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Warmth was the first feeling she could name. Then, slow, sleepy breathing. A comforting weight over her waist. Sunlight pinking the insides of her eyelids. All gentle tethers to the waking world.
Yangchen opened her eyes.
For a moment, she didn’t recognize the ceiling, the walls. She didn’t know this bed. There were no distant sounds of bustling Jonduri streets—only breezes, singing birds. Where am I? Panic bubbled and frothed in her chest—her fingers grasped that weight around her abdomen, and—it was an arm—
Kavik.
Relief trickled through her chest like cool water down a cliff face. Kavik. Him she recognized. Him she knew. And if he was here, then everything was okay. Kavik.
She looked to her left. His face sank into the pillow beside her. His arm draped over her torso. It was so pleasant—so rare—to see him this unguarded: his hair unbound, his breathing even, clad only in sleep-shorts. A side of him no one else saw. A secret all her own.
This wasn’t the first time they’d woken up beside each other. When they traveled, the close quarters of tents, ships’ sleeping berths, or sky bison saddles often made him the first thing she saw each day. But sharing one bed was…
It’s not that it’d never happened before, but every time it did, it was…
Intimate. Despite herself, a smile bloomed over her lips. That was not a word she should be thinking about her best friend.
But at this point, were she and Kavik really ‘friends’ anymore?
When they were teenagers, the ‘Lio’ lie was an easy cover. He was the Avatar’s Earthbending master’s grandson, which was enough to justify his presence at her side. And when it wasn’t, he was the Avatar’s “little boyfriend,” who the higher-ups of the world had to tolerate if they wanted her goodwill. Seemingly the perfect means to get one of her best spies and double agents in places and situations no ordinary human could access.
But they were not teenagers anymore. They were twenty-four. The “little boyfriend” schtick was no longer a cute and charming bit, or a reminder of “young love” for washed-up world leaders. It was starting to raise some eyebrows.
“Lover” and “boyfriend” didn’t have the gravitas, the authority, that Yangchen needed them to. “Partner” seemed to be working, or at least getting them less snickering and eyerolls. But there were certain events and occasions where “Avatar’s sweetheart” was just not a high-enough credential.
A prince’s private party where “escorts and courtesans” weren’t allowed. A noblewoman’s swanky retreat for married couples only. A ceremony only “family members” of invited guests could attend.
“And why could Lio not accompany me?” Yangchen protested to that ceremony’s leader, Aelan.
She only cocked a brow. “Are you related to him?”
“Lady Aelan, please,” Yangchen tittered.
But she did not retract her question, or chuckle, or apologize—or acquiesce in any way at all. She merely kept staring at Yangchen, brow paralyzed in that position on her face.
“He’s been my—I have loved him for seven years now.” She bled as much sincerity into her voice as her heart could take.
Aelan only sighed. “My advice, Avatar—girl to girl? If he’s not proposed after all that time, he’s never going to. Do yourself a favor and move on.”
Yangchen was twenty-four. Aelan was thirty-three. ‘Girl’ to ‘girl’? ‘Girls’?! She nobly resisted the urge to claw her eyes out.
The latest of these events was happening in an arid little town at the edge of the Si Wong Desert: Panxing. A dinner two heads of state were jointly hosting—where Tayagum was positive a government aide was going to sell top-secret blasting jelly formula research to another aide, under the noses of both their leaderships.
“If the Avatar happened to be in Panxing at that time, though,” he went on, “she would absolutely receive an invitation to this dinner. Where she could, if she so chose, disrupt the sale.”
Yangchen was nodding. “Would a plus one of hers be invited as well?”
Here he paused. “Maybe…” But he was wincing. “It would depend on… It would be odd if a mere ‘friend’ tagged along.”
Yangchen could read between the lines. “Little boyfriend” was not going to cut it.
And it had been on her mind, how to elevate Kavik. Keep him part of her regular entourage without drawing suspicion from entire governments. Panxing would be a test run of a new… strategy.
She arrived in Panxing a whole month before the dinner was scheduled. Visited the open-air markets, sampled the local cuisine, explored the stunning temples and shrines—all very publicly beside ‘Lio,’ who she appeared utterly infatuated with. To every stranger who would listen, she shared their giddy secret: We are eloping!
Lio. Kavik. Were they really ‘friends’ anymore?
