Kiersten White

He shrugged. “You nearly broke Petru’s arm sparring. And then you missed yesterday’s training entirely. You either fail to respond to what we say, or you snap so sharply it wounds. I am sorry. I thought—I did not realize you were serious.” He shifted on his feet, tugging at his collar. “If you want, I mean, if it is important to you, I—We could try kissing.”

Lada stared at him in disbelief. Then, the strain of the last week being too much, she threw her head back and laughed. It bubbled out of her like a mountain stream from dry rock, cascading from her lips in a cold, unstoppable rush. She laughed so hard she fell to the ground, clutching her stomach, which soon began to ache.

Nicolae nudged her with his foot, scowling. “This is the most offensive rejection to an offer of romance I have ever received. And that is saying something, as I have had many rejections.”

“You idiot,” she gasped. “You tremendous, arrogant ass. You thought I would be so distraught over you?”

He sat beside her. “Yes, right. While I still have some dignity, can you tell me what is really wrong?”

“The devil take you, Mehmed!” she screamed, filled with sorrow poisoned by rage. This was his fault. She had stayed for him, had let him lull her into feeling like she had security, safety, a future. But, as always, she was at the mercy of the men in her life. And, just like her father, Mehmed had abandoned her.

“And where is the devil to take me?”

Lada whirled around, heart racing. Mehmed leaned in the doorway, mirth twisting the new form the siege had carved his weary face into.

“You died!” She pushed him away, staring at his face. He was changed, but it was him. Alive. Healthy.

“Did I? That is disappointing. I was very much looking forward to being alive for our reunion. Though I feared you would kill me.”