The Infernal King | 1 ✓

CHAPTER XXXIX | DRUNK ON STARS

       NIMBLE FINGERS BURIED in silken brown locks, heartbeats converging in the dark theatre behind the rippling red curtains—it was then that Maarit learned what it felt like to feel her heart jump to her throat, and not from wrath or terror. They had remained this way, wrapped up in one another's arms, for a moment that was simultaneously too long and not long enough. She told herself that Theodoracius was merely touch-starved; that was why he was holding her like he was drowning in her.

Yet she couldn't deny the collision of cosmos occurring in her head. She was holding her breath, and it was only when the king's arms slackened and he rose to his feet in front of her that she exhaled stars. She knew that they did not all leave her—no, there were certainly still some cartwheeling in her eyes.

       "It is very late. Are you tired?" he breathed almost inaudibly. The only reason she heard him was because they were still so close—close enough that she could see the celestial glister in his eyes, too.

       "No," she muttered back, clenching her fists at her sides awkwardly. "Are you?"

       "No."

       Maarit knew they both were, but it was the sort of tiredness that couldn't be settled with rest. They were both exhausted down to their souls. Of course they were—the country was crumbling around them. Every day, while Theodoracius became more human to her, he became more of a demon to everyone else. The people were likely on the brink of war. Yet the girl found a way to ignore that. She could think about plagues, wars, death and the people that longed to murder her king when she wasn't so drunk on stars.

"Would you—perhaps—like something to eat?" he spluttered, looking down at his shoes. "I know it is late, but there's always something in the kitchen."

"I—um," Maarit said, unsure of how to respond to this offer. "Uh... sure. Yes." It was only when he turned around that she realized she was still wearing his crown. "Oh!" she exclaimed so abruptly that he jumped and whirled around. Confusion crossed his features as she took the crown off and placed it back on his head. "I almost forgot."

       "Right," he said, his breaths inexplicably jagged. He hesitated before offering her his arm, which she took.

       The tension between them grew thicker with each passing minute as they walked in silence. She resented the fact that she could still feel her heartbeat everywhere: pounding behind her eyes, pulsing at her temples, thumping hollowly at the base of her throat. She could barely breath when she felt his eyes on her. Though his gaze never lingered for very long, she could see from the corner of his eyes that he was sneaking glances at her in a discreet fashion—but not discreet enough to keep her lungs from collapsing all over again every time he did.

When they finally reached the kitchen, Theodoracius made her wait outside as he darted in and came out with a platter of tiny fruit tarts. He was quiet, but smiled softly as she immediately grabbed three off of the platter and bit into one of them, letting out a pleasant sigh at the taste of the sweet custard and slightly sour strawberries that commingled on her tongue.

He didn't take one.

And she pretended she was hungry enough to ignore the nervous lurch of her stomach.

Everything worsened—the tangible tension in the air, the awkwardness that lingered thickly—when they returned to the dining hall and she realized that they were no longer alone. The guardsmen that had the night shift were there. Maarit wished they weren't.