Eloisa tried to remain dignified when the door to her palanquin slid open, letting in a rush of warm, valley air. She took her time in standing, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress, and adjusting her crown, as was expected. Her time traveling had taught her that it was not appropriate for an asejana, or really any woman, to burst from a palanquin as if fleeing a prison.

Never mind that the palanquin did feel like a prison. After two full weeks of traveling from city to city, with scarcely a day to recuperate in between, she'd grown sick of the oversized box. Adding to her frustrations was the fact that she was alone for long stretches of time. Lidia had remained in Cal'en Fasha and Jedora had declined to accompany them to any nation whose temperature could be described as “balmy.”

As she stepped out onto the atrium, Eloisa was momentarily blinded by the sunlight. She lifted her arm to her face, covering her eyes until they could adjust. When her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was her husband extending a hand towards her.

It was no longer odd to think of Caleth as her husband. As of that very day, they had been married for longer than the two weeks that they'd courted.

She accepted his hand, noting that he'd changed his outfit since yesterday. They had departed Stravea that morning, but Eloisa had overslept and hadn't seen Caleth before he'd phased. The same magic that allowed him to take his dragon form kept his clothing intact as he moved from one form to the next.

As was often the case, his outfit was black and well-tailored. What caught Eloisa's attention was the sash he wore across his chest, which contained dozens of silver emblems, one for each kingdom and city-state under his rule. He also wore his spiked silver crown, something she'd only seen him wear on the day of Eloisa's coronation.

She didn't know how to say “ostentatious” in Cal'derache, so she just shook her head and said, “I know what you're doing.”

She did know how to say that in Cal'derache, as well as a great many things. There were still plenty of words she didn't know, but she could carry on a conversation with minimal difficulty. Caleth was the easiest person to communicate with, because he knew the limits of her understanding and guided conversations accordingly, now and then giving her new words but without overwhelming her.

“Your brother has a habit of forgetting his place,” Caleth told her. “Better he doesn't forget. I'll have no patience in this heat.”

Eloisa accepted his hand. “Next time, bring someone to loudly announce your titles.”

His lips slanted. “There is not enough time in a day.”

The blaring of trumpets drew their attention towards the doors that led into the palace. Philomen and Milara were emerging, preceded by a crier who was shouting Philomen's titles. Caleth laughed under his breath.

The king and queen looked less frazzled than the last time Eloisa had seen them. They strode arm in arm onto the courtyard, their chins held high and their faces so powdered that they were paler than Caleth and his frostkind retinue.

“Dear sister,” Philomen said, favoring Eloisa with one of his hollow smiles. “You are looking radiant. And my dear sovereign, you are...” Philomen cocked his head to look around. “Where is his translator?”

“She won't be joining us today,” Eloisa said. “Don't worry. I've become quite proficient in Cal'derache.”

Surprise flitted across Philomen's aura, and he nodded his acceptance.

Milara said, “I'm so sorry that we couldn't make it to your wedding. By the time we received the invitation, it was already half-past the date.”

Caleth glanced at Eloisa, who translated, “She is sorry for missing our wedding.”

“She doesn't realize it was intentional?” he asked.

Eloisa suppressed a smile. “I don't believe so.” To Milara, she said, “Not to worry. You've caused no offense.”

Waving a hand towards the palace, Philomen said, “Shall we go inside and discuss the terms of your bride price?”

Milara let out a peal of laughter. “So soon, Philomen? Let's not rush them. I'm sure they'd like to rest.”

“Actually, we won't be staying,” Eloisa said. “So it is better we get straight to it.”

As she entered the palace, Eloisa was struck by how different her circumstances were compared to the last time she'd been there. Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on Caleth's hand. He squeezed back.

“You will do well,” he told her.

Eloisa wished she shared his confidence.

As they made their way down the corridor, Milara engaged her in conversation. Her cheery expression was belied by her nervous aura.

“Have you fared well in the north? I've never been beyond the central lands, myself. I hear it's terribly cold up there, and the ground is made of ice. Is that true?”

Eloisa opted to address only the final question. “There is soil, but it's beneath the permafrost.”

“Permafrost? That sounds awful. You must be so cold all of the time.”

At Caleth's inquiring look, Eloisa said, “It's only Atolian talk.”

'Atolian talk' was the Cal'derache equivalent of 'small talk'. Unlike Atolians, and most southerners, the Cal'derache didn't fill silence with pointless chatter.

“Want me to translate?” Eloisa asked.

Caleth's only response was a dry look.

“I can't believe how quickly you picked up that language,” Milara went on. “You sound just like a native. Have you had tutoring, or have you simply absorbed it through listening?”

