The Girl King (The Girl King #1)(72)

“Should I furrow my brow and pout like you, too?” she asked.

“I don’t . . .” He broke off, unsure if he was being teased or not. He caught the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

Ignoring it, he muttered, “Wait here.” He slipped around the other side of the horse and dug through one of the saddlebags there, extracting a little grooming kit Lu had found in there days earlier. It must’ve belonged to the soldier whose horse they stole, though none of them had appeared particularly well-groomed in his memory.

He searched the kit until he found a small pair of scissors.

She regarded them suspiciously. “Are you going to give me a scar or something?”

He rolled his eyes and thrust them toward her. “No. You’re going to give yourself a haircut.”

“Fine.” She took the scissors and held them limply. “How do I do it?”

He stared at her.

“You look like I just asked you how to breathe.”

“You’ve never cut your own hair?” He groaned. “Of course you’ve never cut your own hair.”

“I’m a princess,” she confirmed. “I have handmaidens.”

“Oh, for heaven’s . . . ,” he grumbled, grabbing the scissors away and waving them toward a fallen tree. “Go sit there.”

He cut her black hair in deft broad hanks, then more judiciously, so it fell in a straight, even line just beyond her shoulders. She sat stiffly but made no fuss when he used his fingers to turn her chin from side to side, measuring his work. Like many apothecarists, Omair occasionally provided barber services—cuts and shaves—out of their home, so he’d learned a bit here and there. He’d never cut a woman’s hair before, but the rhythm of the work was familiar enough, and he relaxed into it.

Her fringe was blunt and immaculately sculpted, and he used the points of the scissors to coarsen it with a few nicks and notches. She flinched, blinking rapidly as bits of hair fell, clinging to her eyelids and cheekbones.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he blew them away, looking up through the short dark trim of her lashes.

He grunted and ran a hand through her hair to shake it out. When his fingernails grazed her scalp, he felt her shiver under the touch.

He was suddenly aware of how close they were. It was the closest he’d ever been to a girl—to anyone, really. Besides Adé, when she’d kissed him.

Had Lu ever kissed anyone? Had she shivered like that beneath their touch?

Nok felt his face grow hot.

Remember who she is. What she is. Remember who you are.

He pulled his hand away, then stepped back to regard his work. She stood, pinching at the newly shortened ends.

“How do I look?” she asked with a self-deprecating tilt of her head.

“Better,” he said shortly. “Except for the teeth.”

“You’re not doing anything to my teeth,” she said firmly. “I’ll just keep my mouth shut.”

He turned to replace the scissors and grooming kit. “Not likely,” he muttered, hiding his smile.





CHAPTER 22


Loyalty

They had installed her father’s coffin in the main throne room in Kangmun Hall. It would remain there for the next hundred days. Afterward, a procession would escort it to its final resting place in the Imperial Mausoleum, outside Yulan City’s Eastern Gatehead.

The rituals had become the most interesting part of Min’s day. At first the very idea of them had frightened her. Her father’s coffin was magnificent: constructed from multiple layers of black wood, the surface inlaid with mother-of-pearl, crystal, and gold, and draped in cascades of silk and fresh flowers. Still, despite the meticulous trappings, how could she ignore that a dead body was only steps away? Even one that was, or had been, her father.

It must smell, she’d thought. Corpses smelled right away, especially when the weather was hot. The first few days she kept her breathing so shallow she nearly fainted. But afterward, a perverse impulse drove her to seek out any odor of death beneath everything else: the incense smoke, and the perfume of oils, and garlands of roses and jasmine draping the coffin. She never found it, though. The coffin was well sealed.

After that, the rituals were easier. And, she discovered, they were the only time she had occasion to see her cousin—my husband, she reminded herself, though that part scarcely felt real.

On this day like most, Set arrived late, taking his place between Min and her mother as the water monks chanted and waved their censers. Was it her imagination, or did he seem paler than usual? Certainly she was not imagining the dark circles beneath his eyes or the way his fingertips twitched impatiently, all but drumming against his thighs. Not once did he look her way.

He has duties, Min chided herself, forcing the strain of disappointment from her heart. Remember the burdens he bears.

She shivered, recalling the way he’d drawn back his foot and kicked that old prisoner, Ohn, over and over.

That wasn’t real, idiot. Just a dream. It was just a dream.

Liar, whispered another voice.

“Princess,” hissed Butterfly, stirring Min from her thoughts. She started. The monks were signaling the end of the ritual. Min lowered herself in a bow.

Set was gone before Min’s nunas had finished helping her to her feet.