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“I loathe you, you viper.” Irene wrenched her hand out of Eugenides’ grasp, resting it tensely in her lap.
Gen smirked, looking out the carriage window. The Attolian countryside slowly passed by in shades of brown and green. “That’s a rather cruel thing to say to your husband.”
Irene snorted in disgust. “You’re not my husband yet, and if I have my way, you never will be.”
Gen turned back to Irene, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Then remind me, darling, what we are travelling across your kingdom into Eddis for.”
Irene huffed, turning away from the Thief of Eddis. “You’re impossible.”
“Because I was under the impression we were going to Eddis to make marriage arrangements with my queen.”
“She won’t be your queen for long,” Irene mumbled, folding her arms.
Gen laughed victoriously. “Is that jealousy I sense? She’s my cousin, Irene.”
“Wasn’t she trying to set you up with another one of your cousins? Apparently, familial lines don’t mean much where you come from,” Irene retorted, picking imaginary lint off of her olive green dress.
“Agape barely counts as a relative. Besides, there’s only one person whom I would even consider marrying, and she is not from Eddis.” His eyes softened almost imperceptibly as he gazed upon the Queen of Attolia.
“You’re ridiculous,” Irene sighed, turning to face her fiancé. “I should just leave you in Eddis where you belong.”
A smirk graced the Thief’s face. “You know better than anyone that I have ways back into the palace.”
“And you know better than anyone that I wouldn’t hesitate to cut your other hand off,” Irene deadpanned, turning back to the window.
Silence fell in the carriage for several seconds before Gen snorted, doubling over in his seat with laughter. Despite her best efforts, Irene couldn’t suppress the grin that rose to her lips, nor did she pull away when Gen grabbed her hand again.
“Gods, I love you,” Gen wheezed as soon as the laughter began to subside.
Another silence fell over the carriage, but this one was different. It felt heavy, like the air on a hot summer day just before it rained. Irene turned back to Gen, a small smile still playing her lips. She squeezed his hand and said, “I know.”
Gen swallowed, phantom hand suddenly aching and the reality of his future—their future—crashing down upon him. “Irene, I—”
She leaned in and pressed her lips gently against his, releasing his hand so she could cup both of hers on his cheeks, hold him up while he fell apart. It was sweet and tender and melancholy and said more than either of them could ever express with words. Gen slowly lifted his hand and cradled her jaw as tears began to streak, hot, down his face.
Irene pulled back, resting her forehead against his as he took in deep breaths, tears drying on his face.
“I know. And I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Gen swallowed again, and despite the swaying of the carriage, he felt as though the whole world were standing still. “I know.”