Well, except him.

Could she even call that interacting? The God King appeared to enjoy looking at her body, but he’d never given her any indication that he wanted more. He simply let her kneel, those eyes of his watching and dissecting her. That was the sum total of their marriage.

The servants finished putting out her dinner then lined up by the wall. It was getting late—almost time for her nightly bathing. I’ll have to eat quickly, she thought, sitting at the table. After all, I wouldn’t want to be late for the evening’s ogling.

A FEW HOURS LATER, Siri stood bathed, perfumed, and dressed before the massive golden door that led into the God King’s bedchamber. She breathed deeply, calming herself, anxiety bringing her hair to a pale brown. She still hadn’t gotten used to this part.

It was silly. She knew what would happen. And yet, the anticipation—the fear—was still there. The God King’s actions proved the power he had over her. One day he would take her, and it could come at any time. Part of her wished he’d just be done with it. The extended dread was even worse than that first single evening of terror.

She shivered. Bluefingers eyed her. Perhaps eventually he’d trust her to arrive at the bedchamber on time. Each night so far, he’d come to escort her.

At least he hasn’t shown up while I’m bathing again. The warm water and pleasant scents should have made her relax—unfortunately, she tended to spend each bath worrying about either her impending visit to the God King or some male servant walking in on her.

She glanced at Bluefingers.

“A few more minutes, Vessel,” he said.

How does he know? she thought. The man seemed to have a supernatural sense of time. She hadn’t seen any form of timepiece in the palace—neither sundial, metered candle, nor water clock. In Hallandren, apparently, gods and queens didn’t worry about such things. They had servants to remind them of appointments.

Bluefingers glanced at the door, then at her. When he saw that she was watching him, he immediately turned away. As he stood, he started shuffling his weight from foot to foot.

What does he have to be nervous about? she thought with annoyance, turning to stare at the door’s intricate gold designs. He’s not the one who has to go through this every night.

“Do . . . things go well with the God King, then?” Bluefingers asked suddenly.

Siri frowned.

“I can see that you’re tired a lot of the time,” Bluefingers said. “I . . . guess that means you are very . . . active at night.”

“That’s good, right? Everyone wants an heir as soon as possible.”

“Yes, of course,” Bluefingers said, wringing his hands. “It’s just that . . .” He trailed off, then glanced at her, meeting her eyes. “You just might want to be careful, Vessel. Keep your wits about you. Try to stay alert.”

Her hair bleached the rest of the way white. “You make it sound as if I’m in danger,” she said softly.

“What? Danger?” Bluefingers said, glancing to the side. “Nonsense. What would you have to fear? I was simply suggesting that you remain alert, should the God King have needs you should fulfill. Ah, see, now it’s time. Enjoy your evening, Vessel.”

With that, he pushed open the door, placed a hand on her back, and guided her into the room. At the last moment, he moved his head up next to hers. “You should watch yourself, child,” he whispered. “Not all here in the palace is as it seems.”

Siri frowned, turning, but Bluefingers plastered on a false smile and pushed the door shut.

What in Austre’s name was that? she thought, pausing for what was probably too long a time as she stared at the door. Finally, she sighed, turning away. The usual fire crackled in the hearth, but it was smaller than previously.

He was there. Siri didn’t need to look to see him. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, she could notice that the fire’s colors—blue, orange, even black—were far too true, far too vibrant. Her gown, a brilliant golden satin, seemed to burn with its own inner color. Anything that was white—some of the lace on her dress, for instance—bent slightly, giving off a rainbow of colors as if seen through a prism. Part of her wished for a well-lit room, where she could experience the full beauty of BioChroma.

But, of course, that was not right. The God King’s Breath was a perversion. He was fed on the souls of his people, and the colors he evoked came at their expense.

Shivering, Siri undid the side of her dress then let the garment fall to pieces around her—the long sleeves slipping free, bodice falling forward, skirt and gown rustling as they dropped to the floor. She completed the ritual, sliding the straps of her shift off her shoulders, then dropping the garment to the floor beside the gown. She stepped free of both, then bowed herself down into her customary posture.

Her back complained, and she ruefully contemplated another uncomfortable night. The least they could do, she thought, is make certain the fire is large enough. At night in the large stone palace, it got chilly despite the Hallandren tropical climate. Particularly if one were naked.

Focus on Bluefingers, she thought, trying to distract herself. What did he mean? Things are not what they seem in the palace?

Was he referring to the God King and his ability to have her killed? She was well aware of the God King’s power. How could she forget it, with him sitting not fifteen feet away, watching from the shadows? No, that wasn’t it. He’d felt he’d needed to give this warning quietly, without others hearing. Watch yourself. . . . .

It smelled of politics. She gritted her teeth. If she’d paid more attention to her tutors, might she have been able to pick out a more subtle meaning in Bluefingers’s warning?

As if I needed something else to be confused about, she thought. If Bluefingers had something to tell her, why hadn’t he just said it? As the minutes passed, his words turned over and over in her mind like a restless sleeper, but she was too uncomfortable and cold to come to any conclusions. That only left her feeling more annoyed.

Vivenna would have figured it out. Vivenna probably would have known instinctively why the God King hadn’t chosen to sleep with her. She would have fixed it the first night.

But Siri was incompetent. She tried so hard to do as Vivenna would have—to be the best wife she could, to serve Idris. To be the woman that everyone expected her to be.

But she wasn’t. She couldn’t just keep doing this. She felt trapped in the palace. She couldn’t get the priests to do more than roll their eyes at her. She couldn’t even tempt the God King to bed her. On top of that, she could very well be in danger, and she couldn’t even understand why or how.

In simpler terms, she was just plain frustrated.

Groaning at her aching limbs, Siri sat up in the dark room and looked at the shadowy form in the corner. “Will you please just get on with it?” she blurted out.

Silence.

Siri felt her hair bleach a terrible bone white as she realized what she’d just done. She stiffened, casting her eyes down, weariness fleeing in the face of sudden anxiety.

What had she been thinking? The God King could call servants to execute her. In fact, he didn’t even need that. He could bring her own dress to life, Awakening it to strangle her. He could make the rug rise up and smother her. He could probably bring the ceiling down on her, all without moving from his chair.

Siri waited, breathing with shallow anxiety, anticipating the fury and retribution. But . . . nothing happened. Minutes passed.

Finally, Siri glanced up. The God King had moved, sitting up straighter, regarding her from his darkened chair beside the bed. She could see his eyes reflecting the firelight. She couldn’t make out much of his face, but he didn’t seem angry. He just seemed cold and distant.