Chapter 30

Khysmet’s stupid confession is occupying the forefront of my mind through my every waking moment. I’m starting to think it was completely ingenuine and actually just some new form of torture he’s putting me through.

Because what the hell am I supposed to do with this? One second I’m a pleasant diversion, the next I’m the potential future queen? The sudden shift in perspective is giving me whiplash. I know he said he'd never mentioned it before so it wouldn't scare me away, but damn it, couldn't he have given me a little more of a hint? Unless he did, and I just didn't pick up on it. That's a distinct possibility. Apparently it was obvious to Akharos.

Akharos and Yliana leave early in the morning the next day. Dinner was a bit awkward after the sparring match. When Yliana excused herself for a moment, I asked Akharos if he really hates the sword fight Khysmet forces upon him every time he comes to visit so much, and he said it's a little annoying, but he doesn't particularly hate it. It must just be Yliana that takes it personally. He apologized for her rudeness, though he didn't seem to know what she said, just that she was cold to me. He could obviously tell that something went down between me and Khysmet, but he didn't pry about it. He reminded me to write to him. I think I will.

Khysmet has been treating me with kid gloves ever since his little speech. Fortunately, though, he hasn't entirely stopped harassing me – he's just eased up on it a little. However, in a move that honestly scared me, he did stop visiting me for the first couple nights in a row. I had to show up at his door and beg him not to make me sleep alone every night. Not that he wasn’t amenable to the idea – he was just trying to give me space. But it’s shocking just how quickly the thought of not having him wrapped around me at night made me so desperate that I jumped straight to begging.

It really got me to think about something in a new light. I’ve been asking myself if I want to continue to stay here, if I like Khysmet and my life here enough to continue my leave of absence with the Warblers, to put on hold my beloved previous life of constantly roaming the continent. I haven’t been thinking about what it would mean if I do leave – the things I have here at the castle that I would never see again if I go back to my troupe.

I have made so many friends while I’ve been here. It breaks my heart to think about the possibility of never seeing Vizsla again, or Cevine, or Rhys, not to mention the countless others whose names I have put so much work into learning, whose trust I spent so much time gaining, whose many unique personalities I have come to love so much. Distributing gossip among them is so much fun, so unexpectedly rewarding. I would miss my place here among these people whom I have come to love.

Then there’s some of the more material aspects of living in a castle. This is the most routine I’ve ever had in my life. Every day I know what to expect. I know what city I’m going to wake up in, I know exactly where my next meal is going to come from (and also that it will be delicious), I know where I’ll be sleeping at night (in the most comfortable bed I’ve ever been in), and I know exactly what I’m going to be doing and when I’m going to do it all throughout the day. Going into this, I thought I might find that boring, but honestly, there’s something incredibly soothing about the mundanity. I feel much more well-rested, in a way that I didn’t even know I was tired before. Also, as much as I have bemoaned my lack of agency, I do have the freedom and free time to pursue whatever interests me at my leisure, in a way that I didn’t have on the road. It’s like Akharos said – I have the opportunity to do a different kind of traveling here. I would regret losing access to that if I left.

And then, of course, I would have to deal with never seeing Khysmet again, and everything that entails.

No more throwing toast at him during breakfast. No more communicating my thoughts to him in the mornings by plucking specific songs on my harp, then watching him try not to laugh in front of his advisors when he recognizes them. No more sitting at the piano in the library and staring dreamily out the window while he describes the plot of the novel he’s currently reading. No more walks through the garden. No more conversations that go late into the night.

I’d never get to sit in his lap like I own it again. I’d never get to demand that he carry me to the bath or to bed. I’d miss his hands on me, his gentle but firm touch. I’d miss his tongue running across every inch of my skin. I’d miss the way he wraps his entire body around mine when we sleep together.

I’d miss the sex.

