My lover eats wax from raw honeycombs.

She pushes my hand against her knee and I let her warmth trickle slowly into me. Her eyes are half-lidded, her forehead smooth, her back pressed to the bole of a tree. Her hands, cracked and calloused, come up to cup my face.

“Vale.” Her name felt hot and sweet in my mouth “Vale, I need to go.”

There is little dissent, save an unintelligible mutter. Nothing good will come out of risking our safety more than we already are. Too soon, she is kissing me goodbye, and I find myself treading through the wet grass.

My home is a cage, vast and unmoved by the city which it reigns. I plod silently through its garden, taking care not to trample the flowers, and push myself up through an open window. The clay interior of my room is refreshingly dry compared to the dampness of the outside. I fall to a crouch besides my bed and rest my head against the wall. My morning with Vale left me feeling a little breathless and my composure is exceedingly undone.

A familiar harsh rap on the door sets my spine straight.

“Dala?”

“One moment,” I stutter, “I’ll be just one moment.”

I knot my hair quickly at the nape of my neck and unlatch the door.

Mete, tall and intimidating, pushes something sickeningly sweet under my nose.

“Thank you but I don’t really-”

She pushes past me and sets down the tea on a small desk in the corner. Her deft hands move around the room, tidying it beyond reasoning.