Eloisa patiently endured the barrage of questions until they made their way to a bright, lavishly decorated sitting room. Their guards, Atolian and Cal'derache, took up post on opposite sides of the doorway.

As Eloisa went to sit, Milara took her by the arm. “I was hoping to take you on a tour of the gardens and the stables, Eloisa. The men will be joined in short order by a translator. They won't be needing us.”

Eloisa conveyed this to Caleth, who let out a bark of laughter.

“He thinks I would use his translator?”

Eloisa winced. “It seems so.”

Caleth gently pried Milara's hand from Eloisa's arm, and then turned to Philomen. “No. Only Eloisa.”

He spoke in Atolian, heavily accented, but not so much that he couldn't be understood. As Eloisa had been learning his language, her husband had been making an effort with Atolian, though he was still far from any measure of fluency.

“Well, then,” Philomen said, looking uneasy. “Let us sit.”

Eloisa was first to take a seat. Milara tried to sit beside her, but Caleth shooed her away, as one might dismiss a small animal, and took the seat beside his wife.

Collecting a stack of papers from the table, Philomen said, “I've had my counselors draw up a contract for us. I've included a copy in Cal'derache, so that the sovereign may read it himself.”

Eloisa started to translate, but Caleth had turned his head away to look out a window. She knew it was intentional. Everything the man did was calculated. She would get no aid from him.

After taking a breath, Eloisa said, “Your contract won't be necessary. The terms of the agreement have changed.”

There was a brief silence wherein neither the king or queen seemed to know what to say. Then, Philomen narrowed his eyes.

“Changed? In what ways? We had certain agreements, the sovereign and I.”

Eloisa laced her fingers in her lap. “I'm afraid that any agreement you have with him has been nullified.”

“On what grounds?” Milara asked.

“On the grounds that you fabricated my background.”

There was another silence as their auras began to flicker wildly, Milara's with panic, Philomen's with rage.

Eloisa pressed on. “For this reason, the sovereign has no faith that you will be an honorable ally, or that you will repay a loan of even the smallest amount.”

“This is outrageous,” Philomen seethed. “Regardless of what he thinks he has uncovered, he still chose to wed you. Tell him that I am still entitled to a bride price. If I do not get it, I will not sanctify this marriage.”

Eloisa looked to Caleth, who was now examining his nails. “You are not curious about what he is saying?”

“No,” he said without looking up. “It is all Atolian talk.”

“What is he saying?” Philomen demanded.

Eloisa said, “He isn't going to pay you, no matter what threats you make. However, I will.”

She withdrew her own contract from her bag and smoothed the wrinkled edges in her lap. As she looked over the words for what must have been the thousandth time, Eloisa felt a sense of calm.

“Unlike the sovereign, I have a vested interest in preserving our kingdom. I have also had my counsel draw up a contract. I think you'll find that my terms are far more generous than Caleth's.”

Both king and queen were visibly pacified, though Eloisa was certain it wouldn't last.

She went on, “First, I'll need a detailed accounting of all your present debts, along with supporting evidence for each claim. Once the debts have been verified through a third party and negotiated down, I will repay them in a sum not exceeding a total of sixty thousand pounds, gold.”

“What about the loan?” Philomen cut in.

Eloisa steeled herself. “There will be no loan. I will be establishing a trust through which you will be able to withdraw thirty thousand pounds per year, for a term of ten years.”

“Three hundred thousand pounds, gold?” Milara asked with raised brows.

“Yes. However, each withdraw must be preceded by a letter of intent that explicitly states how the funds will be used for the benefit of the kingdom. Upon approval by me, the funds will be distributed. These distributions will be closely monitored. If any funds are misappropriated, it will be regarded as an act of theft from me and, by proxy, the empire of Cal'dara. At that time, you will no longer be a beneficiary and will abdicate the throne in favor of your son. If you refuse to abdicate, you will be forcibly removed and—”

“What is this nonsense?” Philomen snarled, springing from his chair.

Caleth was up in an instant, losing all pretense of aloofness. He pointed to Philomen's chair.

“You. Sit.” Turning to Eloisa, he spoke in rapid Cal'derache. “He is not to speak to you like that.”

Had the mood not been so tense, Eloisa might have laughed.

“I thought you weren't going to tell me how to handle him?” she said. “Should I sit back and let you finish?”

Caleth gave her a wry look, the anger in his aura dampening.

“Revasojcre, asejana.”

Biting back a smile, Eloisa addressed her brother. “This is your salvation, Philomen.”

“This is a thinly veiled ploy to seize my throne!”