It’s funny, because I’ve never really felt like I was lonely before. It was never hard to find someone to sleep with when I felt like it in whatever random town we happened to find ourselves in that night. I got what I wanted, then I left. And I was perfectly content satisfying myself in between. My close friendships felt like all I needed to satisfy my need for emotional intimacy. And I was happy sleeping alone, since I tend to get hot at night and don’t generally like to cuddle because of that. If asked, I wouldn’t have even said that I particularly wanted a romantic relationship. I was perfectly content.

Now, however, I think if I were to go back to that, I would feel the loss very keenly. I’ve discovered the benefits of being with the same partner multiple times – after sleeping with me regularly for two months, Khysmet has learned a lot about my body, about what I like and how I like it, and he is able to get me off impressively quickly and delights in doing so. Also, he actually cools me down when he cuddles me. I get hotter sleeping alone. On the nights we don’t spend together, my bed feels so strangely empty, in a way it didn’t when I first arrived here.

I think I would even miss his relentless teasing. Possibly most of all. I’ve never spent so much time around somebody who’s constantly trying to piss me off. I’m sure if I had never come to like his other qualities, I would still not be a fan of that. But now that our relationship has become much more give-and-take, I’ve come to enjoy verbally sparring with him. When I contemplate the prospect of losing out on that, and going back on a diet of almost exclusively civilized and kind conversation… I don’t know, it really bothers me. I think I would get bored.

So when it comes to the question at the forefront of my mind, of whether I want to stay here forever, marry Khysmet, and become queen, I at least think I would be amenable to the idea of extending my stay for a while. Possibly even past the two-year mark, though that’s still quite a ways down the road. I suppose a lot could change before then. I’m glad I don’t have to make the decision to stay permanently right now.

I guess I’m also, despite my many reservations about the prospect of ever admitting this out loud, amenable to the idea of potentially at some point marrying Khysmet. I mean, he’s at least sixty percent of the reasons I wouldn’t want to leave. That means something. Not sure exactly what, but it definitely doesn’t mean nothing. I’m sure as shit not going to fall all over myself tearfully accepting his proposal right now, but I have to confront the fact that I do have feelings for him. Maybe if I stay here long enough, I might eventually like him so much that I can even tell him that I like him to his face. Anything is possible, I suppose.

So that's two definite maybes. But what of the third thing? Could I ever possibly be queen? Would I be happy? Would I be any good at it? Would I ever not be hated for being an outsider? I don't even know how to start thinking about this one. Despite sleeping with the king for the past two months, the possibility has literally never even crossed my mind. Not once in my whole life have I ever seriously entertained the prospect of being a queen of anything. That alone makes me think I might not be cut out for this.

Desperate for someplace to at least start, I begin asking a few people I trust to be discreet what they think of the idea of me being queen.

Vizsla, it turns out, was a bad first choice to ask.

"You're going to be queen?" she squeals giddily and hugs me tight. "Cat, congratulations! I'm so happy for you and King Khysmet! When is the wedding going to take place?"

I jump to correct her immediately. “Whoa, no no no, this is completely hypothetical, Vizsla. It might never even happen, and even if it at some point does, it would be way, way in the future. I just want to know if you think I would be any good at it.”

She looks totally crestfallen at my words. I feel a little bad for accidentally getting her hopes up and then raining on her parade.

“I think you would make a great queen, Cat,” she says. “You’re so kind and so smart. People would love you.”

As much as my heart swells at her sweet words and reassurance, that really doesn’t help me. I need someone who isn’t afraid to be frank with me. I turn to Rhys next, but he also isn’t much help.

“I don’t know,” he says. “What makes someone a ‘good’ queen?”

“I have no clue,” I say with a sigh. “That’s why I’m asking you. I was hoping you’d have some insight.”

“I don’t know,” he reiterates. “I think I’d rather have you as queen than some noblewoman. You’re pretty down-to-earth and practical. I’d trust you to make good decisions for the people over someone who’s never gotten their hands dirty.”

"Aww," I say, genuinely touched. "Thank you, Rhys. That means a lot."

