“Coris, c’mon. You need a bath.”

Meya shook Coris’s bony shoulders for what she felt was the tenth time. Yet, the young Lord Hadrian still refused to budge. There he remained, kneeling at the foot of Beau’s freshly covered mound, the greyhound’s leather collar with its golden medallion obscured by his slack fingers. His other hand laid bare on his knee, sprinkled with Hadrian Rose seeds he had just sown onto the turned earth.

According to Hadrian belief, flesh of the warriors who had fallen in the name of Hadrian would go on to nourish the seeds. Their blood would give color to the petals of the roses, which the Hadrians would use to dye their fabric, while their spirit would enjoy eternal peace amidst the green meadows on Freda’s Caldera, up on the highest peak of Neverend Heights.

Nearby, stablemen were digging graves for the other five fallen hounds, now sealed in dog-sized, plain wooden coffins, as Sir Jarl paced about monitoring them.

As everybody else seemed to have their own work to do, Meya had decided her job was to get Coris back up to his room in whichever manner possible, before the night chills got to his frail lungs. Even if she had to drag him by the collar, or sling him over her shoulder and piggy-back him all the way.

“Ugh, get...up! You sack of soggy tomatoes! Corien Alexis Hadrian! You get up this instant!”

Growling through clenched teeth, Meya hooked her hands under Coris’s sweaty armpits and heaved with all her might. It was like dragging Myron away from his charcoal doodles to dinner.

She managed to raise Coris’s meatless bum about a half-foot above the earth. Still, his boots dragged before him like twig-thin banners in a feeble breeze, leaving squiggly trails on the light-brown soil of the stables.

Meya glanced up at the Keep, now a towering violet shadow against the night sky, lit here and there by candleflames filtered through stained glass. Their bedchambers were on the uppermost third floor. This would never work.

Noticing Beau’s collar still in Coris’s slack grip, another idea whizzed into her brain. Quick as a snake’s lunge, Meya reached over and swiped it.

Coris started and whirled around. Meya had already pranced five feet away.

Those cold silvery eyes narrowed in explosive fury. Yet, Meya was unperturbed. Waving the leather strip beside her head, she raised her eyebrow, her expression deadpan.

“This ain’t catch. If you want it back, then walk.”

Coris’s eyebrows furrowed deeper in annoyance, but he painstakingly picked himself up. As he straightened, his unsteady legs gave way, but Meya was there to catch his arm as he faltered.

Their eyes met. Meya smiled in apology as she handed him back Beau’s collar. Coris took it with trembling fingers and pressed it flush to his chest. He then allowed Meya to lead him back into the Keep.

Meya heaved Coris up the last step onto the third-floor landing, just in time to see their door swinging open.

Gretella emerged, an empty wicker basket propped on her voluminous hip, then turned as Meya’s call and sprinting footsteps echoed towards her.

“Nurse! Have you got the antidote?”

To Meya’s surprise and relief, Gretella’s strict, lined face unfolded into a warm smile for the first time ever, even as she tutted in annoyed affection.

“Goodly Freda, he’s your husband, not your rag doll. Don’t drag him around like that!” She scolded as Meya screeched to a halt before her.

Meya side-eyed at the unconscious Coris, then turned back to shine Gretella a sheepish grin. Sighing, Gretella gestured with her head towards the door behind.

“I’ve drawn a warm bath. You know what to do.”

Though her face betrayed no emotion whatsoever, Gretella’s eyes narrowed with a ghost of a sly grin, as she flicked her gaze towards the asleep Coris then back to Meya.

Meya’s cheeks burned red-hot as though she had just chomped on Easthaven chili. By the time she had come up with a befitting protest, Gretella had drifted halfway down the spiral stairs.

Glancing at the still listless Coris, Meya sighed and pushed open the door. A wave of warm, humid air rushed up against her, billowing from behind the tall Hadrian Red (not again...) curtains hanging from golden railings in the middle of the room.

Thank Freda! A bath! A warm bath in an actual tub!

Meya jiggled Coris up against her hip as she rushed forth, yanking the curtains aside with much onerous clangs and jangles. The round wooden tub was shrouded behind a cloud of vapor, with floating flower petals (not more Hadrian Rose, thank Freda) peeking through its gaps as they sailed idly by on the soft currents. The wall of the tub was lined with sponge.

With all the sweat, grime and blood now coating her skin like baked honey, Meya itched to strip naked on the spot and dive in, but then she felt the cold of Coris’s arm around her shoulder, and remembered Gretella’s command. Worse, Coris was still deep in a stupor.

Ugh, fine.

Meya lowered Coris to the floor and propped him against the tub. She left to grab clean towels from the garderobe, then strode back to spread them out on the stone.

She heaved Coris up and set him down upon them, then went to work undressing him. As she had anticipated, blood had seeped in through the drenched tunic and soiled his torso. She must clean him up before chucking him in the bath, or he’d ruin the whole tub before she could get in.

Meya soaked a smaller towel in the tub and began wiping Coris down, an absentminded hum escaping through her lips. Drops of water tainted pink by blood pooled on Coris’s ribs, then trickled down his sunken stomach. The piteous sight reminded her of Marcus and Myron during the Famine.

He loved food, he’d said. It must be excruciating, hungry and craving to eat but not being able to, because your bowels were all scorched up. And now, his best buddy had left him.

Haven’t you taken enough of my life already?

His voice echoed inside her brain. Meya recalled Zier’s blank look of horrified guilt. She still didn’t know what to think. Who to blame.

Coris stirred, his eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings before settling. His silvery eyes focused on her, then his pallid cheeks flushed a faint pink. Meya, still busy mopping up diluted blood, hadn’t noticed.

“Sure took your sweet Hadrian time, didn’t you, my liege.”

She ribbed with good fun. Coris didn’t reply. When Meya finally glanced up enquiringly at him, he had on an awkward expression.

“Ari, you’re—” He began, hesitant. He grasped her hand with the towel on his lower belly, then creaked up a sly smile. “—You’re arousing me.”

“Huh?”

Meya gaped, uncomprehending. She glanced down between Coris’s legs, then let out a shriek of horror.

“Oh, Fyr!”

Coris roared with laughter as Meya scrambled back as if scalded by boiling water. Next thing she knew, he had pushed her flat onto her back and pinned her arms to the icy flagstones, his cold lips devouring hers.

Are you serious? Weren’t you just mourning for your dog?

Meya squealed inside her head as she fought her own blossoming desire, which was robbing strength from her flailing limbs. Coris’s fingers did away with the strings of her corset and snaked under her dress.

“Coris, wait! I’m all icky!” She called out in between kisses.

“Exactly.” Coris breathed, his teeth caressing the curve of her neck. Meya gasped and writhed as a unbidden jolt of bliss coursed through her, “Nothing a bath couldn’t take care of.”

Coris heaved her up with surprising strength. Meya gawked at his determined features, dumbstruck.

Coris winked back at her. Then, with a huge splash, he deposited her unceremoniously in the tub. Meya hadn’t time to shake water out of her facial orifices before his lips closed upon hers once more. She closed her eyes in surrender as the cold of his body stung through the enveloping heat of the bathwater.

A hundred questions swirled in her head. She was still furious with him for his lies. But the heist is over. Gillian was gone. And relief after intense fear was flooding away all those nagging voices.

All she knew, was that she was glad to be alive, that Coris and everyone else were alive. She would worry later what to do next, now that everything was back to normal. For now, she would just be Lady Arinel.

It’s over. All over. At least for now.

For a fevered breath they parted and locked eyes, then plunged back as one under the waves of passion.