Speaking over him, Eloisa said, “It is a chance to clean the slate. To start your reign anew, without the burden of father's mishandling.”

Milara put a hand on her husband's shoulder.

“We will still have the money from taxes,” she whispered. “Please, consider her offer.”

“And give them the chance to fabricate claims against my throne?” Philomen snapped.

Eloisa said, “To tell it true, if I wanted your throne, I could have it for far cheaper than this. My interests don't lie in ruling. My only wish is to end Atolia's suffering and restore it to its former glory.”

“And you don't think I'm capable of doing that myself?” Philomen said. “What do you even know of Atolia? How can you possibly weigh its needs all the way from Cal'dara?”

Eloisa could tell that the conversation had ceased to be productive. She had said the things that needed to be said, and now all that was left was to let Philomen come to terms with it.

“If you don't agree with the terms, then don't sign it,” she told him. “I'm sure you can find another way to repay your debts and rebuild your kingdom.”

Philomen sneered at her. “Do not patronize me. I am the king of Atolia.”

“Such arrogance,” Eloisa said, relishing each syllable. “You are a single man. Now, are you going to send for your seal, or shall my husband and I take our leave?”

Eloisa laid with her body stretched across Caleth's, both because she craved his nearness and because she needed to cool off. She drifted between sleep and wakefulness while Caleth's hands made a lazy perusal of her damp body.

“You did well in there.”

It was the first time he'd spoken to her since they'd departed from the Atolian palace. When he'd joined her in the palanquin, Eloisa had thought for certain that he'd want to discuss everything that had happened between she and Philomen, but his mouth had been on hers before the door was fully shut behind them.

Though it mortified her to think that the fliers knew what they were doing, Eloisa hadn't been able to resist him. She never could. Sometimes it felt as if he were inside of her mind, and each time she thought to resist him, he knew it and would immediately do something that made her resolve melt away. Today, it had taken only a properly executed flex of his hips to turn her protests into a moan.

“You didn't understand half of what I said,” she told him, her fingers curling around a lock of his hair.

Caleth liked it when she played with his hair, and when she dug her fingers in to massage his scalp. For such a severe man, he was remarkably tactile in bed. And, apparently, on the floor of a palanquin.

“You got the king to sign a deal that guarantees he will lose his kingdom.”

“It does not. If Philomen uses the money justly, then...”

She trailed off as Caleth's chest rumbled with laughter.

“You will be queen within a year, Eloisaja.”

When she looked up at him, she saw that he was frowning.

“That doesn't please you?”

He ran a hand over the side of his face. “I am...resavdrut.”

“Resavdrut?” she repeated, not recognizing the word.

Caleth held up two fingers. “It is a state of mind. It means I cannot decide how I feel. If you become queen, we get Atolia. However, that will mean you will have obligations outside of my bed.”

Eloisa covered her face as she laughed. “How can you compare the two things?”

After a moment, she peeked out at him through her fingers. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For...” she paused to consider her phrasing. “For allowing me to speak for myself.”

Caleth smirked. “I could not have spoken for you.”

“You know what I mean.”

His fingers moved to her back, where they began to trace her scars. It was something he did often, frequently enough that Eloisa almost didn't find it uncomfortable. Since learning to communicate with him, she had never asked what he thought about her back, and she wasn't sure she ever would. Questions like that would always be taboo in their relationship, unless Eloisa grew strong enough to handle knowing the truth.

“You will be a great queen,” he told her.

“I don't know anything about ruling,” Eloisa protested.

“I will teach you.”

She rolled her eyes. “If I go by your teachings, I'll end up ruling the entire southern continent.”

Caleth cocked a brow. “That idea has merit.”

“I wasn't serious!”

As he pulled her up for a kiss, Caleth rolled onto his side, pinning her beneath him. She could feel him hardening against her, and lifted her leg up to invite him back inside. With a groan, he sheathed himself inside of her, and then paused to rest his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled in the space between their faces, warm and cold air swirling together.

“I love you,” she said.

Eloisa spoke in Atolian, as there was no Cal'derache equivalent. Just as the Cal'derache preferred to learn by doing, affection was something that was meant to be shown and felt, not spoken with words.

Her husband's response was a quizzical look. He waited only a second for her to explain, and then resumed kissing her.

Eloisa didn't need to hear him say the words. Caleth had shown her nothing but love from the first night they'd met, standing beneath the heavens in his observatory. She still didn't know what she had done to deserve him, but she'd stopped questioning it. Instead, she said a prayer each morning, thanking Phaeda and whichever gods were listening for the miracle that she'd been given.