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“So you’re being a greedy king,” she sniffs. “I see how it is.”
“I bleed for this role, so spirit forbid I covet a little slice of the privilege now and then.” I stomp the last bit of distance toward the speeder with a bit of childish indignance. The thought of sharing hadn’t even occurred to me, so maybe I am greedy.
“I’ll think about it,” she says, following me. “I do owe you, come to think of it.”
My finger pauses over the speeder’s control buttons.
“You’ll think about what? You’ll think about kissing me?” I’m in shock.
She drags the toe of her boot through the mud near the ancient fountain.
“There was that time,” she says, avoiding eye contact. “You said it was no favor, but I still feel guilty about it. And maybe it wouldn’t compare to what you did to me, but it would be something. Something that could make you happy, right?”
I’m feeling greedy indeed as I recall the favor she means to pay me back for.
“I told you already that you owe me nothing,” I say, jabbing the start button on the speeder. “But there’s nothing that would make me happier than a kiss from you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MAK
I try my best to shake the topic of kissing from my mind as we board the speeder and lift off for a very short trip up to the tower that overlooks Ta’Nak Annir. We land on a rooftop balcony space with a crumbling canopy of arches and columns. There’s a metal table under the canopy, one of the few pieces of furniture we’ve encountered in our exploration. When I go to inspect it, it turns out to be bolted to the roof. I drop the bag that holds our meal there before turning to see what Frankie has gotten into this time.
But instead of finding her bent over a plaque or wiping down tiles, she’s standing at the edge of the roof staring out at the ocean. It’s windy enough to threaten the strength of the thick braid she wears, and a few dark strands have escaped. There’s a pleasant scent in the air up here, fresh and salty. I go to her, standing between the sharpest gusts and her body.
“I’m guessing the water looks beautiful at night,” she says distantly. “Why else would they name it after midnight waters?”
“I’d imagine it does. Should we stay and find out?”
“Could we do that?”
“So long as you’re fine missing the luxuries of the ship’s hot water for an evening,” I say with a shrug. “We can set up camp here. I keep an emergency bag in the speeder that has the essentials.”
“Maybe not on the rooftop,” she says with a laugh, tucking the fluttering strands behind her ears. “It’s windy up here. But I think that would be fun, and we can see if these waters are all they’re cracked up to be at midnight.”
We lay out our meal on the floor of the rooftop, a whole host of snacks that were prepared for us by both the palace staff and the ship’s kitchen. Cold bean salad, candied nuts, hunks of bread, pastries of all kinds, and cured meats—a feast that will last us for the extra time we’ll be adding to the trip.
“I see the kitchens are still at odds,” Frankie observes with amusement as she peruses the pastry options.
“I’d say it’s a shame, but the competition seems to be generating some truly delicious results.” We make our selections and munch peacefully, the shining sun and the sounds of crashing waves creating the perfect atmosphere for a picnic. We eat in comfortable silence, and when its time to pack up the food, I insist I’ll handle it myself. Francesca wanders to the edge of the rooftop and leans against the stone ledge to enjoy the view. When the picnic has been cleared, I go to join her, admiring the dreamy expression on her pretty face.
“What’s on your mind?”
She purses her lips thoughtfully.
“What color should I choose for the mating ceremony?” she asks. “Lalo said she would make one for me, so I’ll have to decide soon so she can work on it.”
“Raina requested white,” I tell her. “Isn’t that the human way?”
“In our country’s tradition, sure. But I don’t necessarily care about that. What do Kar’Kali brides prefer?”
“Bride,” I try the human word on my tongue. It translates to something like female mate-to-be. “Many females choose to wear red, the color of matehood. As blood turns from blue to red, it’s a popular symbol of readiness for matehood.”
“Red could be pretty,” she murmurs.
“Others simply choose their favorite color,” I add. “My mother wore golden yellow.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Yellow doesn’t suit me at all.”
