The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(22)

His words echoed in my head. All of Akaran—its cavernous space, lush splendor and enchanted aura—was mine. Even though I had walked through the Night Bazaar and tasted its fruit, my soul staggered. My joy was ghostly, like something not quite realized. I kept thinking back to the moment where I had stood with poison against my palm, where I had owned nothing, been nothing and almost … was nothing. Even with this new kingdom, my heart still focused on the one I knew before.

“My kingdom—” I started, hesitating, “is it unharmed? Do you know what happened to my sister Gauri?”

Amar’s hands tightened at his sides. “Your sister is safe. Now, come, let me show you our chamber.”

Every bone in my body ached, but my nerves made me feel tense and awake. Wordlessly, Amar led me from the golden dining room through a series of hallways. I squinted into the darkness, trying to make out details or edges. But shadows concealed everything.

Finally, we reached a marble door that could only be the bedroom. My pulse quickened, and for a moment, I thought my nerves might make me retch the contents of my rich meal. Amar pushed open the door, revealing a room with a high ceiling and a circular bed. A translucent gossamer canopy fell from the ceiling, rippling in silken pools. Handsome borders gleamed along the edges of the wall. The rooms in Bharata’s palace could’ve been a pauper’s hovel compared to this.

“The adjoining room should have anything you may need,” said Amar, pointing at a tucked-away door. He then inclined his head politely and entered a private chamber.

He said nothing about sharing a room.

Maybe he was too tired or too full. Or not interested. A flicker of disappointment shot through me. I didn’t have Parvati’s milky complexion or Jaya’s thick-lashed gaze, but I wasn’t revolting. In the imposing room, I felt small and ridiculous. No servant appeared to help me with my garments, but I did not mind. I was used to taking care of myself in Bharata. Strangely, there were no mirrors inside the bedroom, but one swipe of my hand across my face was enough to know how I looked. Smudges of kohl had left my eyes and pooled against my temples. Groaning, I splashed my face with water and began the tedious task of removing my sari and jewelry.

I felt blindly at my face, poking at my nose and stretching my cheeks taut. After seventeen years, I still hadn’t grown into my nose. My skin felt shiny, and irritated bumps trailed across my forehead. I glanced down, taking stock of my narrow shoulders, sharp collarbones and straight waist. I looked boyish. Maybe that’s why he showed no interest.

I walked back into the bedroom. Amar was standing by the foot of the bed, playing lazily with the cuffs of his sleeves. I tensed. That foolish disappointment was gone.

“Are you frightened?” he asked.

Don’t cower. I straightened my back. I would’ve stared him in the eyes if I could. “Should I be?”

“I should hope there are more frightening things than sharing a bed with me,” he said. He flourished a bow. “Did I not promise you that we would be equals? Your will is where I lay my head. I will not touch you without your permission.”

I moved to the bed, taking stock of the unnecessary amount of cushions. I could feel Amar’s gaze on me and rather than tossing the cushions to the ground, I stacked them in the middle of the bed. Amar followed me and slid onto the opposite side. The fire in the diyas collapsed with the faintest of sighs.

“A daunting fortress,” he said lazily, prodding one of the pillows. “Have you so little faith in me?”

“Yes.”

He laughed and the sound was unexpectedly … musical.

“The dark is a lovely thing, is it not? It lets us speak in blindness. No scowls or smiles or stares clouding our words.”

I lay in bed, my body taut. Amar continued:

“I spoke no falsehoods in the Night Bazaar,” he said. “I would rip the stars from the sky if you wished it. Anything for you. But remember to trust me. Remember your promise.”

I fell quiet for a moment. “I remember my promise.”

After that, I said nothing.

The air between us could have been whittled in steel. An hour passed before I ventured a glance at Amar. His face was turned from me, leaving only dark curls half visible in the light. Moonlight had limned his silhouette silver. The longer I stared at him, the more something sharp stirred within me and I was reminded of that strange ache in my head, where forgotten dreams jostled for remembrance.

I stared at the ceiling, fighting the giddiness dancing in my chest. I replayed the day slowly, languorously, reliving every detail—from the Night Bazaar’s sky seamed with light and the sensation of my teeth sinking into the fragrant rind of fairy fruit, to the splendid emptiness of Akaran. I rehashed the day again and again, wearing down the memory like a river pebble, until I had convinced my own stubborn mind that everything had truly happened, that every bit was real.

Even so, what tasks did a kingdom that lay between the Otherworld and the human realm want? And why me? Already I knew that Akaran was as different from Bharata as night to day. But there was something thrilling in its differences … a promise of change in its stone hallways.





9

A TURN OF THE MOON

When I woke up the next morning, Amar was gone. I stretched my hand across the bed, pressing my fingers into the side where he had slept. It was cool to the touch—he’d been gone for some time. Not a good sign for the first day as queen. I pulled at my hair, biting back a groan and hoping he’d left while the room was still dark. My hair fell in knotted waves around me. I probably looked feral.