Page 43 of The Reluctant Queen
“Yes, from cooking wine.”
“No!”
“Yes.” He laughed so hard that he had to pause on the stairs while she continued upward. Luckily, the moon stayed with her.
The countess pursed her lips, and stomped past the door that would lead to the second level of guest rooms. It had been barred from the inside. “What is this?” She doubled back to meet him on the landing.
“That’s typically called a ‘lock.’”
Hevva ignored him. “Are you going to hold me in some tower or something?”
“Not unless you want me to. No. No one uses these stairs or the level above, where we’re going.”
“Oh.”
“Oh.” He pumped his brows, and she smacked him on the chest, butnot too hard.
She continued up.
“Is that all right?” he inquired, directly behind her once again.
She nodded, unable to speak. Where was he taking her? And who was taking her?
The top floor of the wing was disconnected from the rest of the palace, save entry from that single locked stairwell. Lady Hevva couldn’t help the shiver of torrid anticipation that ran through her. The situation was beyond scandalous, they weren’t at the symposium where rules seemed to bend and break, or up and vanish.If someone finds us here...She gulped.
Ehmet guided her to a closed door, same as the rest, and stopped behind her.
“All right, close your eyes.” He stepped up and raised one huge hand to engulf her face, while the other turned the handle. “Walk forward.”
She did.
“Stop riiiiight now.”
She did.
The king removed his hand from her eyes, but left it resting on her shoulder, big and heavy and comfortable. And as Hevva’s brain processed what she was looking at, she nearly sobbed with joy. The lady did let out a small gasp of delight.
Ehmet had somehow brought Rohilavol to them. She stood with him now, atop the platform where they’d been crowned and handed pints after winning the race. The same cobbled street, the same crooked homes greeted her. But no people leaned out of the windows, cheering for them andwatching. Instead, a magical violin played itself at the far end of the room, its lilting tune drifting through the enchanted space. When Ehmet raised his moon, to hang against the deep blue ceiling, her mouth dropped open at the sheer splendor of it all.
The king brought his other hand to warm her empty shoulder and give her a squeeze. Sighing, he rested his chin atop her head and took in the same view. The gesture sent waves of heat coursing through her bones.
“This is lovely,” she murmured, voice belying little of the awe consuming her. No one had ever done something like that for her. A bouquetof picked flowers? Once or twice. A free drink? Several times. Not this splendor. Never anything so grand, so thoughtful.
“Do you like it, then?” He sounded almost uncertain, and it made her pout, for she had made him feel badly—probably by killing Berim.
“Oh, very much,” Hevva gushed, letting her feelings flow.
“I know you were missing Berim.”
Ah, yes. It was the murder.Hevva shared a small, wan smile with herself before turning around to face him, forcing Ehmet to drop hold of her shoulders. She missed his touch the instant it was gone. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He ran a thumb over the line of her jaw. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”
“Yes, I do. I was ridiculous last night. I spilled your wine. I was a petulant brat. I said things that I—”
He shook his head, urging her to shut her mouth. And then, to reinforce the point, he kissed her soundly.
When he drew away, leaving her lips sizzling from the contact, she stared at him. “Who...which one are you?”
