Night.
Loma's chambers were lit in that absurd royal way — five oil lamps per cushion, silk drapes hung just to catch the breeze, everything scented like powdered virtue. Too many pillows, not enough weapons. She'd always lived like a peach in a glass box.
And there I was. Dirt on my knees, braid half undone, panting from the climb, straddling the windowsill like a thief in a very flattering sash.
Loma nearly shrieked.
I clamped a hand over her mouth as she flailed in her moon-pink nightgown, eyes wide as temple plates.
"Hush," I whispered. "Or I'll start recounting your greatest hits in song. Loudly. In front of the guards."
She yanked my hand off and hissed, "Saya! You absolute pestilence. What are you doing here?!"
"Dropping in," I said, stepping lightly onto her overpriced rug. "Wanted to see how my favorite winter cuddle princess was doing. You look… rested."
"You climbed the facade."
"Well I wasn't invited in through the front gate like a respectable concubine, was I?"
She glanced at the heavy door, nerves flaring. "You can't be here. If anyone sees you—"
"Oh, trust me, I know," I purred, circling her like a cat. "Wouldn't want the Archduke to hear how his newest jewel used to shack up in a debt tower with a half-naked scam artist."
Loma blanched. "You swore—"
"I lie for a living, sweetheart."
She straightened, trying to channel that old Tanagran steel. "You can't blackmail me. You have nothing."
I smiled and counted on my fingers. "The samovar you used to bribe that orc quartermaster. The slave cage you made me share. The unicorn tapestry you shredded for a rope. The time you pissed on the wall because you were too proud to squat like a peasant. Oh, and Ogden."
Loma turned purple. "We didn't—"
"Oh come on," I said. "The squeaking bed? The groaning? The way he shouted 'I kneel to no queen!' mid-climax? Honestly, it was more embarrassing than scandalous."
She sank onto a cushion, mortified. I knelt across from her, all sweetness and poison.
"Look," I said, flicking a loose jewel on the cushion, "I don't need much. A toe in the door. A seat at the harem. You vouch for me, say I'm a… distant cousin with exotic charms and a tragic past. You're good at tragic. I'll take care of the rest."
She stared, jaw clenched.
"I will write the entire Ogden episode in verse," I added. "In Toemachan. It'll rhyme."
"You're a monster."
"I'm resourceful," I corrected, reaching for a fig. "And let's be honest, Loma. You missed me."
"I shared my last honey bun with you, princess," I said, crouched like a cat on the edge of her absurd chaise, my voice thick with mock hurt and real venom. "Remember? Sisterhood camp. That sun-blasted tent in the middle of the godsdamn desert. You were red as a boiled crab, your feet bleeding, nose peeling like bad fruit, and I shared my last sweet with you."
Loma didn't look up. Her arms were crossed so tight her bangles clicked.
"That was my honey bun," she said stiffly.
I gasped, hand to chest. "How dare— It was mine! I traded two buttons and a kiss to that lunatic quartermistress for it."
"You stole it from her belt pouch while she was praying!"
"Same thing!"
Loma's eyes flashed. "And you ate three quarters of it!"
"I left you the sticky part at the bottom," I snapped. "That's the best part!"
We stared at each other. Neither blinked.
"And don't forget the splinter," I added, lowering my voice. "Big one. Right in that dainty little heel of yours. You limped for a week."
Her face twitched. "You used your teeth."
"I had to! They confiscated all our tweezers for 'encouraging vanity.' You screamed like a tortured harp and then cried into my hair for half the night. Don't pretend you don't remember."
Loma turned her head sharply. Her earrings jingled with outrage. Or shame.
"You weren't supposed to be in my tent," she muttered.
I smirked. "You didn't exactly throw me out."
Silence stretched.
I leaned in, dropped my voice low and warm like a campfire secret. "So now you're here. All oiled and perfumed and about to be a very fancy pet in Severin the Pale's personal menagerie. And I'm asking for one favor. Let me in."
She wouldn't meet my eyes. Her voice was barely a whisper. "You don't belong in a place like this."
"No," I said. "But neither did you."
She closed her eyes. Her shoulders sank. For a moment, just a moment, she looked like that sand-crusted mess of a girl sobbing over a honey bun in the Sisterhood barracks while the wind howled like demons outside.
And just like that, I knew I had her.
Loma's chin trembled — barely — but I caught it. Just the faintest quake beneath all that royal polish. Her gaze stayed fixed on some distant, innocent bit of silk embroidery, like she could vanish into it if she just stared hard enough.
I moved slow. Didn't want to spook the high-strung little gazelle.
One knee on her cushion. Then the other. I leaned in close, breath warm against her cheek, fingers sliding up into that perfect hairdo of hers — all pins and perfume and the kind of obsessive grooming only bored handmaidens and insane princesses could manage in the middle of a desert.
She stiffened. Didn't stop me.
"You're a bastard," she whispered.
"I know."
Her voice cracked. "A monster."
"True."
"The worst thing that ever happened to me."
I grinned. "Also true. And yet."
She turned. Just enough for our foreheads to touch. Her breath hitched.
"I hate you," she said, voice trembling like a harp string.
"I know," I whispered, lips brushing her ear. "You're welcome."
Her hand found my waist. Not to push me away.
And then she leaned in — not all the way, not yet. Just enough for her nose to bump mine, for her eyes to flicker shut, for her lips to hover like a dare.
And gods, did I love that moment.
The pause before the plunge. The way she trembled but didn't break. The highborn horror tangled in longing. The desert in her lungs and the heat I left in her spine.
"I could scream," she murmured.
"You could," I said. "But then I'd have to gag you. Again."
That earned a shaky little gasp. Might've been a laugh. Might've been surrender.
Close enough.
So I kissed her. Not gently.