She’d seen him doubled over in fits of laughter, suffering through a poisoning, crying from eating a too-spicy dish, whispering and babbling to his baby nephew, half-drowned and resuscitated, giggly and affectionate from too much drink, denying he was lost while glaring at a map, watching the aurora borealis in mute awe, pretending not to have a cold, pretending not to be utterly exhausted, pretending not to be terrified, incoherent from pain, bleeding, angry, unconscious, on the brink of death.
He had seen her in all the same ways. At her worst. At her best. At her every in-between.
Now he had seen her kneeling across from him at midnight, before a dusty shrine, ribbons binding their held hands.
And she had seen him then, too.
And the officiant had seen their very first kiss.
And by sunrise, all of Panxing had heard.
Details from around the room came into focus. Atop a beautifully woven rug, their shoes scattered, one of her boots tipped on its side. Discarded robes and tunics and pants lay in heaps—her cloak had been tossed over a teak desk. Sunlight trickled from a clerestory window. Kavik shifted at her side.
She turned, pressing into him. His arm instinctively wrapped, tightened, around her, pulling her closer. His eyes cracked open.
“Hey,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“Hey,” he replied, voice grumbly. She gave a breathy chuckle.
They held each other in silence for a moment.
Were they really ‘friends’ anymore?
“Alright,” he murmured, gently tapping the arrow on her forehead, “you know the drill. Where are we?”
The practice Yangchen had kept from her youth—remembering exactly what she’d done the day before, connecting it to her present moment, staying rooted in her own life. “Panxing.”
“Where exactly?”
“The Grotto hotel.”
“And we walked here from…?”
“The Kuwon shrine.”
“What did we do there?”
Yangchen beamed. She pressed her entire face into the side of Kavik’s neck, wrapping her arms around his back, feeling like she was trying to hide a sunburst from him. “We got married.”
He rolled onto his back, pulling her atop his chest. He rubbed the exposed skin of her back, hands idly stroking her tattoos.
It occurred to her as he did that she was also not wearing very much—like him, stripped down to sleep-shorts. A simple linen triangle bralette, with two ties around her neck and mid-back, was the only difference between them—a garment which was not giving her much support or coverage or anything besides some small protection of her modesty.
But this was Kavik. She trusted him with her secrets, her fears, her nightmares, her duties—everything. Trusting him with her ‘modesty,’ her body, was easy.
Still, though. His gentle hands brought back memories of the kiss. Their wedding kiss. Close-lipped and warm, endlessly warm, warm enough to melt the whole rest of the world away. She suspected both of them thought the kiss would be cursory, a peck—a mere step in the ceremony—they had both waited for the other to be the first to pull away. And yet, neither did.
And therefore, the kiss lingered. She marveled at the softness of his lips, the shape of them, the surprising pleasantness of his taste on her mouth.
She felt him start to smile—then she grinned—and they broke apart then.
When they’d arrived back at the Grotto hotel, quickly stripping, too tired to question the single bed in the room, too tired to insist one person take the bed and one the rug, merely falling into the mattress together—she wondered if she could ask for a goodnight kiss. To feel that again.
She didn’t, but she wondered.
And now she wondered if she could ask for a good-morning kiss. Which made her wonder if she would be wanting to ask for a kiss over breakfast, or a teatime kiss, or a goodbye kiss when they parted for the day, or a good-luck kiss before the dinner that had brought them there, or…
If she would be longing for a second kiss from him for the rest of their lives.
She inhaled against his neck, taking in the smell of his skin. Her thumb lightly stroked the line of his collarbone. “How do you feel?”
“Sleepy…” he mumbled. His head tilted, his cheek resting against her temple. “Good.”
“Do you…” She swallowed. She sat up, bringing his face just above his—wanting to see his expression, his pupils. “Do you regret it?”
His brows drew together as his eyes closed. A confused frown. “No…?”
Her frown matched his.
His hand withdrew from her back, fingertips skating over her skin as he brought it to her neck. Tenderly, he caressed her, lightly touching her throat, her pulse. A distant stare overtook his features. “It’s okay, Yangchen, it wasn’t a real wedding.”
She realized why he had, almost absentmindedly, been grazing her neck. He’s thinking of a betrothal necklace.
‘Lio’ was, at most, three-quarters Water Tribe. With him masquerading as Boma’s grandson, they’d always leaned more into the Earth Kingdom identity than Kavik’s own heritage. There were no necklaces, not even fake ones, in Kuwon shrine last night. When Yangchen went to the dinner with Kavik in tow, she’d be wearing a jade ring.
If there had been a betrothal necklace, would it feel more real to him?
“Right.” Her voice thickened. “I’m sorry.”
His hands came to her sides, holding her waist as if bracing her. “What on earth for?”
