The Queen of Golden Flame

32. Ember

She was sweating through the weight of her uniform.

After departing with Amelia, they had found two guards most isolated from the activities and stolen their uniforms, leaving nothing but a bruise on the forehead and a shock of shame for them to wake to. Weeks ago, Ember would've found the idea of knocking someone unconscious and stealing their clothes utterly immoral, but now as she shoved the Selish uniform into a potted plant and followed Ilya into the study, she hardly thought twice.

Once the door was locked behind them, they went into separate corners to change. "Thank Ronayn. I was starting to think I was going to faint if I stayed in that uniform any longer."

"I thought you were looking a little pale," Ilya joked.

But the new uniform wasn't much better. It slipped easily over her head and billowed around her legs. She tucked the shirttail into her trousers, but it did not do much good since she had to roll up the waist as well. The two turned back to each other and just like last time, his uniform was almost perfect on him.

He whistled low. "That one's not much better."

Ember pulled her belt to the tightest loop, and although it had helped secure the pants, they still hung low around her waist. "Hopefully no one will notice. They'll all be too busy admiring the prince to give a piss about us."

Ilya looked up suddenly, surprised. He smiled cheekily. "Language, Ember. Not a big fan of birthdays, huh?"

"Not a big fan of princes," she said with a scoff of disgust, twirling her hair around her finger. "Absolutely thick headed with no common sense and a silver spoon in their mouths."

"Really," he teased, drawing out the 'y' so that his Otherian accent slipped out in all of its thick, slurred glory, "What prince broke your heart?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "None. But as a girl who liked to pretend she was a princess as a child, I've done my fair share of research. Still, they're all the same. They grow up with tempers and an exhaustive ego, which is why most kings have tended to be the ones to start the wars in history."

Ilya nodded along. "I see."

Ember's lips quirked in the corners. "What? You seem so surprised."

"No, no. I just think it's cute. Y'know, that you know all of this. Your nose wrinkles when you concentrate. Did you know?"

Her smile grew in size, her cheeks suddenly warm. "No, I actually didn't. Do I really?"

Ilya crossed to her, hands tucked neatly behind his back, and if she did not know him, Ember thought that she probably would've mistaken him for a guard. The thought made her heart stutter in her chest.

"You do," he confirmed, strolling lazily over to her. He stopped so close that she had to recline her head to meet his dark blue eyes. She could swim in them. "And you twirl your hair. A lot."

"Oh really," she said, though she was well aware of that habit from her mother's constant reminders.

Ilya's footsteps were muted against the lush carpet, but she felt as if each step he took was a loud clack, echoing off the walls and alerting the whole palace of their whereabouts, yet no one came, and they were truly alone.

"Yes. Really."

He cupped his hand under her chin and she gasped, breath stolen from her in an instant.
"Ilya," she began, but her mouth felt fuzzy, as if she had swallowed sand.

Why had she said his name? What she planned to say, she had no idea. Maybe it was because she just wanted to hear his name spoken into the air. Wanted to hear each syllable enunciated, wanted to listen for the sharp intake of breath he took when she called for him.