against him, she hissed.

Her hand jerked above the surface. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub. In his panic, Luntok snatched her by the wrist.

Laya’s gaze snapped over her shoulder. “I... I wasn’t...”

The brass of the shackles had dug into her skin mere moments before, only to be replaced by his bruising grip.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Luntok released her, and she winced. He turned away, flushing with shame as she rubbed her wrist. But Laya could tell from the hard gleam in his eyes?—Luntok wasn’t sorry. He’d gotten what he wanted: Laya for his wife, and the throne his family had coveted for centuries.

“This is how it’s going to be from now on, isn’t it?” she asked bitterly as she inched away.

---