He doesn't have much more in the way of advice or insight, though. I sigh and move on to the next person I trust to keep it on the down-low. Cevine, as usual, has shockingly shrewd counsel.

“Would you acquire any sort of political decision-making power, or would you just be a queen consort?” she asks.

I startle at this question, because it makes me realize that I never really asked.

“I suppose I’m not sure,” I admit. “Even if I wouldn’t have any direct political power, I know I would still have political sway if I decide to get involved. Khysmet more or less does whatever I want even now.”

She smiles at that. "Well if you're just a queen consort, then the question is really easy, because from what I know, all you really have to do to be a good queen consort is support the king and show up to events next to him."

"Huh," I say thoughtfully. "I've already done one of those things. And I suppose I could learn to support the king, too."

She giggles. "I don't think you would be allowed to run around in the vendor stalls as queen consort, though. If you were, you'd probably need about twenty armed guards."

“Yeah,” I sigh, “and I guess I would need to act all regal and fancy, wouldn’t I? That would be tough.”

“I think you could act fancy if you felt like it," she says. "You wouldn't have to be haughty or anything, just like, a more polite and graceful version of yourself. I would be more worried that you would have a hard time getting people to follow your orders. You’re smart and you’re confident, but you don’t necessarily project an aura of someone who shouldn’t be questioned, you know?”

She’s absolutely right. That’s definitely something that’s been giving me pause about this.

“You could probably learn how to do that, though,” she continues. “It might just take a while to get used to it.”

I hum thoughtfully. “Do you have any advice on how to go about getting used to it? I can’t necessarily imagine horrendous violence, because that makes me a little too calm, and that’s not really what I would want to go for.”

She smiles. “Not a clue about that one, Cat. You might want to ask King Khysmet for advice. When it comes to projecting an aura of authority, nobody does it quite like him.”

“Yeah, but he’s been in line for the throne since he was born. His method clearly comes from a lifelong superiority complex.”

Cevine giggles, but doesn’t comment either way. Instead, she takes a breath and asks me something completely unrelated.

“Hey, I have a question,” she says. “Is King Khysmet more dominant or submissive in the bedroom?”

Her question catches me so off guard it makes me physically recoil.

“What the fuck?” I say. “I’m not telling you that. Why are you asking that? You’re like ten.”

“I’m sixteen as of last month, you know that,” she argues, rolling her eyes. “And I’m just curious. I’ve read some books on the subject, and I have theories.”

I look at her like she just grew a second head, unsure how to process this information.

“Okay,” I say, “you not only love viscerally violent murder mysteries, but erotica too? You need to read more age-appropriate books.”

She sighs. “Again, I’m not ten. I’m well into puberty. I’m not even actually having sex, I just want to read about it before I do anything. Is that so wrong?”

I blink. “I guess not, but it’s a little wrong to be asking about how someone twice your age is in bed.”

She shrugs. “I’m just curious. I have theories.”

“Hmm…” I contemplate it for a second, and decide to throw her a bone. “What do you call someone who acts dominant, but in reality is so desperate to please he would actually do anything you want?”

“That sounds kind of like a service top, though I don't think that term is usually used in straight relationships.”

I shake my head. “Wrong. You’re not supposed to have an answer to that question. Try again. What do you call that?”

She shoots me a withering glare. “I don’t know, I’m only ten.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Well, either way, that’s what he is. How does that line up with your theories?”

She hums thoughtfully. “I thought he might be a straight up sub. You know, like he acts all commanding normally, but behind closed doors he wants to be the one ordered around.”

I think about this for a second. And then a second more. “I don’t know,” I say. “I think if I started telling him what to do, he’d probably go with it. I’ve never really tried.”

“Hmm. Well that would be one way to practice giving orders, I suppose.”

"I… I suppose it would be. Yeah."

She gives me a wry smile. "Well if you try it, you should let me know whether or not I'm right."

I glare at her and purse my lips. “Actually, this is the last conversation you and I will be having about my sex life, so I probably will not let you know.”