Now that he'd mentioned it, she was a little cold, and getting out of this corset would solve at least one of her problems. The man knelt beside a trunk on the opposite wall and retrieved a bundle of clothes.
"I had these made for you. The jacket should attach around your wings, but if not, I can have something else formed."
Touched by his thoughtfulness, Lyana took the garments. As she did, their fingers grazed, the barest brush of skin on skin. His gaze dropped to the spot. With a swallow, he stepped back and let his arms fall to his sides.
"What's your name?" she asked suddenly.
"Malek'da'Nerri."
"Malek," she repeated, testing the word on her tongue. The clouds in his eyes seemed to part at the sound. "It's nice to meet you."
"You as well, Princess."
"Lyana, please. Just Lyana."
He inclined his head. "Lyana."
Then he turned and offered his back as he strode across the room, coming to a stop before the window with his feet spread wide and his hands clasped by the base of his spine. Lyana glanced at the clothes in her hands, at Malek, and back at the clothes. Did he mean for her to change with him there? It wasn't proper. What would—
She paused.
What would who think? Her home was thousands of miles away. It might as well have been another world, and for all she knew, they thought her dead. If this stranger had devious intentions, they would have already played out. But she'd woken alone and unharmed. Still, it wasn't every day she undressed with a man present.
The longer she waited, the more she felt a silent challenge tightening the air between them, as though he was daring her, maybe testing her limits. If he thought she'd back down, he was sorely mistaken. Lyana reached back and loosened the knot of ribbons at her back, pulling the threads free. The subtle swish of silk was loud in the silence, broken only by the creak of wood. Her skin began to heat, but she didn't stop until her dress dropped past her hips and slid to the floor. He didn’t move. He just kept staring out the window, making her wonder what deep thoughts were spinning in his head.
"Can you tell me about this prophecy?" she finally asked to fill the quiet. "Where did it come from? What does it say?"
"It comes from a time before your islands were lifted into the sky, and it's survived through prayer alone, passed down from generation to generation in the hope that one day the saviors would come forward to see it through."
"And you believe we are these saviors?"
"I do."
"Will you tell me what it says?"
For a moment, she thought he might refuse. When he finally spoke, it was in a hushed, almost reverent voice, the words drenched in promise. "The world will fracture, splinter in two—one made of gray, the other of blue. Beasts will emerge, filled with fury and scorn, fighting to recover what from their claws we have torn. Two saviors will arise—one above, one below—a king born in fire and a queen bred of snow. Together they will heal that which we broke, with magic and spirit, with mirrors and smoke. But only on the day when the sky does fall, will be revealed the one who will save you all."
"And you think I'm this queen bred of snow?"
"I know it," Malek said, spinning to face her just as she finished tying the sash around her waist. The trousers he'd provided hugged her thighs and the silken jacket cinched tightly to her hips. Lyana didn’t know how he'd guessed her size so accurately, but it was just one of many mysteries to unravel.
"How do you know?"
"I know because I feel it," he said as he stepped toward her and held out his hand. Magic simmered in the air above his palm, so undeniably familiar. "The power in your skin is the same as mine. We call it aethi'kine, the ability to manipulate spirits, but it's so much more than that, you'll see. I'll show you."
Lyana lifted her palm, then hesitated, curling her fingers into a fist. Old fears were difficult to forget, especially ones as deep-rooted as this. In her world, magic meant death. She wasn't used to offering her secrets so freely.
Malek put his hand beneath hers. "You don’t need to be afraid with me."
She swallowed and met his gaze as she brought her magic to the surface. The air around them glittered with starlight, his and hers, one and the same. The gentle trickle became a rushing river. Lyana swayed on her feet, swept up in the power, lost in it. Malek wrapped his fingers around hers, keeping her grounded.
"Quiet your mind," he whispered. "Imagine a door and push it closed."
She did as he said, listening to his gently murmured instructions. Gradually, the connection to her magic snuffed out, leaving her drained and cold, unaware of how much time might have passed. Malek steadied her as the world came back into focus.
"You should rest."
"I'm not tired."
He arched a brow as though sensing her lie. "Then you should sit here and stay out of trouble while I have food brought."
"Do people always do as you say?"
"Yes."
Well, he was in for a rude awakening. "I've never been in the mist before. I want to go on deck."
"There's a window right there." Malek inclined his head. "Though I think you'll find the view a bit monotonous compared to the world you're used to. We only have one forecast—gray."
Lyana stepped across the room to press her nose against the glass, drinking in the sight. The fog was thick, nearly opaque, and bright in the afternoon light. Beneath it, waves crashed, bubbling and wild as white spray splashed against the ship. She'd never seen so much water. How could he say this was anything except marvelous?
"I have questions," she murmured.
"Too many to answer them all today, I'm sure," he noted wryly, drawing her attention. He stood beside the door with his hand already wrapped around the knob.
A grin tugged at her lips. "Maybe."
"I'll be back in a moment, and then I'll tell you as much as you want to hear."
Lyana nodded. He was right—she was tired and hungry, the events of the last day taking their toll. How long had it been since the mating ceremony? Since she'd healed Xander? Since the fight in the sacred nest? At least a day, maybe more. Her stomach rumbled. Her body was sore. The more she thought about it, the more some food and answers sounded wonderful.
"Lyana?"
The word pulled her back to the present. Malek stood hesitantly in the doorway.
"I'm sorry I clipped your wings," he said softly, almost like a concession, the last thing she expected from this king who seemed as used to getting his way as she was. "Until I know I can trust you, I can't risk your returning to the isles above and revealing what you've learned of this world within the mist. Still, I'm sorry there was no other way to ensure you were contained."
Contained. It was, perhaps, her least favorite word, up there with patience and duty and responsibility. He was extending a peace offer, but now she found her guard had risen. Was she a prisoner? An honored guest? Some strange thing in between? "If you can't trust me, the girl you claim is your queen of prophecy, who can you trust, Malek?"
"No one but myself."
"That sounds like a rather sad way to live."