She smiled again. Not because she was happy. But because he made her happy.
She wanted to explain, or learn what Kavik was thinking, or discuss the plan again, or nestle back into his arms—but before anything could happen, Pik and Pak flew in through the window.
Kavik laughed as Yangchen shot up. The lemurs landed like swooping gulls in their bed—the two newlyweds yelped in surprise. Yangchen twisted, grabbing at the scruff of one—Pik—while Kavik gathered Pak into his arms with a “woah, woah, woah!”
“Oh, you rascals!” Yangchen gasped, wrangling the squirming Pik. Kavik was still laughing as she flopped onto her side, practically wrestling the lemur to keep him from bounding around the bed.
Pak was darting, his head frantically twisting and turning, swatting his giant ears against Kavik’s face. Kavik held the little creature firmly to his chest, petting his head, smoothing down his ears with a, “Now where have you been, little guy?”
“Raiding the vineyards, no doubt,” Yangchen grumbled. Pik pushed his little head into her chest.
The skittish lemurs seemed to calm in their arms. Yangchen loosened her hold on Pik, and he leisurely scampered around her, curling into a ball against her hair. The stump of Pak’s tail slowly wagged as Kavik petted his head.
Yangchen pressed her nose against his shoulder. Kavik had switched from rubbing his whole palm over Pak’s face and head to just stroking with one thumb—from the tip of Pak’s nose to the crown of his head. Pak’s ears turned, relaxing and falling limp. A grumbly, almost cooing vibration emanated from his chest. He’s happy. Yangchen exhaled, lifting her head to rest her cheek on Kavik’s shoulder, to better watch her lemur. He’s so happy.
Seemingly confident Pak wouldn’t start running again, Kavik lifted his arm—jostling Yangchen from her resting place—then wrapping it around her, drawing her even closer to him, bringing her head to his chest. Pak stared at her, his big eyes utterly relaxed.
Yangchen chuckled, resting her own palm on Kavik’s stomach. “You’re good with him.”
“He likes me now.” The triumph in his voice made Yangchen feel that sunburst again.
“Come on, he forgave you long ago,” she chided.
“Yes, but he used to bite me when I touched you.”
She failed to smother her giggles. “Little nips. Little love bites.”
“They were not.”
“Hmmm, well. Now he loves you like I do.”
She felt Kavik’s jaw shift. She felt him looking at her. But she couldn’t look back—couldn’t meet his eyes. Not yet. She swallowed.
Were they really ‘friends’ anymore?
Years of living as lovers blurred lines. Flirting with him in public made her think it was okay to flirt with him in private. Letting him wrap an arm around her shoulders, embrace her, kiss her cheek—what did it matter if they were doing it as Lio and the Avatar or as Kavik and Yangchen? Of course it—it mattered. But she couldn’t tell where her love for Lio ended and her friendship with Kavik began. Or if Lio loved her. Or if there was a difference between Kavik and Lio anymore.
So she didn’t look at him. Not yet.
She looked up at Pik, nesting the crown of her head.
She looked at Pak, purring on Kavik’s chest.
She looked at Kavik’s hand, where it held her, resting on her hip.
She looked at her own hand, rising and falling with Kavik’s belly.
And then she looked at Kavik. His beautiful face. His dark, patient eyes.
She couldn’t hold his gaze. She closed her eyes, feeling her features tense in an almost-wince. She exhaled. She had to explain. What had she meant? That Pak knew not to be snippy anymore, because he knew how deeply she cared for Kavik? That she loved how kind he was to her lemurs, even when they were mean to him—that she loved how he knew all the questions she asked herself every morning—that she loved every part and side of him she’d ever seen, the best and the worst and the in-betweens—that she loved him? That she wanted to wake up like this every morning, forever?
“I could be really happy with a life like this.” It was the only way she could say it.
Sunlight continued its silent stream through the window. Pik rustled gently against her head. Pak purred contentedly.
Kavik’s head tilted. He pressed his lips to her hairline. An almost-kiss. His words were unfathomably, heartbreakingly gentle. “This is your life.”
He lifted his lips from her face as she looked up at him again. She met his eyes—held them, this time.
All morning she’d been thinking how to ask him for a second kiss. How to ask him how he felt about the fake wedding. How to ask him… how he felt… How to ask him if any of it ever felt real, to him.
Maybe this was his way of asking her.
Maybe neither of them needed to ask at all, anymore. Maybe it was time for one of them to answer.
She leaned in and pressed her lips to his.