Delilah threw herself into further physical training as her aches and pains from the battle faded. But she didn't count on receiving a letter from the Silver Knight, asking to see her. If he remembered what had happened on the border, she was lost.
She walked into his quarters to find Finias reclining on a chair, with none other than Zehra leaning over him. Delilah stopped dead. She'd forgotten about Aylin's sisters entirely, but now a surge of hatred returned.
"Delilah!" Finias seemed breathless. Of course he did: Zehra was as stunning as a lightning strike.
"Princess." Zehra rose slowly, fluidly, lingering as if to prove to Delilah what she had been planning to do with the knight.
"How wonderful to see you, Zehra. We must go for tea sometime," Delilah said. "Get to know each other better."
"Yes."
"Zehra, I'm sorry, I summoned Delilah here. I wanted to talk," Finias said.
"Don't worry, Finias, I know a dismissal when I see one."
"I didn't -"
"I will return sometime to finish our... conversation." She swept out.
"How are you?" Delilah asked. "I heard you got hurt."
"I'm mending." With difficulty, Finias got to his feet. "Walk with me."
He led her to the small walled in courtyard outside his chambers, where a fountain played in the centre and fragrant lemon trees provided some shade.
"I dreamed of you in the middle of the battle. I was in lots of pain, but all I could see was your face."
Delilah wanted to laugh. A dream! Yes, she was a dream.
"Me?" she said coyly. "But you... You know what was destroyed between us. You know I have a new betrothal announced now."
"Yes, that was why I wanted to see you. I'm sorry. You don't even know the man and he's almost our fathers' age. I wish I could have convinced my parents to keep the... Well. You might not even have wanted that. I still have nightmares about how you fought me on the bridge to Terra."
"I regret that. I regret everything I did with the Night Bringer, but that most of all."
"Really?" The pain in Finias's face looked physical. He sank to his knees in front of her. "I thought maybe you hated me. Maybe I'd tried to overstep a line in the past, done something without permission, and I wracked my brain trying to figure out what it could be for months..."
Oh, the power she'd held without even knowing it.
"You're amazing in battle. The way you hold your men in line and rally them is incredible."
"Who told you that?"
"I - I spoke with a new recruit."
"The one who saved me, perhaps? I'm still searching for him. Or... her. I owe them everything." He winced.
"Does it hurt, the wound?"
"A little."
"I wish I could help."
"My lady..." He bowed his head. "Your mere presence is a balm, like pure water, on my wounds. All of them. I..." His voice choked.
She had to stop him there. "Zehra looks interested in you."
"Ah, Zehra - she is - I find it hard to come up with excuses to refuse her, as she knows I'm not spoken for, and -"
"You shouldn't have to, she's beautiful."
"Not like you."
Delilah laughed harshly. "Come on, don't lie. I know I'm not beautiful and never have been. I've never had perfect, symmetrical features like the courtiers selected to be here, I..."
She trailed off at the way he was gazing up at her like she was the embodiment of starlight. A breeze chose this moment to ruffle the lemon blossoms, dislodging a few petals so they swirled through the air heady with their sweet, light fragrance.
"Delilah..." It was a breath. He lowered his head, still on his knees, so his hair brushed the folds of her gown where they fell from her stomach and between her legs. They whispered across her bare skin, and this strange not-quite-intimacy, the breath of the not-quite-touch, made her want to shiver and ignited a fiery longing. Not necessarily for him, and not a longing that was particularly hers, but the kind that was universal, on the basest level with food and drink.
She wound her fingers into his hair and pulled gently until his forehead rested against her leg. He breathed deeply as if trying to inhale her essence. What was she doing? Why was she encouraging this thing that died seasons ago? Why was it so hard to think or to plot?
A door slammed somewhere, and they jumped apart.
"I have to go," Delilah said, and fled.
She wasn't sure how the rest of the day passed or what had just happened between them, but she could only breathe freely when back in her room. Her throat was parched. She picked up a jug a servant had left for her and drank deeply.
It was too late that she realised there was a slight taste to it.
Too late, her muscles turned to lead and her head began to swim.